Mr. and Mrs. Ford

The priest, who had been dutifully reading from the scripture, had heard every single word of their whispered insults. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, choosing to power through as if he were officiating the most sacred union in history, even though absolutely no one was listening.

After droning through his long script, he finally arrived at the exchange of vows.

He turned to Zeke first. "Mr. Ford, please recite your vows."

Zeke exhaled through his nose, casting a fleeting glance at Ava before shifting his attention back to the priest. He pulled out a small piece of paper and unfolded it with theatric slowness, causing Ava's eyebrow to twitch.

Then, with the most insincere tone imaginable, he began:

"Eva Summers. When I first heard I was to marry you, I felt many things—"

Ava perked up slightly. Oh? Where's he going with this?

"—Disbelief. Annoyance. A sudden urge to fake my own death and live with the fishes."

Ava's nostrils flared.

Zeke, unbothered, continued reading. "But alas, fate is cruel, and here we are. So, I vow to tolerate you, as best as I can. I vow to only call you an insufferable tyrant behind your back instead of to your face. I vow to pretend I don't see you stealing food from my plate. And most of all, I vow to ensure this marriage doesn't end in a courtroom scandal—probably."

He folded the paper and gave her a smirk. "With that, I'm done."

The priest looked like he had aged five years.

Ava, on the other hand, cracked her knuckles, inhaled, and smiled sweetly.

The priest turned to her with caution. "Miss Summers, your vows?"

She didn't need paper. She had rage.

"Zeke Ford," she started, voice dripping with forced sincerity, looking at his eyes. "When I was told I had to marry you, I went through all five stages of grief in record time."

Someone in the crowd coughed to stifle a laugh.

"I wondered, 'What crime did I commit in my past life to deserve this?' But then I realized—oh. Maybe this is just my charity work for the year."

Zeke squinted.

"So, I vow to tolerate you, as best as I can. I vow to pretend you have an ounce of intelligence when making decisions. I vow to smile politely when you say something stupid instead of kicking you under the table. And most of all, I vow to not replace you with a houseplant, even though I'm certain it would provide better conversation."

She placed a hand over her heart. "With that, I'm done."

Silence.

The priest blinked. Once. Twice. He took a deep breath, turned a page in his scripture, and prayed for patience. He had been teetering on the edge of collapse, suddenly found a glimmer of hope—an unspoken reassurance that yes, this wedding would eventually end.

Exhaling in relief, he quickly gestured for the ring bearers to step forward.

Eva and Zach moved gracefully, carrying out their roles without hesitation. Ava's gaze landed on Zach just as the murmurs in the church grew louder.

"The groom looks so uninterested."

"Well, what do you expect? It's just Eva."

"If only he were marrying Ava instead, maybe he'd look happier."

Ava felt something deep within her bristle. And then, right on cue, Zach caught her staring.

And then he winked. Her entire body went rigid. She had never seen Zach before, but for some reason, something inside her told her it was the exact same wink from the other night—the one she hadn't had the time to overanalyze.

Before she could react, Zach had already stepped back, Eva still at his side, grinning like a cat that had just devoured a canary.

Ava narrowed her eyes. That little traitor is enjoying this way too much. She even did a good job acting as me.

The priest cleared his throat, cutting through the murmurs. "Now, the rings," he announced, subtly pleading with the universe to let this wedding proceed without incident.

Zeke reached for the ring first, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were contemplating throwing it out the nearest window. Ava snatched hers with just as much enthusiasm, gripping it like it personally offended her.

With a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she grabbed Zeke's hand, yanking it toward her. "Give me your hand," she muttered.

"You could try asking nicely," Zeke muttered back, though he let her take it.

The church held its breath as Ava slid the ring onto his finger, a little too aggressively. Then it was Zeke's turn. He took her hand, hesitating just long enough to make her twitch.

Ava's eyes flickered dangerously. "Don't you dare."

Zeke shrugged. And then—slowly, almost theatrically—he slid the ring onto her finger, taking his sweet time as if he were painting an intricate masterpiece instead of completing a simple ring exchange.

Ava gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to stomp on his foot again.

The priest, who had aged approximately six years now during this ceremony, inhaled deeply. "By the power vested in me—"

"Finally," Ava muttered under her breath.

"—I now pronounce you husband and wife. "There was a brief, expectant pause then— "You may now kiss the bride."

Ava forced a smile so tight it could legally qualify as a Botox injection.

Zeke turned to her, eyes glinting like he enjoyed her suffering — which, of course, he absolutely did. This man probably went to therapy just to brag about how mentally stable he was.

"Well, darling," he drawled, leaning in slow like he had all the time in the world. "Pucker up."

"I hope you choke on my bouquet."

"I hope you trip on your veil."

They smiled harder.

It should have been a quick kiss. Barely there. A whisper of lips — just enough to fool bored witnesses and one very bored officiant.

But then his mouth brushed hers —

and she felt it.

The spark.

Like the universe itself was going, ohhhh you two are gonna be so dumb about this.

Ava pulled back so fast she nearly headbutted him—but, something seem wrong. The more Ava look at Zeke, the more her gut tells her the bastard's face doesn't seem right.

"I mean, he's as handsome as the last time I saw him in the restaurant," Ava thought to herself. "But..."

"What are you looking at?" Zeke groaned silently when he noticed Ava leaning closer.

"Where's the mole on your neck?"

And with that one simple question, Zeke froze.