One Of A Marriage

Sofia P.s_ A message to my younger self: Under no circumstances should you agree to marry a charming stranger about whom you know absolutely nothing. "Do you, Sofia Sinclair, solemnly claim to take..." No. Absolutely not. "Sebastian Hartley to be your lawful husband?" Let me consider that for a moment. I don't. Absolutely not. "Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and keep him for as long as you both shall live?" Keep him? With wide eyes and a slight tremor, I stared straight ahead as the officiant uttered the words I dreaded. Was I really going through with this? When the silence in the mostly empty and rather gloomy room lingered, and it was my turn to respond, I felt on the verge of hyperventilating. I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat to speak, but I feared that the words yearning to escape were anything but "Yes, I do." This was not the lush green garden wedding I had always envisioned, with my few friends cheering us on. I wasn't laughing or crying tears of extreme happiness, like every bride does at some point during the ceremony. I didn't have a beautiful bouquet; instead, Sebastian Hartley handed me a single pink sofia without a word, right after we met in front of city hall.I wasn't wearing a white dress at all, and certainly not the wedding gown I had always envisioned for my dream wedding. Sebastian Hartley was clad in a tailored black suit that could probably cover my rent for a year, if not more. It wasn't a tuxedo, but it was just as impressive. Next to him, I felt rather cheap. Instead of a beautiful wedding dress, I wore a simple blue dress—the only thing I owned that was both expensive and appropriate for the occasion, although it still felt... cheap. And there I stood next to the wrong man, someone who did nothing but scowl and glare. Then there was the hand-holding, his grip surprisingly tight while mine remained loose. Such a simple gesture, but holding a stranger's hand while getting married? Not enjoyable. Forget about hand-holding—I was about to become the wife of a man about whom I knew nothing more than what a quick Google search had provided. Still, I had consciously and willingly given my consent to this, hadn't I? "Miss Sinclair?" As my breaths grew faster and panic began to consume me, I attempted to free my hand from Sebastian Hartley 's grip, only to have his fingers tighten even more. I didn't know what he was thinking or what he expected me to do, but I couldn't deny that running away hadn't crossed my mind. His firm grip served as a warning, but it quickly dissipated. I glanced at his face, but he was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the officiant, his features frozen in stone. Cold. So cold. I thought I saw a muscle in his jaw twitching, but when I blinked, it vanished. He expressed his emotions about as much as a cement block did, so I tried to emulate him and focus on the present. "Miss Sinclair?" Clearing my throat, I mustered all my strength to inject resolve into my voice, determined not to cry. Not here. Not now. Not every marriage is built on love. What has love ever given me, apart from the anguish of a broken heart and the tendency of indulging in late-night emotional eating? My heart pounded loudly and rapidly in my chest. "I do," I finally replied, sporting a smile that probably made me appear unhinged. I don't. I really, truly don't think. As the man with a smile repeated the same words for my non-smiling almost-husband, I tuned out everything and everyone until it was time for the exchange of rings. To think that just a few months ago, I had been planning my wedding with a different man. And to think that I had believed weddings were always romantic... This wedding felt more like preparing to skydive from fifteen-thousand feet, something I'd much rather die than attempt. Yet, there I was. Not surrounded by a garden and vibrant flowers, but in a room with only one piece of furniture—a rather unattractive orange couch, which oddly offended and irritated me the most. Go figure. "Please face each other," the officiant instructed, and I mechanically followed his words. Feeling numb, I allowed Sebastian to reach for my other hand. When his fingers gently squeezed mine, I met his questioning gaze. I swallowed, trying to ignore the small flutter in my heart, and offered him a faint smile. He was undeniably striking, but in a cold, calculating way. I couldn't deny that my heart had skipped a beat the first time I saw him. Involuntarily, of course. He had mastered the strong and silent persona. His piercing blue eyes briefly glanced at my lips before returning to meet my gaze. As he slowly slid the ring onto my finger, I looked down and saw a stunning wedding band adorned with a half-circle of round diamonds staring back at me. Surprised, I raised my eyes to meet his, but his attention was fixated on my finger as he delicately rolled the ring back and forth with his thumb and index finger. It felt utterly foreign. "It's alright," I whispered when he continued to play with it. "It's not my exact size but it's fine.." He released my hand and the ring, then looked at me. "I'll take care of it." "There's no need for that. This is fine." I had no idea if Sebastian Hartley ever smiled. In the three brief encounters I had with him, I had yet to witness one, at least not a genuine smile. I didn't envision him as the grinning type, but I had expected a hint of playfulness if he were marrying someone he loved, rather than