Part 9
Friday, 7:12 p.m.
“You want me to do what?” Wesley asked, flabbergasted by the request coming from his two closest friends.
“Marry us,” Cordelia said. “Be a priest or a minister or whatever, and perform a wedding ceremony.”
Wesley’s eyebrows remained raised, as if permanently affixed in that position. “And why, exactly, do you want me to do this?” He looked pointedly at Angel. Cordelia, he could understand. Well actually he couldn’t, but that was the point. Cordelia was impossible to understand. It was a daily occurrence for her logic to defy all laws known to man and nature. But Angel, well, Wesley had come to expect a certain level of responsibility from the vampire that was sorely lacking in the current conversation.
Angel caught Wesley’s look and quickly averted his eyes. He’d already been through this with Cordelia, and he’d been total putty in her hands. He felt sorry for Wesley, but he wouldn’t be any help to him at all. He just couldn’t say no to Cordelia. Not about this.
He’d been standing outside Mrs. Chase’s hospital room, reeling from the overheard conversation and stunned at Cordelia’s quick agreement to a marriage ceremony, when his now “bride-to-be” had barreled out of the room and smacked into him at a speed that would’ve knocked over a brawny WWF wrestler.
Or a Master vampire.
A grunt had escaped Angel’s lips as the momentum shoved them both into a gurney on the other side of the hallway. Angel’s arms had immediately gone around her to steady her, their eyes meeting and holding, hers overwrought, his amused.
Cordelia had just had her salvaged plan completely fall apart on her again and she was more than freaking out. She was in full-fledged chicken little, “the sky is falling!” overdrive. It had been bad enough that she’d had to ask Angel to kiss her. Now she had to ask Angel to marry her. The scary thing was that the idea of being his wife wasn’t at all unappealing.
Cordelia had laughed nervously when his arms encircled her to keep her from falling.
“Uh, sorry, Angel.” She’d smiled weakly, grasping the well-defined muscles in his upper arms, pushing back and giving them some distance.
Desperate to regain some control over her emotions, Cordelia had grasped at the first possibility of avoidance. “So you weren’t, like, standing outside the door listening just now, or anything, were you?” She’d asked, an expression of pathetic hope on her face. Maybe his super vamp hearing was on the fritz.
“I was,” he’d said.
“Oh,” Cordelia had looked disappointed. Damn it. This wasn’t her week.
It had occurred to Angel that he should make this easier on everybody and just agree to whatever she wanted and get it over with, but he’d been morbidly curious to find out how she was going to explain herself. He’d leaned back against the gurney, folded his arms, and prepared for an onslaught of Cordelia Logic.
Cordelia had sighed, realizing that there weren’t many options open to her. Stalling had failed miserably. Maybe straightforward was the best option here. It worked last time.
“Angel, will you marry me?” She’d asked bluntly, then rushed on when Angel just blinked at her. “It’ll only be for a little while, I promise.” Her eyes had begged him to agree.
Angel had realized he’d been boxed into an emotional corner. Earlier, after he’d gotten over the shock of Cordelia’s promise to her mother, he’d been determined not to give in this time. It was one thing to play at being her fiancée, but to actually marry her? No. He didn’t think he could handle that.
He’d agreed to this farce in the name of harmless fun, payback for minor irritations Cordelia had caused him since she’d started working for him. His plan had backfired miserably. They’d only shared one kiss so far, but in that instant, Angel had recognized the simultaneous response of both his demon and his soul. Cordelia had soothed one with her passion, the other with her trust in him. In that moment, she had become infinitely more than his friend.
He was falling amazingly hard and fast for his beautiful seer, and he knew instinctively that pretending marriage to her would seal his fate. Breaking up with Cordelia, even from a fake marriage, would affect him deeply. His soul would be broken and his demon would be pissed. Both halves of his being were too possessive to willingly part with a rare gem like Cordelia Chase.
Looking into her desperate features as she begged him to comply, Angel didn’t think he had the strength to refuse her. For his own sanity, though, he knew he had to try.
