4 ~ Zane

We are getting married tomorrow.

Two days. That was all it had taken from the signed contract to the scheduled wedding. I had expected Sloane Reed to take the full three days, maybe longer. Instead she had called Patrick from the café, confirmed the date before she even stood up from the table, and had everything arranged by evening. She didn't hesitate and she didn't second guess and watching her operate that efficiently made one thing very clear.

She was not doing this lightly. She was doing this because she had decided it was necessary and when Sloane Reed decided something was necessary she moved like there was no other option.

I could respect that. I had built everything I had on the same principle. Decisions made clearly and executed without hesitation. Sentiment was a luxury that people with less at stake could afford. Sloane Reed understood that and it told me more about who she was than anything else I had observed about her.

The photoshoot day was today.

The studio was clean and bright, the kind of space that existed specifically for the purpose of making things look intentional. The photographer had arranged the setup already when I arrived, neutral backdrop, soft lighting, the kind of environment that produced images that looked effortless without actually being so.

I was already in position when the dressing room door opened.

She walked out and I took her in without making a thing of it. Makeup was neat and precise, not too much, it was the kind that was done by someone that knew his way around her face. She wore an outfit that was fit and simple and that photographed well without trying too hard. She moved across the studio floor with the particular composure of a woman who was used to being looked at and had long since decided how much of herself to give back.

The photographer greeted her and she responded warmly enough without being excessive about it. She scanned the setup once, assessed it, and moved into position without needing to be directed twice. I watched all of it and said nothing.

"Miss Reed, if you could step closer to Mr. Della-Ross." The photographer gestured with his hand and she moved without hesitation.

"Perfect. Now if you could angle your shoulder slightly toward him."

She adjusted without a word.

"Mr. Della-Ross, your hand at her waist please."

I placed my hand there and she didn't react. Didn't stiffen or shift away.

"Miss Reed, chin slightly down. Yes, exactly that." He stepped back to check his frame. "And if you could both look this way, as natural as possible."

She looked at the camera and I looked at the camera and whatever natural was supposed to mean in a situation like this, we managed something close enough.

"Beautiful." He moved to adjust the lighting. "Now if you could turn toward each other slightly, like you're mid conversation."

She turned toward me and I turned toward her and we were close enough that I could smell the vanilla again, warm and quiet, settling into the space between us.

"Perfect. Hold that.”

She didn't react. Didn't stiffen or shift away. She just stood where the photographer wanted her to stand and looked where he wanted her to look and I kept my hand exactly where it was and she stood the rest of the way.

I smelt her before ever giving it a conscious thought. Vanilla. Warm and quiet and eerily familiar, though I say, I couldn't have said from where. It was a non-announcer perfume. It simply perched itself around her and remained.

When the photographer counted down, I looked at the camera.

Sloane Reed. For years I had been watching her from afar, like people do when they live in the same orbit but never touch. Cole's girl. The one who had decided at ten to stay where she was, and never left. She had always been composed, always precise, always slightly out of reach of whatever room she was standing in even when she was standing in the middle of it.

The photographer guided us through a variety of locations. Sitting and standing, hand in hand with a neutral surface. Each time she followed directions cleanly and each time I adjusted to her without making it awkward. We'd managed to shoot a lot of photos without speaking more than three words and that was fitting.

When the photographer finally said he had everything he needed she stepped back and checked her phone once.

"I'm leaving." She said it to the room generally, already reaching for her bag.

“Your fitting is at four.” I said without looking it up.

She stopped and stared at me.

"I have your schedule." I kept my tone even. "You booked it yesterday."

Something crossed her face that she didn't quite complete. Then she picked up her bag and walked out without another word.

I watched the door close behind her.

Even a contract marriage was something Sloane Reed was going to do correctly. I knew all this, but seeing her say it in real time was different. She was precise about everything. She would come tomorrow in the appropriate attire at the appropriate time and appropriate words would be used and none of it would be accidental.

Neither would mine.

---

She arrived on time.

The registry office was quiet, just the officiant and two witnesses we had arranged through Patrick. No guests, no flowers, no string quartet. Clean and functional, which suited both of us better than the alternative.

I stood at the front and watched her walk in.

She had chosen something ivory, simple and well cut, nothing like the elaborate cathedral gown she had been wearing two days ago in a ballroom full of people. This suited her better. She looked like herself in it rather than like someone's idea of a bride.

She reached me and I extended my hand.

She glanced at it and then took it.

Her hand was cool and steady.

The registry office was not the Grand Meridian ballroom. There were no cascading florals, no string quartet, no sea of faces watching her walk in. Just a quiet room and two people who had made a practical decision. And yet she carried herself the same way she had two days ago walking down that aisle. Chin level, steps measured, nothing on her face that she hadn't put there deliberately.

The officiant began. The words were brief and simple like civil ceremonies were, there was no length of service in church, only the necessary words spoken clearly in a quiet room.

We said our vows.

I said mine looking directly at her and she said hers looking directly at me and neither of us looked away.

The officiant pronounced us married.

We signed the certificate and both witnesses signed below us and that was it. The whole thing had taken eleven minutes.

Eleven minutes to change two last names on paper. I had sat through board meetings that lasted four hours and decided less. I straightened my jacket and picked up my copy of the certificate and folded it once before putting it away.

We walked out together into the afternoon, and went into the car that was waiting at the curb. The door closed and for a moment neither of us said anything.

"The official post goes up in a few hours." Her voice was business like and composed, already moving to the next item. "I've had the statement prepared."

"Good."

She turned to look at me then and I could see the question forming before she asked it.

I leaned my head forward and spoke to the driver.

“Drive.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

I settled back against the seat.

"You'll see.”