Good morning and welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Each week, a group of talented authors share with you from the current manuscripts. Usually, we work from a word prompt but the week we have a picture and that limits us to 300 words!
While I have a few works on the go right now, I’m taking you back to Paradise Island with MJ and Paul and Wedding Bell Blues. Last time we were here, the lovely couple were about to go through with a mock wedding, but like everything else that’s happened on this island, things don’t turn out quite the way they were planned. Everyone loves a wedding! So without any ado, let’s get that show on the road.
“Do you Marilyn take this man, Paul, to be your loving husband?” the official asked.
MJ swallowed the lump in her throat, prayed the earth wasn’t going to open up and swallow her whole after all, and croaked out an answer, grateful there hadn’t been an obey line in there.
Paul smiled down at her, the glow on his face too genuine to be false. Moments earlier, he’d repeated his vows loudly, without hesitation. She had to be dreaming, and yet she wasn’t.
Beside her, Cindy held her bouquet and beamed. Rick, as Best Man, had done his job well, and the beautiful wedding band designed to complement her engagement ring now adorned her finger.
“In as much as you, Marilyn, and you, Paul, have openly declared your desire to be united in marriage, have joined hands, given and accepted a ring, and stated your vows, by the powers vested in me by God, the United States of America, and with the special permission of the secretary of state for Overseas Departments and Territories, and the minister of the interior of France, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Paul pulled her into his arms and bent his head. “Looks like we’ve pulled it off, kid,” he whispered seconds before his lips captured hers.
The kiss should’ve been a quick peck, a formality to seal the deal, but instead, the heat from his mouth had her melting like butter on a stack of pancakes. If he wasn’t holding her, she would be a puddle on the sand. He raised his head and smiled once more.
“Hello, Mrs. Davis. As Sherlock would say, ‘The game’s afoot.’ We’ll be fine.”
Mother of God, what have I done?
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