“Cordelia—“ Angel had said, raking his hands through his hair in frustration. “Why can’t you just tell her ‘no’? That’s an easy word. Two little letters. N. O. Nnnooo,” he enunciated slowly. Even as he said it, he wondered if he would have done any differently had he been in her place.
Cordelia knew that Angel was right; she should’ve said ‘no.’ Her conscience had been screaming the same thing at her. But her heart was battered with the knowledge that her mother was dying, and she just couldn’t bring herself to go back in that hospital room and refuse anything her mother requested of her. Mrs. Chase wanted to see Cordelia get married, and damn it, that’s what she was going to get.
Glancing back at Angel’s resolute features, Cordelia had glimpsed a crack in his armor. Even though his face was unreadable, Cordelia could sense a flicker of compassion in the depths of his dark eyes. But the fact that he was ignoring it really burned her. Would it kill him to just agree and spare her the trauma of convincing him?
Well, fine. Two could play at this game. Her jaw had set determinedly. Was the thought of being married to her—even pretend—that appalling?
So she’d fought back with the secret weapon of women everywhere: tears. Her eyes had welled up as she’d turned the big hazel orbs on her best friend, one fat tear spilling over and running slowly down her cheek.
“Angel, I’m losing her! This is her dying wish! You want me to say no to my mother while she’s on her deathbed?”
She’d paused dramatically, her lips trembling as she fought back tears that were mostly genuine, then whispered brokenly, “How could I do that to her?” Her shimmering eyes had held his for a split second, then she’d whirled away, sniffling, hiding her guilty expression from him.
Unable to handle the sight of her tears, Angel had tried to argue sensibly. “Cordy, I—,”
“Just—, just forget it, Angel.” Cordelia had interrupted; deep hurt and weariness lacing her tone, “I’ll think of something to tell her. God only knows what!” she had ended, brokenly.
God, I’m officially a bitch, she’d berated herself as she searched her purse for a tissue. She’d felt like such a heel as his face had softened at her tears, the need to reassure her now clear on his face.
Angel was desperately trying to figure how to fix this without breaking Cordelia’s heart in the process. Agreeing to “marry” her was a given at this point. The moment he’d seen her eyes well up with tears, a sight so uncharacteristic of his strong, independent seer, Angel had known he was lost. But now he had to figure out a way to avoid an actual marriage. Maybe if it wasn’t legal, his possessive nature would be mollified.
His immediate problem had been to cure the dejected look on Cordelia’s face when he’d displayed his obvious reluctance. She’d given him torturous silent treatments before, last night being one of them, but this new, suffocating blanket of disappointment was a whole new level. It had occurred to him that this time yesterday, he was the one inflicting the torture. If they were keeping points, she would definitely be winning.
Cordelia knew the ensuing quiet after her outburst meant that Angel’s resolve was breaking. As the silence reigned, Cordelia, her back to Angel, had allowed herself a small smile at how well this was progressing, her guilt fading to an ignorable level. She wasn’t faking the anxiety; for her mother’s sake, she really did fear that if she’d refused, her mother would become despondent and die even more quickly. Cordelia’s fears had led her to agree.
But she had to admit to herself that her other motivations weren’t so pure. She’d had just about enough of Angel turning on the charm and the heat, making her body melt and her mind turn to mush. She knew he was doing it to pay her back for roping him into this, and it was working way too well. If her dreams were any reliable indication, his behavior was affecting her emotionally as well as physically, and Cordelia decided that now was the time to get the upper hand back. If she didn’t get some control of the situation soon, her over-active hormones were going to turn into head-over-heels love for Angel. An annoying little voice in the back of her head said, Too late for that! but she squooshed it.
This was her golden opportunity to pay him back for his little seduction scheme and, at the same time, get what she’d always wanted: her mother’s approval.
Her only choice had been to fight back with the one tactic she knew was most effective with her boss and friend: guilt. Every time she cried, which wasn’t often, Angel felt responsible and rushed to comfort her.
In an innocent example of Cordelia’s thoughts, Angel had reached out a hand to grasp shoulder, turning her around and bringing her watery gaze to meet his. His eyes had spoken his apology for him more eloquently than he could ever put into words. He’d said simply, “Okay, Cordelia, I’ll do it.”
