“We live in Farmington. Is there someone there?”
“Not today, but it does look like the municipal court judge there has an opening on Monday at eight fifteen.”
“We’ll take it. Can you schedule that, or do we need to call the office ourselves?”
“I can schedule that for you. Be aware that there will be an additional charge for his services due before the ceremony can start. The license has to be returned to this office within ninety days for it to be valid.”
“Understood,” Nate says as he pulls the marriage license off the counter. Then he turns to me, sweeps his arm behind my back, and ushers me out of the office.
Once again, he helps me into the SUV, and I almost open my mouth to complain about the vehicle being too high, but I know how ungrateful that would make me sound, so I keep my mouth closed and those thoughts to myself. I don’t actually mind the height of the vehicle, it’s him needing to put his hands on my waist to help me inside that’s the problem. His touch is frying my brain, making it impossible to think correctly.
Nate waves to Cara and Javier, climbing inside without a word.
“What are we doing?” I ask when he turns the opposite direction out of the parking lot than the way we arrived.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I had a sandwich earlier.” Earlier meaning some time yesterday, but him getting me something to eat is just one more thing I’ll owe him for, and I’m already going to owe him so much. There’s no way to repay him for agreeing to marry me and raise a child that isn’t his.
“Well, I’m starving. There’s this amazing little diner I think you’ll enjoy.”
“I don’t have any money,” I confess.
“I guess it’s a good thing that I have plenty.” He winks at me, the action so quick and immediate that it makes me wonder if he winks at everyone.
“I couldn’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. What kind of fiancé would I be if I didn’t feed you?”
I have no response to that, so once again, I stay silent.
The diner is small and homey, the scent of French fries permeating the air when we walk in. Nate guides us to a booth, taking a seat opposite of me, and I shove down the mild disappointment I feel that he didn’t urge me to scoot in and sit beside me.
See? My brain is fried. Just minutes ago I didn’t want him helping me into the vehicle, and now I’m wishing he was pressed to my side.
The waitress takes our drink order before walking away.
“The root beer floats are really good here,” he says.
“Water is fine,” I assure him as I scan the menu for the least expensive thing that won’t upset my already queasy stomach.
“So, what are you having?”
“The grilled cheese,” I say as I close my menu and place it back on the table.
He chuckles. “Okay, but I meant a boy or a girl. Have you found out yet?”
“I haven’t been to the doctor.”
His face falls. “Really? Prenatal care is very important. I’ve heard it no less than a million times from the women at the clubhouse. You need—”
“My grandparents helped me get that. I have a birth certificate because I wasn’t born there. I moved there as a little girl.”
“And the other kids? What about school?”
“Kids born at the compound weren’t sent to public school, only those of us that arrived later.”
“Is it hard to talk about? We don’t have to talk about it. All you have to do is tell me to shut up, and I’ll never bring it up again.”
“I’d never tell you to shut up. A wife’s place is to—”