me. Unfortunately, neither of us resembled the image of a blissful newlywed couple. I reached for his hand to place the wedding band, but due to nerves, clumsiness, or perhaps a sign, the cheap, thin ring slipped from my trembling fingers, and I watched it soar through the air in slow motion. After a surprisingly loud clink upon hitting the floor, I chased after it, apologizing to no one in particular. I had to drop to my knees to prevent it from rolling under the hideous orange couch. Although my light blue dress wasn't particularly short, I instinctively placed one hand on my backside to avoid exposing myself as I retrieved the elusive ring before having to crawl on all fours. "I got it! I got it!" I expressed my excitement a bit too eagerly, raising the ring in the air as if it were a cherished prize.When I noticed the unimpressed expressions around me, my cheeks flushed bright red. I lowered my arm, closed my eyes, and heaved a long sigh. Rising to my knees, I realized that my ringless almost-husband had reached my side, extending his hand to help me up. With his assistance, I regained my footing and brushed off my dress. Glancing at his face, I belatedly noticed his tense posture—tightened jaw and a twitching muscle. Did I do something wrong? "I apologize," I murmured, feeling thoroughly embarrassed, and received a curt nod in response. The officiant cleared his throat and offered a small smile. "Shall we proceed?" Before he could pull me back, I discreetly leaned toward my potential future husband and whispered, "Listen, I'm uncertain about... your appearance..." I paused and took a deep breath before mustering the courage to meet his gaze directly. "We don't have to go through with this if you've changed your mind. Are you absolutely sure? I mean, really sure about wanting to proceed?" His eyes searched mine while we disregarded the presence of others in the room. My heart rate quickened as I waited for his response. As reluctant as I was, if he had second thoughts, I would be in a precarious position, and we both knew that. "Let's just get it over with," he eventually replied. That was all I received. Lovely. What an encouraging start to a new marriage, albeit a fake one. We returned to stand in front of the officiant, and on my second attempt, I swiftly and successfully slipped the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly. Compared to the exquisite ring he had gotten me, the plain wedding band I had purchased for him just the day before looked equally cheap, just like my dress. But it seemed he didn't care. I observed with curiosity as he stared down at the ring, forming a fist with the hand I had adorned. His knuckles turned white with the force before he took my hand once again.My focus diverted as I caught the conclusion of the officiant's words: "...I hereby declare you as husband and wife. You may kiss your bride." That was it? I was married? Just like that? I gazed at my now legal husband, momentarily unsure how to react. Our eyes met. A simple kiss after uttering "I do" to a stranger, right? Thinking he was waiting for me to make the first move and wanting to expedite matters so we could leave, I took the initiative. Still holding hands, I avoided his eyes, sofia on my tiptoes, and lightly brushed a kiss on his cheek. Just as I released him and prepared to step back, his now free hand gently grasped my wrist, and our eyes locked. For the sake of the few people around us, I forced another smile and watched as he slowly leaned down to plant a kiss on the corner of my mouth. My heart raced, as it seemed he lingered for a moment too long. It felt a bit too close and lasted a little longer than necessary, but considering we were playing a role, I suppose an innocent kiss didn't hold much significance. At least not for me, and I was certain it didn't for him either. "Congratulations. May you both have a joyous life together," the officiant's voice interrupted our moment, and I extended my hand with a smile towards the officiant's waiting hand. As our sole witness, who I knew for a fact was Sebastian Hartley 's driver, shuffled around to congratulate my now-husband, I closed my eyes and urged my heart to calm down and focus on the positive aspects. This charade served me more than it did Sebastian Hartley. The fact that I had been recently engaged to another man, John, mere weeks ago was insignificant. This particular marriage to this particular man had nothing to do with love. "Are you ready to leave?" "Certainly," my very real and officially fake husband asked, and I opened my eyes. I wasn't. Suddenly, I felt a mix of warmth and coldness, which wasn't a good sign. However, I met his gaze and nodded. "Yes." Until we exited the building, with the driver following us at a safe distance, we didn't exchange a single word. Then the driver disappeared to retrieve the car, and we stood there awkwardly, silently observing the people around us, as if neither of us knew how we had ended up on the street. After a few moments, we both began speaking simultaneously. "We should—" "I think—" "We should head back," he said firmly. "I need to be at the airport within an hour to catch my flight." "Alright. I don't want to delay you. I'll need to change before returning to the coffee shop, and I can easily take the subway back to my apartment. I don't want you to get stuck in traffic just because of me—" "It's fine," he interrupted distractedly. His gaze was fixed on the black car that had just pulled up to the curb. "Please," he