A brilliant smile had broken over her face, and he’d reached his hands out to stop her when she would’ve lunged in to hug him. “But I have one condition.”
“What condition?” Cordelia had asked, peering at him warily through drying tears, her hope wavering at his tone.
“Wesley performs the ceremony.”
“But Wesley’s not—” she had paused, then the light dawned. “Oh. I get it. Mom’s never met Wesley, so he can masquerade as a priest or something and then we won’t have to actually get married.”
Neither of them had been able to ignore the pang of disappointment that they had both felt at this practical solution.
So here they were in Wesley’s living room, trying to convince the ex-watcher to be the crux of their plan. Cordelia had reluctantly explained her dilemma, but Wesley was still trying to make sense of the situation.
Trying to buy time, he said, “Did it ever occur to either of you that I might not be comfortable with impersonating clergy?” Wesley knew the excuse was weak, but it did have some validity. Years of hellfire and damnation preaching at his childhood parish were hard to escape.
“You don’t have to impersonate a priest or a minister if you don’t want to,” Cordelia soothed. “You can be a justice of the peace.”
Frowning, Wesley removed his glasses and cleaned them thoroughly. “I still don’t know. We’re lying to your mother, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”
For the second time that day, Cordelia felt the tears well up, mostly genuine, but partly for effect. Her eyes glistening, she whispered, “Please, Wes? My mother wants this so much, and I don’t know how much longer she has.”
Angel frowned as he watched Cordelia manipulate Wesley. Now that those big eyes weren’t locked on him, Angel could see her maneuverings for what they were.
That little twerp, he thought wryly, trying to con me. It made him feel like a doofus for falling for it earlier, but he also couldn’t help the admiration he felt at her ability to so easily wrap him around her little finger. Oh, he knew that most of her crying had been genuine, but there were enough crocodile tears mixed in to taint the purity of her performance. The hard edges of his thoughts softened a little more when he caught a glimpse of the real fear on her lovely face as she tried to convince Wesley.
Wesley was helpless against her. “Damn it, Cordelia,” he protested weakly. As her tears threatened to spill over, he relented. “Very well, I’ll do it,” he mumbled grumpily.
At his answer, Cordelia got up, sniffling, and enveloped Wesley in a tight hug. “Thank you, Wes. You’re such a great friend.”
Angel grunted his brand of Cordelia’s “pfft.” She ignored him.
“So will Sunday afternoon work for you, Wesley?” Cordelia asked, gathering her belongings as she prepared to leave.
“I think that will be sufficient time to prepare,” he agreed. Smiling, he admonished, “You know, it isn’t at all proper for engaged persons to be living under the same roof before the wedding.”
Cordelia just rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the etiquette lesson, Miss Manners,” she retorted. “I think we can manage to keep our hands to ourselves.” Ducking her face, that little voice mocked her once again, taunting her sarcastically, Oh, riiiiight.
That’s what YOU think. Angel mused, revenge for her manipulation foremost in his mind. He pushed the guilt away again, feeling justified now that he’d realized her motivations weren’t entirely pure. I haven’t even thought about breaking out the big guns yet.
As they turned to leave, Cordelia caught the look on Angel’s face before he schooled his features. She stopped breathing for a moment, a shiver running up her spine. She knew intuitively that she hadn’t even begun to pay for putting Angel in this predicament. What really worried her, though, was that it was excitement and anticipation she felt, not fear and anger.
Part 10
Sunday, 4:10 a.m.
Cordelia stared wide-eyed at the tantalizing image before her. She’d awoken in the pre-dawn hours with an urgent call of nature, and once it was taken care of, she couldn’t go back to sleep. She was sleepy and cranky, but her mind wouldn’t shut down again. Irritated, she’d shuffled toward the kitchen for some coffee.
Upon her arrival, she’d been greeted by a magnificent sight she’d seen many times before, but never truly appreciated: Angel’s bare chest. She’d touched it lots of times, but in the name of bandaging wounds or soothing him, never in love or abject admiration of its masculine beauty. Never, in all previous occasions, had the sight of Angel’s chest been accompanied by this unbelievable, tingly awareness throughout her body. Her mouth went dry, and her eyes wandered as she appreciated him.
