LYRA
08.20.15
“Are we really doing this right now? Are we crazy?” I whisper excitedly in Tavian’s ear as the limo pulls up in front of the white chapel.
“Yes, and definitely yes.” He squeezes my hand and gives me the damn chin-dimple grin, which I just discovered is even more potent and powerful when he’s wearing a suit. “You’re ready to become Mrs. Octavian West, right?”
“That is so outdated and sexist,” I playfully scold, scrunching up my nose and shaking my head in disapproval. “If I was going to take your name, I would be called Mrs. Lyra Jennings West, or maybe just Mrs. West.”
The driver opens the door to usher us out of the town car and to the church where our married life awaits, but Tavian doesn’t budge. “If you were going to take my name?” he scoffs, brow furrowed, jaw tight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re not changing your name to mine? I thought you were all in with this too, Lyra. My love for you isn’t temporary. I’m not marrying you for eight months; I’m marrying you for life.”
Immediately, I feel awful for making him think I’m only doing this because I think it’s a temporary arrangement. We may be crazy for getting married after knowing each other such a short amount of time, but my response to his proposal, even if I believed we were both going to live to be a hundred, would’ve been the same.
Reaching up, I cradle his clean-shaven cheeks in my hands and rest my forehead on his, our eyes glued to each other’s. The limo driver, our witnesses, and everyone else who is waiting for us to move can just keep on waiting. I refuse to exchange vows until this man is crystal clear on how I feel about him.
“Tavian West from Philadelphia, my love for you is infinite. It has no expiration date and no boundaries,” I speak straight from the heart. “My not wanting to take your name has no relationship to the depth of my feelings. I just didn’t want to go through the trouble of legally changing it. There isn’t a worse way, in my opinion, to spend two full days of my possibly-not-very-long life than waiting at the social security office and the DMV, especially not when I could be doing something adventurous and fun with my amazing husband instead. But if it means that much to you, I’ll do it.”
As if a wave of relief and understanding washes over him, his entire body relaxes and a megawatt smile creeps across his face. He plants a hard, possessive kiss on my lips and murmurs, “No, you’re right, buttercup. A name means nothing. I know who you belong to.”
I have a chance to catch my breath and clear my head during the short walk from the car to the chapel doors, but once we step inside, the craziness begins. Immediately, we are surrounded by Tavian’s mom, her “friend” Sammy that she insisted on bringing with her on the trip, and Judith, the wedding coordinator Tavian and I met with yesterday to go over the details of the wedding.
“Oh my heavens, look at you! You are absolutely stunning, my dear!” Marie exclaims as she engulfs me in a giant bear hug, careful not to mess up the hair I spent two hours this afternoon having cut, highlighted, and styled in an up-do in the chic hotel salon.
Tavian’s only request for the wedding was that I wear my hair up so he can see my face, and I happily obliged. Now that I don’t have to hide from the numbers, I no longer need my shield of long locks. It’s taking me a while to adjust to the change, and I still have so many questions surrounding all of it, but I refuse to squander away any of the precious time I have left worrying over something I have no control over. Maybe… hopefully… I’ll eventually learn the hows and whys of the mystery behind the numbers—both their existence and disappearance—but today’s not that day.
Today is my wedding day.
Less than seventy-two hours after I said yes to Tavian’s proposal, we were on a plane flying first class from Philadelphia to Las Vegas, the best place in the world for a stress-free wedding, and also a destination to check off my bucket list. Another twofer we worked out.
And just like Tavian promised, we’ve spent the last few days exploring the city pretty much budget-free—staying at a fancy hotel, eating at restaurants without prices on the menus, sitting VIP at exclusive shows, and gambling in rooms roped off to the general public. Well, only Tavian has been gambling really, but I’ve been watching and learning, and before we leave, I’m going to try my luck at some blackjack. Maybe.
His mom and Sammy arrived earlier this morning, and they’re planning on staying through the weekend, though at a different hotel in order to give us both a little privacy. Tavian seemed quite surprised when Marie announced she was bringing her man-friend along, and when I asked him about it, he told me Marie hasn’t dated since her husband died so many years ago, and up until his birthday dinner, he didn’t realize she’d met someone. And with everything that’s happened since that night with us, he hasn’t had a chance to give it a lot of thought.
At first, I was afraid he’d have trouble accepting their relationship, but in typical Tavian fashion, he’s been nothing but supportive of her finding happiness again. His ability to see the big picture and look past his singular viewpoint is rare and extraordinary.
“Thank you! You look beautiful too.” I squeeze her back just as hard, thrilled she’s here to experience this moment with us. I know part of the reason getting married means so much to Tavian is because of his mom, and I want to give her all these happy memories to look back on.
