Chapter Two: The Paper Promise
1079 Words
City Hall buzzes with quiet excitement—couples clutching paperwork, photographers adjusting settings, officials moving people through the bureaucracy of love.
I spot Caleb immediately. Even dressed casually in a navy button-up and charcoal slacks, he pulls attention like a magnet in a room full of paper clips.
He sees me and his stride falters for a moment. That alone makes my heart trip.
"June," he says, closing the distance between us. "You look..."
"Passable for the photos?" I supply, hating the insecurity that creeps into my voice.
"Beautiful," he finishes, his eyes—those impossible blue-green eyes that have stared out from countless magazine covers—moving over my face. "Really beautiful."
"Thanks," I manage, though my mouth feels suddenly dry. Up close, he smells expensive—some subtle cologne that probably costs a limb maybe.
"I half expected you to bail," he admits, hands in his pockets.
"Why would I?" I ask, genuinely surprised.
He shrugs one shoulder, a gesture so boyish it belies his public persona. "It's a lot to ask someone. The whole... arrangement."
"We made a deal," I say, like it's that simple. Like I'm not standing here with my heart racing just being near him.
"Well, I appreciate it. Seriously." He runs a hand through his hair, looking almost boyish despite being six-foot-something of pure athlete. "My agent thinks this will work. Get the sponsors back, maybe even that Gatorade deal."
"Happy to help," I say, hating how formal I sound. "Should we...?"
"Yeah, let's do this."
We take our place in line behind an elderly couple maybe in their seventies who can't stop touching each other—hands, shoulders, cheeks like they are teenagers.
"Fifty years today," the woman tells me, catching my stare. "We're renewing our vows."
"Congratulations," I say, feeling a pang of something like envy.
"Best decision I ever made," her husband says, squeezing her liver-spotted hand. "Marry for love, dear. Everything else is just noise."
Caleb shifts uncomfortably beside me.
When our turn comes, the ceremony is brief. The officiant, a woman with kind eyes and a seen-it-all expression, takes us through the motions. I say "I do" and try not to mean it too much.
Caleb says "I do" like he's confirming a dinner reservation.
"You may kiss," the officiant says, clearly bored.
A flash of something—panic? reluctance?—crosses Caleb's face. Then he leans in, his fingertips barely grazing my waist, and presses his lips to my cheek.
"Sorry," he whispers against my skin. "Didn't think about that part."
"It's fine," I whisper back, though my skin burns where he touched it.
We sign the papers and just like that, I'm June West. On paper, anyway.
Outside, the photographer Victor sent is waiting. He poses us on the steps, directing us with a bored voice.
"Closer together. Hand on her waist. Look at each other, not at me. Smile like you're in love."
Caleb's palm is warm through the thin silk of my dress. I look up at him, channeling every rom-com heroine I've ever envied.
"That's it!" the photographer calls. "Perfect. Can we get one with a kiss?"
Caleb hesitates, then leans down. This time, his lips brush mine—a feather-light touch that lasts less than a heartbeat. It's nothing, really. A barely there kiss. It was over before I can even register it. And yet, my traitor heart thunders in my chest.
"Got it!" The photographer checks his camera screen. "These will work perfectly. Congratulations, you two."
As soon as he's gone, Caleb steps back, creating distance between us. "Thanks for going through with all that."
"Part of the deal," I say, aiming for nonchalance. "So... now what?"
"We should probably be seen somewhere public. Brunch, maybe?" He runs a hand through his hair—that familiar nervous gesture I remember from high school. "I have training at the track at one, but we have time."
"Sure, brunch sounds—"
His phone rings, cutting me off. The way his face transforms when he looks at the screen tells me everything I need to know.
"Sorry, I need to take this," he says, already stepping away. "Hey, you," his voice softens as he answers.
I stand there, suddenly alone on the steps of City Hall, watching my new husband talk to the love of his life. The same way I've watched him from afar my entire life.
When he returns, his expression is apologetic but distracted. "That was Tessa," he says, not bothering to explain who she is. He doesn't need to. I've seen the tabloids. The gorgeous girl he's been with since before the scandal broke.
"She's in London," he continues. "Studying abroad for the semester."
My stomach twists. So the girlfriend is still in the picture. Not exactly a surprise, but hearing it confirmed stings more than it should.
"I need to call her back," he continues. "She's been texting all morning."
My stomach drops.
"Go ahead," I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds.
"Thanks." He takes a few steps away, then turns back. "Oh, I'll move my stuff into your place tomorrow. Just the basics like we discussed."
I nod, watching him walk away, already dialing.
"Tess, hey, it's done," I hear him say before he's out of earshot. "Yeah, everything's in place like planned. Victor's handling the press release."
And I stand there on the sidewalk in an expensive white dress that suddenly feels like a costume, my red-soled Louboutins pinching my toes, wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into, unsure if I should be laughing or crying.
I know what this is.
I agreed to it.
But standing here, watching Caleb walk away, I realize those years of fantasy have crashed headlong into reality.
I take a deep breath and text Elena: "It's official. Mrs. West needs tequila tonight."
Because what else is there to do when you've just married your dream man, and he's someone else's dream come true?
I touch the gold sun pendant at my throat—my mother's, the one thing of hers I wear every day—and whisper, "Whatever will be, will be.
Contracts end. Scandals fade. Hearts heal.
At least, that's what I tell myself as I walk alone down the City Hall steps, a brand-new ring on my finger and fifteen years of unrequited love slowing down my steps.
- Writer
