THE VOW
878 Words
The registrar’s office smelled of old paper and fresh flowers someone had placed on the desk as an afterthought. A small bouquet of white roses sat in a plain glass vase, petals already starting to curl at the edges. Aria stood in front of the narrow window, staring out at the courtyard where three black SUVs idled and a cluster of photographers waited behind a low metal barrier.
She wore the dress Ethan’s assistant had delivered that morning: simple cream silk, knee-length, long sleeves, high neck. No lace. No veil. Just clean lines that moved when she did. Her hair was down, loose waves she had let fall because pinning it felt like trying too hard.
She caught her reflection in the glass. Steady eyes. Steady hands. Nothing to betray the knot in her stomach.
Ethan stepped up beside her. Dark suit. Crisp white shirt. No tie again. The scar on his ring finger was hidden under the band he had just slipped on—plain platinum, no engraving.
He didn’t look at her. He looked out the window too.
“Ready?” he asked.
She turned her head slightly. “Are you?”
He exhaled once through his nose. “Let’s get it over with.”
The registrar cleared his throat behind them. “We’re ready when you are.”
They moved to the small podium. Two witnesses—Ethan’s lawyer and a staff member from the office—stood off to the side, phones ready for photos. No family. No friends. Just the contract in human form.
The words came fast. Standard civil script. No poetry. No promises of forever.
“Do you, Ethan Voss, take Aria Kane to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
“Do you, Aria Kane, take Ethan Voss to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
Rings exchanged. Cool metal sliding over warm skin. His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary when he pushed the band onto her finger. She felt the callus on his thumb brush her knuckle. Intentional? She couldn’t tell.
The registrar smiled the practiced smile. “You may kiss the bride.”
Cameras flashed outside the window. Phones clicked inside.
Ethan turned to her fully for the first time that day.
His face was unreadable. But his eyes—gray, steady—held hers like he was asking permission and daring her to refuse at the same time.
She lifted her chin. Barely a nod.
He stepped closer. One hand slid to the small of her back. Firm. Not possessive. Just enough to steady her. The other lifted her chin with two fingers. Gentle pressure.
She felt his breath first—warm, coffee-scented, close enough to taste.
Then his mouth.
Soft at first. Testing. A brush of lips that could have ended there.
But the cameras kept flashing.
And something shifted.
His hand on her back tightened. Pulled her flush against him. The kiss deepened. Slow. Deliberate. His lips parted hers just enough. Tongue touched hers once—light, fleeting, gone before she could react.
Heat bloomed in her chest. Sharp. Unwelcome.
She kissed back.
Not because the cameras demanded it.
Because her body did.
Her hand found his chest. Fingers curled into his shirt. Heartbeat under her palm—fast. Faster than hers.
He made a sound. Low. Barely there. Not a groan. Just a breath that caught.
They broke apart at the same time.
His hand stayed on her back. Steady. Like he didn’t trust himself to let go yet.
She stared up at him. Lips tingling. Breath short.
His eyes were darker now. Not stormy. Just deeper. Focused on her mouth, then back to her eyes.
“Dangerous,” she whispered. So quiet only he could hear.
He didn’t answer. Just held her gaze a second longer.
Then he released her. Stepped back. Adjusted his cuff.
The registrar clapped once. Awkward. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Voss.”
The witnesses murmured polite words. Phones lowered.
Ethan offered his arm. “Shall we?”
She took it. Skin against fabric. Heat seeping through.
They walked out together.
The courtyard exploded.
Flashes. Shouts. “Ethan! Over here!” “Aria, smile for us!” “First kiss—how was it?”
Ethan’s hand covered hers on his arm. Protective. Guiding her through the crowd to the waiting SUV.
He leaned down as they reached the door. Mouth near her ear.
“Get in.”
She slid across the leather seat. He followed. The door shut. Tinted windows sealed them in.
Silence.
The car pulled away.
She stared at her hand. The new ring glinted under passing streetlights.
“This is dangerous,” she said again. Louder this time.
He looked at her. Not smiling. Not cold either.
“I know.”
She turned to the window. Lagos blurred past—neon signs, traffic, life moving on like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
She felt the press of his lips still on hers. The way his heartbeat had raced against her palm.
And she knew.
This wasn’t just a contract anymore.
It was a fuse.
Lit.
And burning fast.
She closed her eyes.
Three hundred and sixty-four days left.
She wasn’t sure she wanted them to end.
- Writer
