The Ritual

The moment we touched back down in Pennsylvania we went and applied for our marriage license. Three days later we were at city hall getting married.

I look down at the ring on my finger and run my thumb over it. It’s still hard to comprehend. It’s like a dream. One that I could have never imagined. I guess you would call that weekend we had away our honeymoon because we didn’t have time to get out of town after we said I do.

I stand in Ryat’s bathroom at the house of Lords, looking at myself in his mirror. My hair is up in a French twist, my makeup done heavily with silver and black eye shadow with thick black liner on top and bottom, with extra thick mascara and matte red lips.

Running my hands down the white satin gown, I take in a deep breath. Tonight’s the ceremony. To say I’m nervous is an understatement. I’m not sure what to expect. But one thing is for sure, I’m no longer Blakely Anderson. Now I’m Blakely Archer—Ryat’s wife.

It isn’t hard to say or comprehend. I understand what we did. I also understand that I’ll never leave him. I owe Ryat that. My commitment. My body. My heart? Do I have to love him too? Or is the rest enough?

The fact that he was even willing to save me from Matt is good enough for me.

“Blake, you ready?” I hear Ryat call out, entering his room.

“Yeah,” I say, turning around to stand in the doorway of the bathroom just as he enters.

He comes to a stop; his emerald eyes drop to the train on my dress and slowly run up over the fitted material that hugs me like a glove. There’s a slit up my right leg, so high, I wasn’t even able to wear any underwear because it comes up past my hip. The satin material covers my chest, coming up high up in the front, to where it wraps around my neck, two silk pieces tie in the back in a big bow leaving the leftover satin to fall over the open back. Every time I move, I feel the soft and cool material glide across my skin, making me shiver. The entire back is cut out, dipping to the top of my ass.

I didn’t wear a dress to city hall. Instead, I chose a white suit. But tonight, I wanted to dress up for him. He once told me he was proud to call me his chosen after we performed the vow ceremony. I wanted him to feel that way tonight, knowing that I’m now his wife.

My heart begins to race, breaths coming in quick bursts at the way he looks at me. His emerald eyes slowly run up and down several times.

Reaching up, he pulls on his bow tie and clears his throat. Taking a step toward me, I take one back, and he stops. “Are you going to burn it?” I ask nervously. It’s revealing, showing off my bare back, leg, and hip along with a little side boob. But somehow, even the parts of my body it covers, I still feel exposed.

He begins to walk toward me again, and this time, I don’t retreat.

Coming up to me, he cups my face, his eyes searching mine. “No,” he whispers, his eyes dropping to my covered chest. “Blake … you look stunning.”

I blush, letting out a long breath, and drop my head, unable to help the smile that spreads across my face.

There’s a knock on the door right before it swings open. “Ryat?”

I look up, and he snaps, “What?”

“You’re needed, man,” Gunner informs him then looks at me. Winking, he gives me a thumbs-up. “Hot wife.”

My cheeks burn. I still can’t believe we did that.

“Gunner …” Ryat starts.

“I’m not leaving.” He enters the room and crosses his arms over his chest with a playful smile on his face.

Ryat growls deep in his chest and turns to face me. “I’ll meet you out there.” He places a kiss on my cheek and turns, walking out.

Taking a second to myself, I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to slow my racing heart. I exit the room, making sure to shut and lock his bedroom door behind me before pocketing the key in my clutch that barely fits my cell phone.

Making my way to the ballroom, I look for Ryat or Sarah but don’t see them anywhere. The place is packed. Decorated with white twinkling lights and soft piano music. So different from when I was here the first time.

“Would you like a glass of champagne, miss?”

I go to tell her no, afraid of my last experience. Now is not the time to get drunk or drugged. But she pops the cork and grabs a flute. “Yes, please.”

Handing it to me, I thank her and take a sip.