murmured, briefly touching the small of my back with his palm before retracting it and opening the car door. Shoot! I didn't know him well enough to argue about how I would get home, not to mention arguing was the last thing I had the energy to do. As he stared at me expectantly, I attempted to avoid delaying and reluctantly agreeing to his silent invitation, stepping into the vehicle as he looked at me with anticipation. When he followed and closed the door, I closed my eyes, acknowledging the finality of everything. Damn it, I'm married. No matter how many times I repeated it to myself, I still couldn't believe I had agreed to this. "Is everything alright?" The hardness and roughness in his voice jolted me out of my chaotic thoughts, and I turned my head to face him, offering a small smile. "Of course. I should really say thank you—" "You don't need to," he curtly responded before I could finish, then turned his attention to the driver. "Raymond, change of plans. We need to stop by the apartment first, then head to the airport." "Yes, sir." I swallowed hard and clenched my hands in my lap. Now what? I wondered. Do we talk now? Or do we not talk at all? How does this work? Surprisingly, he was the first to break the grim silence. "I might be unavailable for some days, depending on my schedules, but I'll get back to you as soon as I can." I returned my attention to him. Was he addressing his driver or me? I couldn't tell. "If there are any issues involving Chris or even Emily, if they cause any problems regarding our marriage, please leave me a message. Don't talk to either of them until you hear back from me." Ah, he was speaking to me. Chris and Emily were my cousins. "If everything goes as planned, I'll be back within a week at the most." He paused. "If you wish... you can accompany me." Nope. "Oh, thank you, but I can't. I need to focus on the coffee shop, and as much as—" "Exactly," he interjected, cutting me off before I could finish my sentence. "I also prefer to go alone." In that case... I nodded and gazed out of the window, uncertain if I had successfully concealed my relief. His absence for a week meant I had seven additional days to come to terms with my decision. I would seize every extra minute I could get. "Where are you going again?" I asked, realizing that I had no idea whatsoever. "France." "Oh, I've always wanted to visit and explore Paris—or anywhere in Europe, to be honest. You're fortunate to have the opportunity to travel. I'm not sure if lawyers do much traveling, but..." I paused and waited for him to say something, even if it was just to engage in idle conversation, but I had a feeling that it wouldn't happen. And I wasn't mistaken. "Do you have a client in France?" I made another attempt, but I knew the result would still be the same. Sebastian raised his arm, checked his watch, and shook his head in response to my question. "Raymond, take the next turn. Let's get out of here." As silence enveloped the backseat of the car, I closed my eyes and pressed my temple against the cold glass of the window. Ever since I had agreed to this insane plan, I had made a conscious effort not to dwell on it too deeply. Now it was too late for any kind of contemplation. We hadn't even had the time to discuss where I would live. With him? Without him? At this point I wonder if we would even get along if we lived together? John... Would he find out that I had gotten married? And so soon after our breakup. Suddenly, every single question I had, and even those I hadn't known existed, flooded my mind all at once. Ten minutes had elapsed without a single word being uttered in the car. For some reason, that fact caused more panic within me than anything else. What had I gotten myself into, really? If I couldn't even manage to have a simple conversation with the guy, what were we going to do for the next twelve or twenty-four months? Stare at each other? Feeling nauseous, I pressed my palm against my stomach as if I could contain it all—the emotions, disappointments, forgotten dreams—but it was too late for that. I felt the first tear roll down my cheek, and even though I quickly tried to wipe it away with the back of my hand because there was no reason for me to cry, I couldn't stop the others that followed. In just a few minutes, I was silently crying, tears flowing down my face, unsure of how to bring it to a halt. Fully aware that my mascara had likely smudged my face, I continued crying without making a sound until the car came to a stop. When I opened my eyes and realized we were headed toward the wrong side of Central Park, I forgot about my tears and looked at Sebastian . "I think..." I began, but the words caught in my throat when I saw his expression. Oh, s**t! If I believed he was furious when I accidentally let go of the ring, I was gravely mistaken. His eyebrows furrowed as his eyes roamed my face, and the tension in the car intensified. I did my best to wipe away the evidence of my tears without needing a mirror. "This is the wrong side—" "Take her to the apartment, please. I'll get to the airport on my own," Sebastian instructed the driver. Then, his expression hardened, his face becoming blank as he addressed me. "This was a mistake. We shouldn't have done this." I remained stunned, still staring at him in shock as he exited the car, leaving his newly-wedded bride—me—behind. This was a mistake. Words any girl who had just gotten married thirty minutes earlier would dread hearing, right? No? Yeah, I didn't think so either.