He was casually leaning up against the counter, one arm crossed over his chest, his hand holding the elbow of his other arm as he drank his breakfast out of one of her mugs. He watched her watching him, and the unabashed hunger in her sleepy eyes was enough to make his body harden in response.
She’d known that he usually slept naked; somehow pajamas and Angel just didn’t seem to go together. Since he’d been living under her roof, he’d adopted a new sleeping uniform for her benefit: drawstring pants. The drawstring was almost never tied, though, and the two ends dangled tantalizingly when he moved. The pants always slung low on his hips, emphasizing their narrowness. His well-defined stomach muscles taunted her with their hardness, and the two sloping indentations in the places where his hips met his torso disappeared into his pants and drew her eyes to zero in on the one button closure of the garment, just below the drawstring.
Cordelia swallowed. Hard. Then licked her lips and swallowed again.
Desperate for something else to concentrate on, her eyes moved back up his body and into a pair of very amused eyes.
“’Morning, Cordelia,” he said gruffly, his voice still gravelly from sleep. “You’re up early.”
“Hi,” she squeaked, then rushed passed him to busy herself with the coffee maker.
As her face was turned away, Angel’s amused expression turned into a full-fledged grin as he sipped his blood. He hadn’t actually planned to flaunt himself like this, but it was an opportunity just begging to be exploited. Finishing his breakfast, he moved quietly to stand behind her, reaching around her in the small kitchen to turn on the faucet and rinse his mug. She wasn’t actually blocking his way, but he couldn’t resist the chance to brush up against her, teasing her with his close proximity.
She’d avoided him for nearly two days, escaping into the sunlight where he was unable to follow. At night, she’d run in and locked herself into her bedroom, claiming incredible tiredness and emotional stress. At least it was half true. She’d known that if she allowed herself to be alone with Angel, her hormones would take over and she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from responding to his advances. She had no doubt he’d make them; his expression at Wesley’s had made that clear.
And heaven help her, she wanted him to. Badly.
Her dreams hadn’t stopped. She’d had another one last night, this one uninterrupted by the phone, and it had left her aching and unfulfilled. It had taken every ounce of her will power not to go out onto the couch and drag him back into the bedroom with her and bring her dreams to life. The only thing she had going for her was the curse. She didn’t know if sex with her would bring Angel perfect happiness, but she didn’t want to face Angelus if she didn’t have to. She loved Angel, all of him, but she much preferred the whole package, not the homicidal, psychotic soulless part a la carte.
Oh, god. Did she just say she loved him?
Angel had noticed that she’d been avoiding him ever since they’d convinced Wesley to “officiate” their marriage. He knew that she’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d realized how she’d played him, and she was wary of retaliation. She was right to be anxious. He had every intention of continuing his plan of torturing her.
One major thing had changed, though, and that was Angel’s motivation. Originally, he’d done this as payback for her thoughtless actions. Now, all he wanted to was whip her into a lustful, emotional frenzy until she had no recourse but to fall into his arms. He wanted her to fall in love with him, just like he was falling for her.
This love for her was very fresh, born of her newfound selflessness, her easy friendship, her acceptance of him as a person, not just a monster with the face of a man. She knew that Angelus was still within, very much a part of Angel, and she didn’t seem to hold that against him. His demon had fallen in love with her, too, and that had never happened for him before. She made him feel human, but most importantly, she made him feel human in a way that didn’t threaten his demon. That was a rare gift, indeed.
He frowned as he thought about his curse. There had to be some way around that. If they continued down this path, they’d both combust from the sexual tension. He’d have to get Wesley to research that.
Cordelia’s thoughts as Angel pressed his hard body up against her back in the kitchen were much less complicated. In fact, she had no thoughts at all. Just feelings. She closed her eyes and leaned back, her body acting of its own accord, seeking his strength.
