Pretend I'm Your's

Chapter 13 Real

6 months later.

*Cole Grand. Again.*

But this time the chairs weren’t stacked.

This time the lights were on.

This time it was for us.

Ivory and gold. 200 guests. Strings. Pepper soup. Suya at the after-party.

The sign at the entrance said:

*TUNDE & ZARA*

We started with a lie. We stayed for love.

And in the Morning

I was in the bridal suite. Not the one we slept in during the storm. A new one. We built it.

Amaka was doing my gele. Mama was crying. Nneka was running around with a clipboard.

“Madam, the groom is pacing,” she whispered. “He said if you take too long he’s coming in.”

I laughed. “Let him.”

There was a knock.

Tunde. In a white agbada. No tie.

“The planner isn’t supposed to see the bride,” Amaka said.

“I’m not the planner today,” Tunde said. “I’m the groom.”

He walked in. Saw me.

And just... stopped.

“Hi,” he said. Dumb. Perfect.

“Hi,” I said back.

He took my hand. “You look... real.”

“I am real,” I said. “No contract this time.”

He kissed my knuckles. “Thank God.”

The Vows

No stage. No press. Just us and everyone we loved.

Tunde went first.

“Zara, I offered you 50 million to pretend. I’d give you everything I have to keep this.”

He pulled out a small velvet box. Not from a jeweler. From me.

Inside: a simple gold band.

“I don’t have rules anymore. I just have you. For 1 year. For 10 years. For all of them. I choose you.”

My turn.

“Tunde, I took your deal because I was scared of being broke. I said yes today because I’m scared of being without you.”

I slipped the ring on his finger.

“You taught me that home isn’t a place. It’s a person. And I choose you too.”

The officiant said the words.

“You may kiss the bride.”

He did.

Not for cameras. Not for a deal.

Because he meant it.

Night

The reception was loud.

Aso-ebi everywhere. David wasn’t invited. Chiamaka wasn’t either.

Tunde’s parents danced with my mom. The board members who voted against him sent flowers.

At midnight, we snuck out to the roof. The same roof he fixed with his own hands.

No suit. Barefoot. Me in my wedding dress, him in his agbada.

City lights below us.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

I leaned into him. “I’m real.”

He laughed and pulled me closer. “Good. Because I’m tired of pretending.”

We stood there quietly.

No 50 million deal. No lawsuit. No rules.

Just the sound of music from downstairs and his heartbeat.

My phone buzzed. One last email.

*New Booking: ADEYEMI & COLE EVENTS*

Budget: 100M. “We want the couple who chose love over money.”

Tunde saw it and smiled. “Guess we’re good at our jobs.”

“Guess so,” I said.

He kissed my forehead. “Ready to go home?”

“Home?”

He nodded to the penthouse keys in his pocket. “Our home. No guest room.”

I took his hand. “Lead the way.”

Last Line

We walked down together.

Not as a billionaire or a wedding planner.

Not as a contract.

As husband and wife.

And for the first time in my life,

I wasn’t pretending.

I was his.

And he was mine.

*For real.*