Chapter 2
Boston City Hall was surprisingly busy for a Wednesday morning. I smoothed my simple blue dress – the nicest thing I owned that wasn't covered in lab chemical stains – and tried not to hyperventilate.
Ethan looked annoyingly calm in his navy suit, flipping through paperwork like this was a normal Tuesday business meeting. The simple gold band he'd bought last night sat in a small box between us on the plastic waiting chairs.
This is really happening.
"Elena Rodriguez and Ethan Mitchell?" The clerk called our names.
Here we go.
The ceremony room was small and official, nothing like the weddings I'd imagined as a kid. Justice of the Peace Williams smiled professionally while we stood facing each other.
"Do you, Elena Rodriguez, take Ethan Mitchell to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
I looked into Ethan's eyes and felt that familiar flutter from college. Focus. This is for research.
"I do."
The moment I spoke, something weird happened. A strange dizziness washed over me, like static electricity in the air. I blinked, and for a split second, I could swear I saw translucent words floating above Ethan's head:
She said yes... even if it's fake, she's my wife now...
I shook my head. Stress hallucination. Had to be.
"Do you, Ethan Mitchell, take Elena Rodriguez to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do." His voice was steady, confident.
But those weird translucent words appeared again: Her handwriting is still the same... used to love watching her take notes...
What the hell?
Justice Williams beamed. "You may now kiss the bride."
We both froze. Neither of us had discussed this part.
More words flickered: Should I? It's just for show... but I've wanted this for so long...
Ethan stepped closer and kissed my cheek gently. The touch sent electricity through my entire body, and I felt my face burning.
This is not a normal stress response.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell!"
Mrs. Mitchell. The name sent a weird thrill through me as we signed the certificate.
Twenty minutes later, we sat in a coffee shop across from City Hall, officially married and completely awkward about it.
I watched Ethan over my latte, testing my earlier "hallucination." He was scrolling through his phone, probably checking work emails already.
The translucent words appeared again: She looks confused... hope she doesn't regret this... beautiful in that dress...
I nearly choked on my drink. "Did you just say I'm beautiful?"
Ethan's head snapped up. "I didn't say anything."
Oh my God. I can actually hear his thoughts.
More words flickered: Why is she staring at me like that? Did I do something wrong?
"You didn't do anything wrong," I said automatically.
His eyebrows shot up. "I didn't ask if I did something wrong."
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. This was impossible. People couldn't read minds. Except apparently I could read his, and the neural synchronization research I'd read about brain wave frequencies was suddenly making terrifying sense.
This is either the best or worst thing that ever happened to me.
"Elena? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I forced a smile. If only it were that simple.
The memory hit me suddenly – college, four years ago. Sitting in the library, stealing glances at the computer lab where Ethan was always surrounded by girls asking for help with coding assignments. I used to watch him explain algorithms with infinite patience, thinking he was so far out of my league that I might as well be admiring a movie star.
He's so perfect, I'd thought back then. Focus on your studies, Elena. Guys like him don't notice girls like you.
But if I'd been able to hear his thoughts then...
I looked at him now, successful and gorgeous and somehow sitting across from me wearing a wedding ring I'd watched him put on twenty minutes ago.
Four years later, and he's still perfect. But now I have an advantage.
"Ready to head to my place?" Ethan asked, standing up. "I mean, our place. For the research."
Our place. The words sent another weird flutter through my stomach.
In his car, I twisted the unfamiliar weight of the wedding ring around my finger and caught another thought: She's really wearing my ring... Mrs. Mitchell... sounds perfect...
I bit back a smile. This mind-reading thing might actually be fun.
But then I heard: Now I just need to not screw this up... she can never know how I really feel...
My smile froze.
How he really feels? What does that mean?