On June 23, we will officially break our wedding vows. It’s the day our joint novel, The Grapevine, is published.
Breaking your vows is a big deal for any couple and our only plea of mitigation is that it’s taken nine years to get to this point. Ironically, the vow-breaking began two years ago, with a seven-year-itch that we just had to scratch. Let us explain…
It began in 2017, when we got married three times in four days. So committed were we to our future together—and to prove that to immigration authorities on both sides of the Atlantic—that we said, “I do,” “I do,” “I do.”
We had a big Hollywood party planned with friends on the Sunday, with a ceremony conducted by a close friend who is an ordained minister and who was to pronounce us husband and wife with the power vested in him by the state of California. That was to be our “real” wedding in front of family and friends. First, however, was the legal version.
That was to take place on the Thursday, a two-hour drive away in Joshua Tree, a place we both love. We had an appointment; we had a license; Alex was stunning in a vintage white wedding dress; Craig wore a kilt; and carloads of excited wedding-goers headed east on the I-10. We waited our turn at the registrar, filled in forms on the screen, and then they asked for Craig’s passport. His what? Passport, right…
It was 130 miles away in Los Feliz. Out of sight, out of reach, out of mind. There was no wedding.
Except there was. We went into the national park, found a secluded spot among the otherworldly rocks, swapped rings and forgiveness, kissed, and drank champagne, and it was all pretty wonderful.
However, Craig still had to get us married. Officially. He looked at flights to Las Vegas, but Alex put her foot down. She was not getting married by an Elvis impersonator or in a revolving door of people who’d met over the blackjack table the night before. Craig scoured the internet until he found a place that did same-day bookings in LA. They had one space left, and he grabbed it.
On that Friday, we pulled up at the Lucky Wedding Day Chapel on Ventura Boulevard. From the outside, it looked more like a Thai restaurant, but inside it was lovely, as was the Russian celebrant who conducted the service and pronounced us married in the eyes of the law.
At last, it was official. We still had one wedding to go, but at least we had a day off first.
It was held in the sprawling garden of friends, literally in the shade of the homes of some serious Hollywood A-listers. The garden was dressed for the occasion by an Emmy-winning production designer; Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 was directed by a founder of the Reduced Shakespeare Company; and the wedding rehearsal was overseen by the director of The Bachelor. It was quite a production. People flew in from the UK and across the US, and all necessary documentation was at hand.
We wrote our own wedding vows, including declaring that “We will never, ever, ever write a book together. Till death do us part.” And we meant it. We really meant it.
Then seven years passed. One of us had an idea. It was both a very good idea and a very bad one. A book. Together.
It wasn’t easy and some of our fears were founded but after all the heated discussions, disagreements and flat-out arguments, The Grapevine is emerging into the world and we love it. Do we think you’ll love it too? We do, we do, we do.
Alexandra Sokoloff is a native Californian who sold original scripts and wrote novel adaptations for major Hollywood studios before becoming the award-winning author of fourteen novels.
Craig Robertson spent twenty years as a journalist, covering some of the biggest stories across the globe. His eleven crime novels, mostly set in his native Scotland, have been shortlisted for all the UK’s major awards. They met in the US, now live in Scotland, and despite writing two books together are miraculously still married.
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