Angel, sensing her lack of control, slowly set his cup down in the sink and circled his arms around her waist. He pulled her against him, her backside pressing into him, taunting him. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and her hands came up to grasp his. Intertwining their fingers, Angel lowered his lips to her bared neck and kissed her lightly, shivers running up Cordelia’s spine as his mouth brushed her skin. His tongue darted out to graze her flesh, dampening it. Then he blew gently, drying the place he’d moistened and eliciting a whimper from Cordelia in response.
Hearing that sound escape her lips jerked Cordelia back to reality. Her eyes popped open and she was flooded with mortification as she realized what she was doing. She pushed back and Angel allowed it, then stepped out of his arms and quickly crossed the room.
“Geez, Angel. Two words,” she said, glaring at him, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “Personal. Bubble.”
“Sorry, Cordelia,” Angel said, not meaning it at all.
“Pfft. Sure you are,” she retorted, not falling for it. “There’s no audience here, Angel, so you can just cut the act. Save it for the wedding.”
He contemplated her, wondering if he should take this conversation where he wanted it to go. After a moment, he decided against it. Now was not the time; her guard was up and any prodding would only strengthen her resolve to avoid him.
“Sure, Cordelia. I wouldn’t want your mother to be disappointed. I’ll make sure I’m very
convincing,” he said, his smile laced with promise. After a meaningful look, he walked past her into the living room for his clothes.
Cordelia shivered again, filled with a mixture of dread and lust at the thought of what he had planned for that afternoon.
When did he manage to get so much power over her?
***
Sunday, 6:46 p.m.
“Wesley, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Cordelia asked apprehensively, unnerved to see him dressed in minister’s robes.
Wesley looked insulted. “Of course, Cordelia. I have it all written down; don’t worry.” He raised his leather journal, notes for the ceremony safely tucked inside.
Cordelia, somewhat mollified, turned to Angel. “Are you ready?”
Letting his eyes wander up and down her figure, Angel smiled, just enough wickedness in the expression to increase Cordelia’s nervousness tenfold. “Yes, Cordelia, I’m ready.” His tone made it sound like a lacivious: More than ready for you, babe.
She’d had just about enough of Angel’s teasing. Her eyes narrowed and she said, “Geez, Angel, I didn’t ask you to be a gigolo, just a devoted fiancée. Knock it off with the leering, already.”
With some difficulty, Angel wiped the smile off his face. “Let’s go,” he said, turning and leading them toward Mrs. Chase’s room.
The nurse who’d appreciated Angel a few days earlier was waiting for them outside the door.
“Well, look who’s here. It’s the happy couple! Let me be the first to congratulate you both,” she greeted, her smile stretching her round face, emphasizing her rosy cheeks. Without warning, she grabbed Cordelia into a bear hug. “You’re going to have one great
honeymoon with that beautiful man,” she whispered conspiratorially into Cordelia’s ear.
As she released Cordelia, she said, “Your mother has a visitor right now and she requested that you wait outside until she’s ready for you.”
Cordelia nodded, and the nurse took off down the hall.
“A visitor?” Wesley said. “Did your mother say anything about this, Cordelia?”
“No, she didn’t,” Cordelia answered, distracted. Her mother’s door was open a crack, and all Cordelia could see was the curtain surrounding her mother’s bed. She moved more closely, and could make out the sound of a masculine voice in conversation with her mother’s feminine one. She heard her mother laugh, and the man laugh with her, a sound that was completely unfamiliar to Cordy.
“I don’t know him,” Cordelia said to no one in particular. She turned to Angel. “Can you hear what they’re saying?”
“Nothing that will help us figure out who he is. Some reminiscing, I think,” he paused again to listen. “Wait, she just told him to come out here.”
At Angel’s words, the door swung open, revealing a distinguished, silver-haired man in a three piece suit and tie. He smiled warmly, motioning them into the room as he spoke.
“Cordelia, Angel, please come in. Your mother is so looking forward to this,” he said excitedly. Noticing Wesley, he said, “Ah, I see you’ve brought a clergyman with you.”
Cordelia stammered to explain. “Uh, yeah, yes. This is Reverend Pryce. He will be—”
She was interrupted by her mother. “Cordelia!” Mrs. Chase said excitedly. “Come here by me. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Cordelia looked at Angel, puzzled by her mother’s statement. She walked over to Mrs. Chase and grasped her hand. Leaning down to kiss her cheek, she said, “Hi, Mom. Are you ready to be a mother-in-law?”
