#lexleon.wedding

This wasn’t how you’d expected the week to go when you’d gone to bed on Sunday night. Your life with Leon was as routine as it could be, with your work schedule and his being mostly similar, the only thing truly special about this week were the dinner plans you’d made for that Friday. 

And you were still going out on Friday, only now it was to celebrate your marriage rather than a “just because” night out. 

You’d woken up Monday, tucked into his chest securely like every other morning. You got to spend a few minutes chatting with Leon about how you both had slept and exchanging sleepy kisses before your alarm actually went off, and then you both went about your morning routines before you went to work and he went to run some errands since he was taking the day off. 

The day ran off course when the bank he was at was robbed while he was there, and you got a call that he was in the back of an ambulance getting checked out after getting into a fist fight with one of the robbers. Your workday ended promptly after, preferring to be wherever it was Leon was going to be after something like that happened — even if that was just at home on the couch. 

On that same couch is where you’re laying on his chest, his fingers playing with the loose strands of your hair that escaped the messy bun you’d thrown your hair up into after getting home and trading your business casual for girlfriend casual. You’re more focused on his heartbeat beneath your ear and his steady breaths beneath you than you are the episode of Cutthroat Kitchen that had to be a decade old, but your mind travels to the events of his morning and how remarkably unbothered he was despite the blooming bruise on his jaw. 

“Was it scary?” you ask as he yawns, and you have to stop yourself from calling him old for yawning before the sun has even truly set. 

“It was a little, I guess. People can be unpredictable, moreso when they’re desperate. I was more worried about you though.”

“Me?” That has you carefully sitting up, one of your legs wedging itself between his hip and the back of the couch while the other rests more easily on the edge. His hand that was on your back holds your hip, the one that had been in your hair being caught by one of yours in your movement for you to hold onto as you met his gaze for the first time in about an hour. “I wasn’t in a bank robbery.”

“No, but you worry a lot about me. And what if something had happened to me? How can I take care of you if I’m hurt, or worse?”

The or worse wasn’t charming to hear, not that anything he’d said was intended to bring you any comfort — but you also knew that Leon was just telling it how it was. He’d never sugarcoat things for you, especially after you’d started seriously dating, which you appreciated but sometimes you didn’t want to think about the realities of dating a man twenty years your senior with a scary job. 

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I’ve gotten really good at doing it for you, and this morning made me think about how you would be taken care of.”

“Is this where you tell me you’re revising your will?”

“Did that months ago when I realized you’re my forever. You get the house and my car, beneficiary to my life insurance too. Sherry and Claire already laid claim to a couple things, but the rest is yours.”

“At this rate we might as well just get married.”

You’d meant it as a joke, and the way he huffed out a chuckle suggested that he took it as a joke. It's something you’d said a few times before, meant to tease him for being so serious and make yourself feel better about whatever serious conversation you were having. Never a real suggestion, because you both had said that you were okay with not getting married and simply being together for the rest of your lives. 

On Tuesday evening you learn that he had taken your usual joke as a serious suggestion. 

“We should get married.” He says it so casually as you’re drinking your water, the surprised gasp resulting in you choking on your water while he watches in concern. “Mouth to mouth?”

“Wouldn’t c-complain,” you cough out, taking a tentative drink off your water to hopefully ease the discomfort in your throat. “You’re serious?”

“My pension and other work benefits don’t go to my beautiful roommate, and I want to make sure you get everything you can in the worst case.”

“Didn’t we agree like a month ago that we didn’t want the spectacle of a wedding and all that?”

“Who said we need the spectacle for you to be Mrs. Kennedy?” he asks, pulling you from where you sat beside him to sit on his lap. “We can go to the courthouse tomorrow and call it done.”

That was a fair point, you could definitely have the marriage without the wedding, and you were basically his wife already. He didn’t correct people in the rare event where it was assumed you were married, only pulling you in closer with a proud smile when they did (but you would assume that part of that was just happiness that they didn’t think you were his daughter). 

“We don’t work Friday, so that would be preferable to tomorrow. Can I pick out my engagement ring?”

“We can go tomorrow after work and then treat ourselves to a nice engagement dinner.” His suggestion has you smiling, resting your head on his shoulder and letting him take your left hand in his. “Do you want the cruise in August to become our honeymoon, or do you want something separate?”

