The vow itself was delicate in language, yet lacking in graceful delivery! A pristine way to accept a slapdash commitment from none other than Cornelia Peeters. The kiss landed on his lips as if it were a butterfly docking a flower, and if he were that flower, he was in full spring bloom. How precious his new wife was as she performed a happy-dance to follow, the obnoxious clicking of her heels ruining the sanctity of the space for couples waiting behind them. The clerk had clearly grown bored of them, hoping for their natural dismissal as they continued to loiter about in their celebratory humor.Â
Arthur embraced her, his usual deportment making him subject to fold from the embarrassment of their public display⌠But he reminded himself that these other people were mere strangers, only minorly inconvenienced by their long-winded show of affection. The paperwork could wait just a moment longer while he expressed his honest enthusiasm, and shared in the revelry of their unification.Â
Her teasing never did cease, but foundational to their relationship he found himself to be ribbing in response. âPerhaps Iâm terrified because my wife happens to be a terrifying woman.â Arthur retorted, smiling in one last embrace before taking up the offered pen and signing their certificate. His signature was a hallmark, characterized by his cursive penmanship and peculiar way of running the middle line of his âAâ through the remaining letters of his first name, and the same practice performed on the âMâ of his surname. Once finished, he handed the pen off to Cornelia.Â
His eyes traced the movements of her pen as she signed. It was done. Her heart had been resting unsuspectingly in his palm for many months, but only then was he able to close his fingers around it, and finally secure his fist in his pocket. She belonged entirely to him now, and the pulse of their living passions would forever be felt in his possession of her.Â
The clerk took the official document and ran it through a scanner, pressed a stamp that read [KOPIE] onto the newly printed paper, and returned the original document to the newly wedded. She then asked for the next in line, passively dismissing both Melbournes while maintaining her completely unmoved disposition.Â
Arthur held the document responsibly. He admittedly did not trust Neeltje with legal documents, but he supposed that in her newfound publishing career, he might owe her the benefit of the doubt. Even though she was hopelessly disorganized.
As they walked away from the desk together and out into the bright, sunshiney afternoon, Arthur felt reborn. âYouâre my wife.â He said with awe, squeezing her hand before ditching it in favor of pulling her closer by her waist. Careful not to wrinkle the evidence of their matrimony, he pulled her in for another kissâthis time, without the eyes of innocent patrons and government employees. They demonstrated their love in the openness, entertaining the idea that they were normal people, as if the rest of the natural world had been caught in hell-flames⌠In how many ways could a poet write âI love youâ, he wondered. This challenge intrigued him, and Cornelia drove the curiosity.Â
Pulling gently from the kiss, his eyes bonded with hers before he winced them shut, recalling the pain it took to get to the current moment. He would take a thousand lashes again and again, in the end, it had all been worth every last, bleeding sting.Â
âRings!â He remembered, pulling himself out of his routine brooding. âYou need a ring. Youâre too dangerous with a bare ring-finger.â He joked (sort of, not really).
She remembered the slight drag of the metal nib against the paper, the way she had intentionally lopped the C and P - making exaggerated, sharp strokes that felt entirely distinct from his pristine cursive.Â
Without looking up from her looping script, she offered a faint, knowing tilt of her head. âA terrifying woman?â she answered, her voice low enough to belong to the space between, bypassing the indifferent glares of the hallway. "To live a life with a woman whose true purpose is to torture you, forever." She teased with a playful smile or at least, she tried "What a tragedy for you.â
She finished with a deliberate pause. Even with the sterile thud of the clerkâs rubber stamp that followed. The finality of it had settled deep in her quest. She knew how his mind worked, how he viewed her life in a meticulous order, while she simply lived it in. Even now, with her identity legally bound to his, she felt no sudden urge to soften or back down. Marriage wasnât an invitation to be tamed, and she had no intention of softening the sharp edges he loved her for. What was the point of marriage, if he did not love her for who she truly was? Neeltje chose not to not ponder it any further.Â
Out in the open, the heat of the pavement radiated through the soles of her shoes. The thoughts that flooded her mind were silenced with each passing kiss Arthur gave her. She was beyond happy to provide him with more, forever. In that second, she was the wife of an author. How niche. She wondered if she could bring her interest in writing back with Arthur now by her side, musing her and inspiring her. Neeltje turned her head to look at him as he suddenly went rigid, his mind visibly snagging on the missing rings.Â
When she spoke of her being dangerous with a bare finger, the amusement in her eyes quieted. She looked down at her hand, her finger bare and flat against the warm air. It was only a fraction of a second, but the hesitation was there - a sudden awareness of the empty space where a symbol of eternity belonged, a fragile reminder of their time to get here. They had paid for this day in many heartbreaks, and the sudden absence of the ring made victory feelâŚalmostâŚprecarious.Â
But it was their wedding day! And she had no intention of allowing such a statement to shadow it. âDangerous-" Neeltje repeated the word, sounding like silk on her tongue. Her expression perfectly composed, yet laced with a subtle, mocking challenge in understanding his joke.
"And here I thought modesty was my redeeming quality! But if it keeps you from an early grave, my loveâ she said, her tone light as she leaned her shoulders into his. She tried to play it off as lighthearted, but the sharpness of her tongue always found a way to slip out! "Just make sure it's fitting. I, unfortunately, have very delicate taste." Still, she gave his arm a playful nudge. âAnd please stop staring at my hand like Iâm holding an unpinned grenade. Besides, youâre going to choke the life out of that paperwork if you grip it any tighterâŚâ
For Neeltje, it was time to leave the past behind, to step into their new journey as the Melbournes, and finally enjoy martial bliss.Â