“Definitely, dear,” she said, somewhat distracted. “Cordelia, I’d like you to meet Reverend Donovan Jennings.” She gestured to the older man who had greeted them at the door. “Don, this is my daughter, Cordelia, her fiancée Angel, and,” she paused, finally noticing Wesley. “Who is this, Cordelia?”
“This is Reverend Pryce, mom. He’ll be performing the ceremony.”
“Oh, no, that won’t do at all,” her mother said, frowning. “Reverend Jennings has agreed to perform the ceremony. Reverend Pryce isn’t needed.”
Shooting a panicked look in Angel’s direction, Cordelia whispered, “Mom, we’ve already paid Reverend Pryce. We can’t just tell him to go home!”
Her mother looked at her strangely. “Cordelia,” she admonished, matching the soft tones of her daughter. “It’s uncouth to speak of money in public. You know better.”
Raising her voice back to a normal level, she continued. “This is really important to me, Cordy. Don is a very close friend, and he performed the wedding ceremony for your father and I. That was such a special day.” Her eyes turned misty and she paused, lost in the memories. “Anyway, Don is the hospital chaplain now. Isn’t that just a wonderful coincidence?”
“Mom, I’m really not comfortable with this—,” Cordelia tried again, desperately looking for a way out.
“Please, sweetie?” Mrs. Chase begged. “I miss your father so much, and if I can’t have him here, at least I can have something to remind me of him on your special day.”
Angel smothered a smile at the scene before him. Watching the interaction between Cordelia and her mother, he understood his friend so much better than he had before. Her mother’s tears and tone of voice were a carbon copy of Cordelia’s when she’d tried to convince him to play along.
He caught her frantic expression, her eyes imploring him to do something to fix this. Oh, he’d fix it all right.
“Mrs. Chase,” Angel began, his tone giving Cordelia hope that he’d put a stop to this nonsense and insist that Wesley officiate.
His next words smashed that hope to smithereens. “Cordelia and I would be honored to have Reverend Jennings perform the ceremony.”
“But, Angel. . .” Cordelia whispered, shocked.
Angel walked over to her and put his arm around her waist. Looking deeply into her eyes, he said, “Honey, we’re going to be married forever. It doesn’t matter who says the words for us. The point is that we love each other and we want to make the commitment.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose gently.
Cordelia felt as though she’d had the wind knocked out of her. Didn’t he understand what he was doing?
Part 11
Sunday, 7:12 p.m.
From the shocked look on her face, Angel knew exactly what Cordelia was thinking when he’d agreed to their marriage by Reverend Jennings. She thought he was nuts.
Maybe she was right, but even if she was, it was irrelevant.
It had been one thing to plan a sham marriage ahead of time, using Wesley as their fake clergyman. They were being practical, and he could live with that. But when they’d had Reverend Jennings thrust upon them, he’d suddenly realized that he truly wanted to be married to Cordelia, and this was his chance. He knew that there would be hell to pay later when Cordelia wanted to annul the marriage and get things back to normal. He knew, deep down, that his demon had already claimed her, and that giving her up would be akin to peeling his fingernails off slowly, one by one.
Angel knew there would be consequences, but he’d done it anyway. He had a plan: torture, tease, and taunt Cordelia until all she wanted was him, and no one but him. Having a real marriage ceremony would fluster Cordelia so much that she wouldn’t know what hit her. She’d be putty in his hands, and that’s exactly what he wanted. He smiled, satisfied that he was in complete control.
Cordelia’s train of thought wasn’t in the same hemisphere as Angel’s. Once she’d gotten over the initial shock of Angel’s announcement, all Cordelia could feel was blind fury. This was her problem, her scheme, her mess, and all she wanted was for him to cooperate. Their plan up to now had been workable, if not good; she could get out of this mess. She’d asked him to do one simple thing: play along. Then he had to go and agree to a real marriage ceremony and ruin everything. It had been his idea to have Wesley perform the ceremony, and here he was, screwing it all up?