No matter what the future holds.
The guys exchange handshakes, and then Marie kisses her son’s face multiple times, telling him how proud she is, while Sammy and I share a friendly embrace. I don’t remember what his date was from the night we met. I was so overwhelmed with meeting so many new people and trying to act normal that everything just kind of whizzed by. For the first time since I haven’t been able to see the numbers, I find myself wanting to know his. I want them to be after Marie’s in case things work out between them. I want her to never be alone.
Judith taps her clipboard and we turn to look at her. “Is everyone ready to go? We’re up next in the Crystal Chapel,” she announces with a smile so trained I wonder if she sleeps like that. “Lyra, you need a last-minute restroom break to check your makeup or dress or anything?”
I glance down and scan the white lace of the fitted, cocktail-length white Versace dress Tavian picked out for me when we went shopping for wedding clothes yesterday. When I couldn’t find anything I loved in the first six stores we went in, we made a deal that he could choose my outfit and I could pick his. Less than an hour later, we were both ready to go, shoes and accessories included. And I couldn’t be more pleased with the final product.
“You look beyond gorgeous, babe. Out of this fucking universe,” Tavian reassures me, softly feathering his lips against my temple.
His mom slaps his arm and grumbles, “Language,” when he drops the F-bomb, which causes the rest of us to snicker and chuckle at her scolding her grown son for cussing, on his wedding day no less.
“I’m good to go,” I confirm to Judith, and she nods her approval then steps off to the side to talk in the microphone of the headset she’s wearing.
A tizzy of excitement and anticipation swirls deep in my belly. I can’t believe this is really my life right now. From hermit to hitched in two months. We’re writing a new kind of fairytale.
“You ready?” I gaze up at Tavian and give him my best smile. The one I feel radiating from my head to my toes.
Tavian grabs my hands and intertwines our fingers then lifts them both to kiss my knuckles. “I’ve never been more ready for anything, buttercup.”
Don’t cry yet, Lyra. Get through the vows.
“Okay, you guys are up,” Judith announces as she rejoins our group. “Right this way.”
We follow her through the over-the-top ornate, flashy space and I’m forced to hold back my amusement. Vegas weddings are so cliché, especially in this famous little chapel, and if you would’ve asked me eight weeks ago, I would’ve bet everything I owned that I would not only never get married, but most definitely never do it like this.
And now… now any wedding with Tavian is the perfect wedding. Because it’s not really about the venue or the dress or the food or the cake. The only thing that matters is the couple standing in front of God and whoever else happens to be there, swearing their undying love for one another.
We pass through an archway into a room with similar flamboyant décor to the rest of the place—more gold and white than you can imagine—where an older gray-headed man in a suit and a photographer wait for us at the end of the center aisle. Judith leads us down to them, then gives us a tip of the chin and says, “Congratulations and good luck.”
I don’t have time to question why in the world someone would say “good luck” right before you get married, because with the flash of a camera and a “Dearly beloved,” the ceremony begins, and before I know it, it’s time to say my vows.
With my focus locked solely on the incredible, handsome man in front of me—a man who has given me a second chance at a full life, regardless of length—my voice never falters or cracks once. I speak with conviction and love.
“I, Lyra, take you, Tavian, to be my husband,
to have and to hold
from this day forward,
for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish,
until the end of time.”
Tavian’s whole face lights up as I say the modified version of the last line we insisted on. “Until death do us part” isn’t long enough for what we’re promising each other.
When it’s his turn to recite the vows, my entire world tilts on its axis and I have to remind myself to breathe. This tops anything I put on my list.
“I, Tavian, take you, Lyra, to be my wife,
to have and to hold
from this day forward,
for better, for worse,
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish,
until the end of time.”
My cheeks hurt from grinning so big, but I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I’ve never felt more alive.
The man begins talking again, but I’m not paying much attention. We opted to skip the ring ceremony—for now—so all I need to hear is “You may kiss the bride” to seal the deal and make it official. Thankfully, it only takes him another minute or so to get there, and before he can even finish the sentence, Tavian’s possessive lips are on mine in an all-consuming kiss. His tongue slides effortlessly into my mouth as his hands cup my jaw, and neither of us lets go until the officiant clears his throat and the photographer tells us to pose for a picture.
A couple flashes and congratulations later, Judith returns to usher us out to the lobby area, where she gives us our signed marriage license and a website to view and order the photos from. After a final goodbye, she immediately moves to greet another couple who has just walked in. And just like that… we’re officially husband and wife.
But we’re not quite done crossing things off our list today.