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The aisle is adorned with lavender roses bundled in white satin bows adorning the end of each pew, and matching petals are placed along the edges of the runner. If it were up to me, they would be cornflower blue, not lavender. The music selected is a slow rendition of Wedding March, despite me suggesting Canon in D on violin with piano accompaniment. I would’ve preferred live music over recorded, but everyone insisted it had to do with the acoustics of the space. On the Tuesdayfollowing our meeting here, I brought a violinist with me, and it sounded incredible. Why they wouldn’t allow it is beyond me.
As we continue toward Alex, I’m struggling with the reminder that as soon as Chris is back from wherever he is recovering from his secret accident, we’ll begin our life of carefully planned social engagements, starting with our professionally photographed honeymoon. A two-week-long honeymoon is excessive, but with Congress being out for the majority of August, it’s the perfect time to get to know each other better. Despite the fact that we have been dating for years, we’re still strangers. For all I know, he could sleep the concierge on the first day. Even through the prospective infidelity, it’s the one aspect of the wedding traditions I’ve been looking forward to, when I won’t need to be ‘on’ all of the time.
“Focus, Jaclyn,” Father tuts as we take our final steps to the altar. When we reach it, he takes both of my hands, kissing my knuckles, then presses a chaste kiss to my cheek, and whispers, “If he tries anything unsavory, I can make him disappear.”
Though he means it as a joke, I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me—my father would most definitely make good on the promise. Alex offers his arm to help me up the final four steps to the pastor. Even though Chris and I went through this in rehearsal, the real thing is an entirely different experience when the seats are full and I’m up here on display… withAlex.
Checking my posture and position before ensuring my dress is fluffed out enough for pictures, I’m more nervous than I thought I would be. The downside of politically elite wives as bridesmaids is they don’t care about you—my friends would’ve made sure I look my best.
Alex takes my hands, and I glance out into the sea of attendees. My pulse eases when I find Ileah, my friend from college, seated next to her husband, Tim—a representative from Delaware. I love that she’s close to D.C., but being that Tim isn’t the same party as Chris, I can’t have her standing up with me; it would be bad for both of us. The only way I was able to invite her without raising suspicion was by inviting nearly all of Washington. What was supposed to be a small, intimate wedding is now one of the biggest political events of the year.
Tim is friends with Alex, so if Chris isn’t back, maybe there’s a chance the four of us can have lunch tomorrow...
No, damn it, I’ll have to tell them Alex is pretending to be Chris.
Without a moment to entertain the idea further, the pastor begins with the ceremony. For the first time since I took Alex’s hands, my eyes find his. Now in a tuxedo, with his hair styled like Chris, it’s almost as if I’m marrying the man I’m supposed to. I still don’t understand what Alex has to gain by helping me today, especially since conflict is written all over his face. He had the same look at our graduation when I took the stage—a swirl of sadness and disappointment, with a dash of respect and pride.
The pastor drones on stiltedly about love and finding your soulmate. I cast my gaze away from Alex’s and he squeezes my hands, bringing my attention back to his golden hazel eyes. They are the first tell that he’s not Chris. The second tell is that his shoulders are testing the confines of the ill-fitting jacket; Alex must work out significantly more than Chris does.
Shame washes over me, admitting Alex is the more attractive of the twins as I drink in the man before me. Goosebumps prickle down my limbs, and my breath picks up ever so slightly, enough for Alex to notice.
“You’re doing great, Jaclyn. Keep breathing. It’s almost over,” he whispers, leaning in to brush his lips to my cheek. His sweet gesture and his smooth voice calm me more than I thought they would. My heart slows, and I’m able to focus on the pastor again.
We begin the unity ceremony, and as we pour the sand into the larger vase, I feel like a damn hypocrite. This is supposed to represent the joining of our families, but also of our hopes and dreams. Meanwhile, mine are dependent upon a man who isn’t even here. There is nothingunifyingabout any of this.
The pastor leads us in a prayer, and my stomach falls—not only am I lying to everyone in attendance and the country, I’m lying to God. This whole ceremony goes against every fiber of my being, everything I’ve been taught, everything I believe in. On paper, I’m marrying Chris, but in the eyes of God, I’m marrying Alex.
Oh, shit. Am I adding polygamy to my list of sins? Coveting my fiancé’s brother is likely at the top.
It’s time for the part of the ceremony I’ve been dreading, and I hand my bouquet to my maid of honor. She gives me the ring to slip onto Alex’s finger; his best man, Phillip, does the same. The fact that Phil hasn’t noticed that Alex isn’t Chris gives me pause.
Alex and Chris couldn’t be more different, how am I the only one that notices?
We exchange rings and vows, all meaningless to Alex. “With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge you my love and devotion, now and forever,” I proclaim.
He then repeats, “With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge to love, cherish, protect, and be devoted to you, now and forever.”
Those are not the vows, Alex!
The pastor then ends the ceremony with, “By the authority vested in me by God, and by the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Oh no…
A small smirk tugs at Alex’s lips as he leans in, tilts his head to the right, and kisses me softly. It’s chaste, as promised, but I can’t help noticing the difference kissing him—his lips are fuller, he’s gentler, and a quiet hum escapes me the moment our lips touch. My cheeks warmin embarrassment as I find myself a bit curious what he tastes like.
If I part my lips slightly…
No! What am I doing?
I brush the thought away as we pull back. It’s the firstand lastkiss we’ll share.
Cheers erupt all around us, and Alex quietly asks, “Are you ready?” I nod, and he guides me down the aisle as we’re showered with lavender and white rose petals.
If I never see another lavender flower again, it’ll be too soon.
When we reach the end, we’re ushered away by Lisa for photographs. My stomach sinks at the prospect of staged pictures of us embracing or…
The blood drains from my face. That wasn’t our last kiss, we have no less than twenty more.
