A Billionaire for Christmas

When they reach the top her fake father stops just a step away from me, turns to Emma, and lifts her small veil up and says something low and soft in Italian.

Emma nods her head at him and murmurs, “Thank you.”

Then she turns to me. I reach for her and she takes my hand, stepping forward to stand next to me as we both face each other in front of this chapel filled with people.

It’s only then that we realize… the priest is speaking in Italian.

Both of us giggle. Fuck it, right?

What did we really expect? And surely, this day could not get any weirder.

We hold hands as he speaks, probably saying all the usual things. Marriage is serious. Marriage is a lifelong commitment. Marriage is sacred.

Yes. I agree to all those things.

I hold Emma’s hands in mine as the ceremony proceeds. And I even hear a sniffle or two from our audience. Nice touch, Fingers. Nice touch.

And even though everything here started out fake, suddenly everything feels very, very real.

I am marrying this woman.

The priest pauses, and when we look at him we realize we’re up.

We didn’t discuss this. We have no vows! And even though everyone else is working off a script, we’re just winging it.

Emma looks a little frightened. Her eyes are wide and her pouty lips are making a perfect, round, o shape.

I squeeze her hand. “I got you, babe.” Then I clear my throat and begin.

“Emma Dumas. I first met you thirteen years ago. We were young, and one of us was very stupid.” She smiles wide and sucks in a breath of air. “Me,” I say, looking out at the crowd. And hey, they get it. Because they chuckle a little at my joke. “But I don’t think I ever told you how you grabbed my attention that day. I saw you from across Mallory Square. You were wearing little Daisy Duke cut-offs and a white tank top. And, of course, those now infamous pigtails.”

She squeezes my hands as she shakes her head and looks down for a moment. But she quickly raises her eyes back up to meet mine. Like she refuses to miss a single moment of our big minute.

“And Emma, I thought to myself… ‘Jesse Boston—’” A slight murmur from the crowd makes me pause for a moment. I guess they didn’t know who I was and now they do. Jesse Boston is the same no matter what language you say it in. “I said, ‘Jesse Boston, how in the heck have you been on this island for a week and are just now seeing this girl?’ You see,” I say to the crowd, “I missed her. And I hated that. I really hated that. Because up until that moment when I first saw this vision of a girl, I was doing nothing. I was nothing. I was wasting time, and taking up space, and couldn’t even begin to imagine what the next thirteen minutes would bring, let alone the next thirteen years. So I took my chance.” I turn back to Emma. “I went up to your shaved ice stand and asked you out. It was probably not my best pick-up. But Emma, I just want you to know… it was my most honest one.”

She lowers her eyes again. And when they rise up to meet mine just a moment later, I see the shine of a tear in them.

“It was… honest. Every moment with you that night was honest. And when we reconnected thirteen years later, every moment that came after was honest too. You not only make me want to be a better man, I am a better man with you by my side.” I bring her hand up to my lips and I gently kiss her fingers. “Thank you. Thank you for seeing the better me. Thank you for buying me from a bachelor auction with grand delusions of revenge. Thank you for the one-up dream date. Thank you for sharing your family with me. Thank you for being my knight in shining armor… just…” I shake my head. “Babe? I can’t do this without you.”

She inhales deeply, lets go of one of my hands to swipe a tear off her cheek, and then says, “Jesse Boston. You were my fantasy man when we first met. You were the man who made all the promises. You were a boy so golden I could barely stand to look at you.”

I sigh. Because I didn’t feel good enough for her back then. I was so afraid she’d see through me. So afraid she’d realize what a fraud I was. So afraid that she’d figure me out and sneak away, thankful that she dodged a bullet with a boy called Jesse.

“And when you disappeared, I was lost. I was someone else when you left. Some other girl who no longer understood her place in this world. And for the next thirteen years I would think about you at least once a day. I would think… what could we have been? What life would we have lived if we had stayed together from the start? If we had never gone out and did our thing, by ourselves, on our own?” She squeezes my hands. “And you know what?”