The Chapel

The base chapel smells like furniture polish and bad decisions.

I'm standing at the altar in my nicest leather jacket, which is still a leather jacket, but it's black and mostly clean, watching a man I met three weeks ago adjust his dress uniform in the mirror by the door.

Colonel Colton Pierce. Thirty-five. Career Army. The kind of shoulders that look like they were designed to carry burdens and look good doing it.

My fake husband in approximately four minutes.

"You sure about this?" I ask.

He turns. Those blue-gray eyes locked on me with an intensity that still caught me off guard. "Are you?"

"I'm sure I'm out of options."

"That's not the same thing."

"Close enough."

The chaplain clears his throat from behind his podium. He's been doing that since we walked in, little coughs and throat-clearings that telegraph his discomfort. This is clearly not the romantic ceremony he signed up to perform when he took his vows.

Join the club, buddy.

"If we could proceed?" he says. "I have a counseling session in thirty minutes."

Colton walks toward me. His boots are so polished I can see the chapel ceiling reflected in them. Everything about him is precise, ordered, exactly where it should be.

I, meanwhile, have mascara that's probably smudged and a pulse I could feel in my throat, which seemed excessive for someone doing this purely for practical reasons.

"Ready?" He stopped beside me. Close enough for his cologne to register, something clean and subtle, probably Army-approved.

"As I'll ever be."

The chaplain opens his book. "We are gathered here today..."

"Can we skip that part?" I interrupt. "He has counseling. I have an eight-year-old who thinks I'm at a doctor's appointment."

The chaplain's expression suggests I've just confirmed every assumption he made when we walked in.

Colton's mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Luna."

"What? It's true."

"Let him do his job."

I sigh. "Fine. Gathered. Today. Go on."

The chaplain rushes through the standard vows like he's trying to beat a land-speed record. I repeat words that should mean everything and currently mean nothing except a custody hearing next month and a roof over Danny's head.

"Do you, Luna Morales, take this man..."

"I do."

"I wasn't finished."

"I'm efficient."

Colton does almost-smile again. It transforms his whole face, cracks the serious officer mask and reveals something warmer underneath.

Don't, I tell myself. Don't notice that.

The chaplain turns to him with visible relief. "Colonel Pierce, do you take..."

"I do."

Now the chaplain almost-smiles. "Apparently efficiency is contagious."

"It's one of my better qualities," Colton says. Then, to me: "The ring."

Right. The ring.

I pull it from my jacket pocket, a simple gold band we picked out together at the PX last week. His is in his palm, twin to mine. We'd stood there in the jewelry section like the world's most awkward couple, debating band width like it actually mattered.

"Any particular reason you chose the thin one?" he'd asked.

"Less commitment."

He'd stared at me for a long moment. "It's a two-year contract either way."

"Fine. It's cheaper. I'm practical."

But now, sliding it onto his finger, feeling him slide its twin onto mine, practical is the last thing I feel.

The metal is warm from his hand. The weight is foreign. The whole thing is insane.

"By the power vested in me," the chaplain says, "I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

We look at each other.

The contract didn't mention kissing. The rules we established, separate bedrooms, public affection only when necessary, no complications, definitely didn't account for this moment.

"We should probably..." I start.

"For appearances," he agrees.

"Right. The chaplain will talk."

"Exactly."

Neither of us moves.

The chaplain coughs again.

Colton steps closer. His palm settled at my waist, light, careful, like he was handling something that might break. Or explode.

Fair assessment.

"Okay?" he asks quietly.

"Okay."

He kisses me.

It's brief. Barely a brush of lips. Completely chaste and entirely appropriate for a military chapel at two in the afternoon.

It still makes my stomach flip.

Pull back. Act normal. This means nothing.

His face went neutral the second he pulled back. Colonel Colton Pierce, back in command.

Except his palm was still warm at my waist.

"This is the least romantic wedding I've ever seen," I say.

"It's not supposed to be romantic."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

His hand dropped. Every trace of warmth vanished behind the rank.

"I'll handle the paperwork," he says. "You should pick up Danny before your doctor's appointment runs suspiciously long."

Right. Danny. My nephew. The whole reason I just married a stranger.

"Luna." The chaplain stops me at the door. "May I offer some unsolicited advice?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Probably not." He smiles, the first genuine expression he's shown. "Marriages that start unconventional have a way of finding their own path. Give it a chance. You might be surprised."

"It's not a real..."

But Colton's hand is on my back, guiding me out before I can finish.

"Thank you, Chaplain," he says smoothly. "We'll keep that in mind."

The door closes behind us. Afternoon sun hits my face. I'm standing on a military base, wearing a wedding ring, married to a man who's essentially my roommate-with-legal-benefits for the next two years.

"Well," I say. "That happened."

"It did."

"So now what?"

Colton checks his watch. Of course he checks his watch. "Now you pick up Danny. I'll finish the housing paperwork. We move your things in tomorrow."

"And then?"

"And then we play house." He starts walking toward the parking lot. "Two years. That's all it takes."

Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days of pretending to be something we're not.

I look down at the ring on my finger. Gold. Simple. The cheapest option because I'm practical.

"Hey, Colonel."

He turns.

"Thanks. For doing this. I know it's not..." I struggle for words. "You're helping me save my kid."

His face eased. Warmed. "He's lucky to have you."

"He's stuck with me. Different thing."

"Not from where I'm standing."

He walks away before I can respond. I watch him cross the parking lot, all precision and purpose, a man who always knows exactly what he's doing and why.

I'm the opposite of that. I'm chaos in a leather jacket, making it up as I go.

But chaos or not, I just committed to two years with Colonel Colton Pierce.

God help us both.