He was up to something, and Cordelia was not happy. Not happy at all. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched, and she prepared for battle. Angel had never really, truly seen her inner bitch before.
It was about time that her inner Bitch met his inner Demon. Something told her that they’d be well matched.
One glance at Cordelia’s now icy glare and Angel felt a wave of nervousness. He hadn’t seen that look on Cordelia’s face before. He’d seen the “Queen C” glare directed at other people, but never this acerbic, and never at him.
Maybe his plan wasn’t such a smart idea after all.
“Angel and Cordelia, if you’d step over here, please?” Reverend Jennings’ voice interrupted their thoughts and he motioned them to the foot of Mrs. Chase’s bed. Wesley stood at her side, now feeling useless but extremely curious to see how this was going to play out.
Cordelia schooled her features with difficulty, trying to maintain a happy façade for her mother’s benefit. Cordelia smiled at her warmly, receiving an excited grin from her mother in return. She took Angel’s hand, and in a desire to let him know that she wasn’t happy, she dug her fingernails into his palm as hard as she could.
Angel grimaced as her nails cut into his skin. He led her over to the end of Mrs. Chase’s bed, and stood facing Cordelia.
“Are we ready, then?” Reverend Jennings asked, smiling warmly at the supposed happy couple.
Cordelia turned her bright smile on him. “Of course, Reverend. We can’t wait.”
“We are gathered here today to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes to the words which shall unite Cordelia and Angel in marriage,” Reverend Jennings began, his smooth voice transforming the bleak hospital room into a sacred place.
Cordelia let the words flow over her, cooling her, reminding her why she was here, why she was doing this. She glanced back at her mother, and the rapture on Mrs. Chase’s face was reason enough for Cordelia to let go of her anger at Angel’s hasty actions. She would deal with him later; right now, her mother’s happiness was all that mattered.
As Reverend Jennings began his opening comments, Angel let his mind wander. He perused Cordelia’s features, admiring her smooth skin and big eyes. He knew he’d made her angry, and he was actually sorry for that, but he was glad they were going through with this. She belonged with him.
Angel and Cordelia were jerked out of their respective thoughts as the minister continued.
“Should there be anyone who has cause why this couple should not be united in marriage, they must speak now or forever hold their peace.” Reverend Jennings perused the few faces gathered in the hospital room.
In the short silence following the minister’s statement, Cordelia felt a strong urge to shout “Stop!” She knew intuitively that this was her last chance to avoid being tied to Angel forever. She’d seen that look in his eyes, the one of possession, of ownership. She’d seen it right after he kissed her in front of her mother. She’d seen it again when he’d stared back at her in the kitchen this morning. And she’d seen it most clearly just five minutes earlier when he’d told her mother that Reverend Jennings could marry them. Cordelia knew that annulling this marriage to Angel would be next to impossible.
She knew that, but Cordelia held her peace. She held her peace for her mother’s happiness, for her own sanity, and, while she wouldn’t admit it, she held her peace because, despite her anger, she knew she wanted Angel.
Angel squeezed her hand gently, the contact making her turn her eyes to his.
“Angel,” Reverend Jennings said, “do you take Cordelia to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others?”
Buffy flashed through Cordelia’s mind at the “forsaking all others” line, along with a twinge of pain. Angel would never choose her over Buffy.
“I do,” Angel said softly, his eyes boring into Cordelia’s as he promised sincerely.
Reverend Jennings repeated the same words for Cordelia.
It was Angel’s turn to be nervous. Would Cordelia really cherish him? Would she always see past the demon to the man inside?
“I do,” Cordelia said, her voice nearly a whisper. She struggled to hold onto her anger. Hearing the vows spoken made it so difficult.
As the reverend continued, both Angel and Cordelia felt a transformation within themselves. It was as if speaking the words had made the event real. In that moment, the pretense was gone, and they knew in the deepest parts of their souls that they wouldn’t be able to walk away from this unchanged.
“Do you have the rings?” The minister asked.
