They spoke in unison. “Sí, libremente.”
“Presente.”
“Os declaro marido y marido.”
“Now,” he said, squeezing Javier’s hand, “we live.” os declaro marido y marido
“Mateo Andrés Silva,” she said.
The judge closed the leather-bound book and looked directly into their eyes.
“Javier Alejandro Ríos.”
She paused. The jasmine scent seemed to deepen.
“Presente,” he whispered.
Mateo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling the crisp wool of his new suit. Beside him, Javier stood impossibly still, a statue carved from joy. Their hands were clasped so tightly that Mateo could feel both their heartbeats pulsing through his knuckles. They spoke in unison
Mateo folded it carefully and tucked it into his breast pocket, over his heart.
The judge, a woman with kind eyes and silver hair who had been marrying couples for thirty years, looked at them over her reading glasses. She had seen it all: the shy brides, the nervous grooms, the second-chancers. But every now and then, she saw something rare. A love so natural that it felt like gravity.
They turned to face their small, fierce congregation. Outside, a car honked. A child on a bicycle stared through the window, then grinned. “Javier Alejandro Ríos
When they pulled apart, the applause erupted. Someone whistled. Luz threw rice, though she had been explicitly told not to.