“Two birds, one stone.” You smile, earning yourself a kiss from your fiance. “How big is your pension as the most popular employee of the least popular government org, anyway?”

“Considering I’ve had this job almost as long as you’ve been alive, I’m grandfathered in on a plan that was made when the economy wasn’t in shambles.”

“Yeah you’re a grandfather alright,” you tease, yelping when his fingers dig into your side to tickle you. “This isn’t how you propose, asshole!”

“You can’t take back your ‘yes’.”

You spent Tuesday night looking at the websites of local jewelry stores, focused on your engagement ring while he shopped wedding bands on his phone. Wednesday morning you find the one you wanted, and with a sheepish smile send Leon the link with the additional information that the jewelry store was a half hour drive before going back to your work while waiting for him to review it and let you know how feasible it was for your plans. 

It takes half an hour for you to get a response that it had been ordered in your size, and that he’d called the jeweler to learn that they just happened to have exactly what you wanted without needing to make any adjustments. It feels like you’re making the right decisions, regardless of how rushed these decisions were, and you’re content to continue through your workday with the knowledge that when Leon picked you up he’d have your engagement ring. And you would be wearing it as you ate sushi at a stupidly high end place he was able to get a table at. 

When Friday morning comes you both wake up with your alarm, but neither of you are in a rush to get out of bed. He’s rubbing your back as you bask in the tender attention of his lips on your neck, the acceptance that this Friday in July was about to change for the rest of your lives in a way that you hadn’t expected when the week started. 

You have his full attention as you both get ready for the day; a shared shower made longer by his desire to appreciate every inch of you, his hands helping you into the dress you’d picked out for this occasion before he’d even put his own pants on. But you get to return the favor, carefully combing through his hair as he buttons his white dress shirt and kissing behind his ear once you’d finished. 

“I didn’t notice this bruise,” you murmur, gently poking the small patch of discolored skin as he hums in confusion. “Did you hit your neck on Monday too?”

“I guess so, but we can worry about that later,” he says, looking over his shoulder and smiling when you lean in to kiss him. “Let's get married first, and then we can count my bruises after you give me a few new ones tonight.”

You were getting married today, it still didn’t feel real to you and you doubted that it would ever feel like a real event. You’d only had two days to get used to the weight of your chosen engagement ring on your finger, catching yourself staring at it every so often or playing with it on your finger. Even he was playing with it when he held your hand, and you know for a fact it’ll be so much worse when your wedding rings arrived. 

The courthouse was a large building that you worked very close to, so you would walk by it on your lunchtime walk, but you hadn’t ever thought to go inside. The inside was just as daunting, but because there was nobody in the first floor lobby but you and your soon-to-be-husband. The sound of your heels against the tile flooring echo through the lobby as he leads you to the sign by the elevator while pushing the button to call it down to your level. 

“What are you nervous for?”

“Who said I was nervous?”

“Your death grip on my hand.” He holds yours tighter when you try to let go, leaning in to kiss your forehead as you smile up at him. “I’m a little nervous too.”

“For what?”

“I’ve never gotten married before. What if I’m bad at being a husband?” 

The elevator doors opening cut off your response, the chattering of the people leaving the elevator distracting you momentarily before Leon is guiding you into the elevator and pushing the button for the fourth floor. 

“I don’t think that’s something to worry about,” you finally murmur, looking up at him as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “You love me too much to be a bad husband.”

“As long as you trust me.” 

An hour later you’re officially married, marriage certificate in hand as you’re getting back into the elevator. You don’t feel much different, so you’re not sure why you were so nervous to get on the elevator. It was the first day of the rest of your life with Leon, starting on what was a randomly selected Friday in July. His concerns about being a bad husband were mirrored by your concerns of being a bad wife, but realistically you two weren’t bad at being each other’s partners so the new titles shouldn’t add any additional weight to your relationship.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, his hand rubbing your side as the elevator doors close and leave you alone with your husband for a few moments. 

“You wanna consummate the marriage in the porsche, Mr. Kennedy?” you ask as you lean against his chest as the elevator starts its descent to the first floor. His chuckle is low in your ear, a kiss to your temple that has you grinning before tilting your head back to get a proper kiss from your husband.