Wesley stepped forward and handed him the rings that they’d bought earlier that day on the way to the hospital. At the time, neither Angel nor Cordelia had expected them to mean so much.
Beginning with Angel, Reverend Jennings said, “Please take Cordelia’s left hand into your own and repeat after me. ‘I, Angel, take you, Cordelia, to be my wife. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death parts us.’”
Angel repeated the words, sliding the ring onto Cordelia’s trembling finger.
Cordelia repeated the same words, her hands shaking, her voice barely audible, and she slipped the ring onto Angel’s finger.
She raised her eyes to his and their gazes locked, emotions passing between them in a way they never had before. Cordelia was still apprehensive, still mad at him, still determined that this wouldn’t be forever, but a small part of her recognized the burgeoning love in her heart. Angel was just as determined that Cordelia was his now, and nothing was going to separate them. But neither could deny the pull of their souls toward one another. Neither of them could deny the desire they had for each other. Neither of them could deny how right this farce of a ceremony felt.
“As the two of you come into this marriage uniting you as husband and wife, and as you this day affirm your faith and love for one another, I would ask that you always remember to cherish each other as special and unique individuals, that you respect the thoughts, ideas and suggestions of one another.”
Angel felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that he’d been unconcerned with her thoughts and ideas, only his own. He’d been determined to have her, and he hadn’t given any thought to her thoughts and feelings.
“Be able to forgive, do not hold grudges, and live each day that you may share it together – as from this day forward you shall be each other’s home, comfort and refuge, your marriage strengthened by your love and respect for each other.”
It was Cordelia’s turn to feel guilty. She did hold grudges, and she wanted to make Angel pay for making her go through with this. But maybe she could forgive him. Maybe.
The reverend’s final words pierced them both.
“Angel and Cordelia, just as two very different threads woven in opposite directions can form a beautiful tapestry, so can your two lives merge together to form a very beautiful marriage. To make your marriage work will take love. Love should be the core of your marriage, love is the reason you are here.”
Angel’s eyes bored deeply into Cordelia’s, and for a moment, their souls were bared, their new love recognized and displayed.
That moment was broken, shattered, as the words continued and the windows to their souls were shuttered closed more tightly with each phrase.
“But it also will take trust – to know in your hearts you want the best for each other.”
I don’t trust him. He doesn’t share anything with me. I know that he struggles with his evil side. I’ve seen him when he doesn’t think I’m watching. He doesn’t learn. He just runs and broods.
I can’t trust her with the real me. If she knew, really knew, what Angelus was like, and how much of him is still in me, how much I have to repress . . . I can’t trust her with that.
“It will take faith – to always be willing to go forward to tomorrow, never really knowing what tomorrow will bring.”
Tomorrow? If Buffy came back and his curse wasn’t an issue, he’d be gone in a heartbeat.
Tomorrow? If she had the chance to get rid of the visions, she’d be gone in a heartbeat.
“And it will take commitment – to hold true to the journey you both now pledge to share together.”
Commitment? He doesn’t want me. He wants a dream. He wants Buffy.
Commitment? She doesn’t want me. I’m a demon, a freak. She wants, no, she deserves, something normal.
By the last phrase, their eyes were still locked on each other, but their gazes were unreadable.
“Angel and Cordelia, in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in Matrimony and have promised your love for each other by these vows, I now declare you to be Husband and Wife.”
Smiling grandly, Reverend Jennings closed the book in his hands, the sound like a gunshot to the bride and groom.
“You may now kiss your bride.”
What should have been a moment of loving display and barely restrained passion was now a desperate attempt to get through this and escape. Escape the implications, the emotions, and the consequences. Angel put his arm around Cordelia’s waist and drew her close, his lips descending on hers. The kiss appeared soft and sweet, but neither
Angel nor Cordelia remembered any of it.
Both were too wrapped up in their own pain and perceived rejection that they barely noticed. In a desperate attempt to regain control, both retreated back into their earlier feelings, all tenderness discovered in the ceremony now completely forgotten.
Cordelia remembered her anger, and her jaw clenched.
Angel remembered his determination to make her want him, and his eyes narrowed.
They had just turned the molehill into Mt. Everest.
