“I love you too, Tucker. I’m sure they will too when they are old enough to know what that means.”
“Then what do you think about building a new house together?”
“Honestly, it might be too soon.”
“It might be?”
“If this doesn’t work out between us, will you still be happy there?”
“Will I be happy anywhere?”
“You were happy here.”
“No. I was content, not happy. There is a huge difference in the two.”
“I just don’t want you to do something you think is for us and then it not work out.”
“Do you anticipate that happening? I mean, do you know already that you don’t want this? I know we’ve had some moments together and I know how I feel. I guess I just assumed you felt the same already. Isn’t that what we just said to one another when we admitted we are in love? I know it’s early in the game, but if you see no future, tell me now.”
“No. No. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I do have feelings for you, and I do want this to work between us.”
“Then, let’s not worry about what happens tomorrow or next year. Let’s build a house together.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
The next few months were spent putting plans together for their house. It would take roughly six months for it to be built, finished and landscaped, meaning they would be able to move into it by spring. In the meantime, they would continue to live in their current home, but Tucker had no intentions of selling it once they moved. It would be maintained as a weekend getaway.
For the present time, they were spending more and more time at the clubhouse, getting to know the people there. Even though Tucker had grown up there, he had spent so much time away from them that he had a lot of catching up to do. At first, it had seemed to go well, but then small cracks began to appear.
“So, you’ve been married for how long now?” one of the other Omegas asked.
“Almost ten months.”
“Ah, still honeymooners then.”
“Very much so, honeymooners with babies,” she laughed.
“Didn’t waste any time, huh?”
“No, not at all.”
“Where did you get married?”
“Just a simple ceremony at home.”
“Roy and I were thinking about getting remarried for our tenth wedding anniversary next month. What is the name of your pastor?”
“I honestly can’t remember. He was recommended to us by a friend.”
“That’s odd. I would think someone who was married this year would know who performed their ceremony.”
“I was just so excited, and it wasn’t like we are regular church goers,” she replied, hoping she sounded plausible.
“I suppose that could happen. Wouldn’t it be on your marriage certificate though? Maybe you could get it off there for me.”
Leslie was beginning to feel deeply uncomfortable. Was this woman grilling her or did it just feel that way because she had something to hide? Of all the things she and Tucker had gone over, she’d never once thought to make a note of the name on their marriage license and even if she had, did they even exist? She could hardly put this woman in touch with a make-believe minister. She had no idea how their marriage license was generated or if it would even turn up anywhere besides on the piece of paper they were given as proof.
“I will see if I can find it,” Leslie told her, knowing she would not do any such thing.
Back at home that evening, she talked to Tucker about the encounter. He seemed disturbed by it as well.
“Who was the woman?” he asked.
“I’m not certain. I think her name was Pam Burke or maybe Burkett.”
“Burke. She’s the wife of Don Burke. He has been asking me some odd questions here and there as well.”
“Do you think they are suspicious?”
“Maybe. I’ll call the agency and ask about the minister, see if he exists in this area, if he is someone who will vouch for us.”
“You think a minister is going to lie on our behalf?”
“It’s possible. The agency has a wide network that helps them maintain an air of authenticity. They are thorough with their details. We had a long talk about that when I went to them for help. The documents they provide aren’t fake. Your social security card, your ID, our marriage certificate - they are all legit. If anyone decided to check them out, they shouldn’t see any red flags.”
“I hope you’re right,” she replied, then an afterthought struck her. “Wait. Does that mean we are legally married?”
“Basically. Does that bother you?”
“No, but it feels a little strange.”
“Where does it feel strange? I’ll kiss it back to normal,” he joked.
The truth was that she felt a disappointment she wouldn’t speak aloud. They were married, for all intents and purposes. There would never be that magical moment when he proposed and she accepted, no large wedding with family and friends. A part of her wanted to say that she had already done that and it had ended badly, so why did it matter? It did matter, somehow.