Chapter 3: The Impulsive 'I Do'

Eventually, the conversation turned to the pressure from our parents to get married.

On a whim, I suggested, “What if we just…”

He instantly got it: “Should we…”

And just like that, we were totally on the same page. That night, on impulse, we snuck off with our IDs to the courthouse.

Even though it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, he still dressed up—seriously and formally. Who does that for a courthouse wedding? Mason, apparently.

He wore a gunmetal gray suit, styled his hair, and looked sharp and handsome, his features perfectly defined.

He even brought me a bouquet of roses.

When he handed them to me, he couldn’t even look me in the eye.

But my phone buzzed—it was a message from him: “You look… really beautiful today.”

I replied, “You too, you look great.”

After we sent the messages, we both turned away, embarrassed, and stayed that way for a while before finally going to take our wedding photo.

He took care of all the wedding reception arrangements, too.

At first, my parents were furious that we’d gotten our marriage license behind their backs. They laid into me for three days straight, saying they’d never agree to let me marry that guy. Famous last words.

But when he threw an over-the-top engagement party, my mom saw a $950,000 wire for the wedding and a house down payment, and the place filled with luxury gift baskets—and she went silent.

My dad looked at the driveway full of Teslas and a truckload of top-shelf whiskey and cigars, and he was even quieter.

Mason Fairchild, dressed to the nines, walked over—he looked like a movie star straight out of a magazine.

He seemed a little nervous: “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, I hope this covers everything…”

He barely got the words out before my parents jumped in: “We give our blessing!”

Then they shoved me into Mason’s arms, their eyes brimming with tears: “You have to be happy, okay?”

Me:

What was I even supposed to say?

Mason smiled. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Collins.” Like I'd just given him the world.