My Fiancé Postponed Our Marriage License Seventeen Times For His Intern Chapter 01

My Fiancé Postponed Our Marriage License Seventeen Times For His Intern Chapter 01

I was lifting my spoon when he said it.

“Let’s do it next time.”

Callen set his forks down like it was nothing—like commenting on the weather.

I took a sip of soup, chewed, swallowed.

“Okay.”

He glanced at me, then back at his plate. His fork hovered midair before he looked up again.

“You’re not upset?”

I took another slow bite, my voice steady.

“No.”

We’d had the wedding six months ago.

But we’d never made it legal.

Seventeen attempts.

Seventeen times he didn’t show up.

He was used to it.

So was I.

I finished my bowl one quiet bite at a time. He didn’t eat another thing.

When I stood to clear the table, he reached out and caught my wrist.

“Liora, next Monday. I swear, I’ll be free.”

“We already had the wedding. A few more days won’t matter.”

“Trust me. I won’t stand you up this time.”

I looked down at his hand, then back at his face, and smiled.

“Okay.”

In the past six months, he’d said “next week” nine times.

“I promise” thirteen times.

“Trust me” sixteen.

And still, we’d never signed the papers.

Next week wouldn’t be any different.

Because this time, I’d be the one who didn’t show up.

***

My phone buzzed.

[If you’re resigning, does Callen know?] — HR

I grabbed my phone and headed for the door. Callen was still sitting at the table, watching me with something unreadable in his eyes.

After a long pause, he spoke carefully.

“Why aren’t you asking me why?”

I finished replying to HR before I looked up at him.

“No point.”

And I meant it.

The first time we were supposed to go to City Hall, Mireya—his junior associate—said she wasn’t feeling well.

I waited outside the Marriage Office from morning until sunset.

He never came.

The second time, she said she couldn’t handle her case files.

He dropped me off at an interstate exit and turned the car around without a second thought.

After that, every single time we made plans, something would “happen” to her.

Seventeen times in six months.

The same script. Over and over.

Callen swallowed hard, like my words had caught in his throat. After a moment, he held his phone out to me.

“I’ve seen people hire photographers when they sign their marriage papers,” he said.

“We could do that too. You like that kind of thing, don’t you?”

So he remembered.

I thought about it for a second.

“Are you free tonight? Maybe we could—”

Dinner. A goodbye dinner.

I didn’t get to finish.

His phone rang.

It was from Mireya.

I didn’t hear what she said, but when he hung up, he looked at me, hesitant.

“Babe, Mireya, she—”

I cut him off with a small smile.

“Go ahead. Drive safe.”

He froze for a second, clearly thrown by how calm I was.

Then he grabbed his jacket.

“I’ll bring you something when I get back tonight.”

The door slammed shut.

A second later, I heard the engine start downstairs, then fade into the distance.

I stood there, staring at the closed door.

Five years together.

Six months married.

I should’ve let this go a long time ago.