Chapter 10: I Do… and a Side of Burnt Toast
859 Words
The church was bathed in gold light — from the chandeliers above to the setting sun spilling through stained glass windows. Every corner smelled of roses and expensive perfume. Guests from both the Cortez and King families were seated, dressed in tailored elegance, their eyes fixed on the altar.
But Jared saw none of them.
His gaze was locked on the grand wooden doors at the end of the aisle.
And when they opened, time didn’t just slow — it stopped.
Zenobia stood there in a long, ivory gown, veil gently floating over her shoulders, bouquet in hand, and a look in her eyes that was... unreadable.
Poised.
Calm.
Beautiful.
And utterly haunting.
Jared felt his breath catch.
Not because she looked perfect — although she did — but because this was real.
She was walking toward him.
This wasn’t a boardroom agreement.
This wasn’t a contract on paper.
This was a woman with a guarded heart and a complicated past… choosing to show up anyway.
As she reached the altar, Jared offered his hand.
She took it.
The priest began to speak, but Jared barely heard the words.
All he knew was this: He was never going to let her go.
“I do,” Zenobia said softly, her voice steady but distant.
“I do,” Jared replied, louder, more certain — as if trying to seal a promise deeper than the vows allowed.
When the priest declared them husband and wife, applause thundered through the church.
Jared leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek instead of her lips — not out of hesitation, but respect.
He wasn’t rushing her heart.
But he had made up his mind.
She was his. And someday soon… he wanted to be hers.
After the Wedding: The Unplanned Cohabitation
Originally, the plan was simple: they’d return to their own places after the wedding and continue the “business arrangement” quietly.
But the moms had other plans.
"You’re married now! Of course you’ll live together!" Mrs. Cortez declared, waving off Zenobia’s hesitation.
"You’re both not getting any younger. We want grandchildren!" Mrs. King added, already scheduling a fertility cleanse with a celebrity OB-GYN.
And just like that, Zenobia found herself hauling suitcases into Jared’s sleek penthouse in Makati.
Modern, masculine, minimalistic — the kind of place designed by someone who spent more time in meetings than in his own living room.
“I’ll take the guest room,” she said quickly the first night.
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Don’t make this weirder than it already is.”
He smirked but didn’t argue. “Suit yourself. Just don’t expect breakfast in bed. Or breakfast. Or cooking of any kind.”
That wasn’t a joke.
Two days in, Zenobia realized she had married a man who survived on sheer charisma, wealth, and… food deliveries.
His fridge had exactly:
One expired yogurt
Two cans of Coke Zero
A mysterious Tupperware he refused to open
“This is a crime scene,” she muttered, inspecting it with a frown.
“I usually eat at the office,” he said defensively.
“You live in a penthouse with a full kitchen. What do you even do in here?”
He gave her a completely serious answer: “Use the microwave.”
Zenobia sighed, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work.
The next morning, the penthouse smelled like garlic and butter.
Jared came out of the bedroom, hair still messy, wearing a black shirt and joggers — blinking like a man who just discovered a new religion.
“What is that smell?” he asked.
“Breakfast,” she said casually, plating scrambled eggs, garlic rice, and beef tapa.
“You cooked?”
“Yes. That’s what people do in a kitchen.”
He blinked. “I think I just fell in love.”
She snorted. “Don’t. It’s just beef.”
From that day on, Zenobia quietly took over the kitchen — not because she wanted to be domestic, but because the alternative was starvation or soggy adobo from a paper bag.
And somehow, between the burnt toast attempts Jared kept making ("I'm learning!" he insisted), and the casual bickering over who left the dishes, they began to live.
Not like strangers.
Not like business partners.
But like… something closer.
Late at night, Zenobia would find Jared working on his laptop by the window, reading over reports or zoning out with headphones.
Sometimes, he’d glance at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
And sometimes, she caught herself watching him too — wondering when this fake marriage started to feel… less fake.
Maybe it was when he helped her unpack her books without asking.
Or the time he noticed she skipped lunch and quietly left a tray beside her room door.
Or maybe, just maybe… it was when he kept thanking her for every meal, even the ones she barely tried on.
Zenobia wasn’t sure what was changing between them.
But she knew something was.
And she wasn’t sure if she was ready.
But maybe — just maybe — she wanted to be.
- Writer
