She was lovely, certainly, in a sad sort of way. Bruce wouldn’t go so far as to call her features exotic, but her skin was nicely colored, he supposed. He had to be careful to train his features during the ceremony.. he kept cringing at his own thoughts, at his own shallowness. Bruce hadn’t thought he was that sort of person, to put stock in appearances. If they looked good, bed them, if it felt good, do it. Now society’s expectations had forced his hand into meeting up with a match-maker, into providing a check-list of things he liked and didn’t like, into shuffling through pictures, one sad, pretty girl after the next.
“ … take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife … “
Bruce was only half listening. He was looking at the girl – the woman – Rachael – and trying to discern if she was feeling what he was feeling.
“ … hold, in sickness, and in health … “
Bruce suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to say NO. Because all of these things the priest was saying, all of these things he remembered from flipping through his parents’ wedding book as a child, these were vows and they were meant to be kept and cherished and honored and –
“ … richer or poorer … “
He was doing this for really all of the wrong reasons. He barely new her maiden name, he barely new her, outside from a short paragraph beside her picture –
“… as you both shall live?”
His heartbeat pounded in his ears and he realized this was his turn. Just as she had dutifully said her line, now he had to put up or shut up.
“I do,” he said, his icy exterior hiding the fact that inside, he felt as if he was going to hell for frankly lying inside a goddamn Catholic cathedral.
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