Marriage of Convenience

Life Begins

The wedding was an elaborate affair, as expected. The Westbrooks and Sharps spared no expense in displaying their wealth and status to the world, masking the desperation behind the merger with opulence and extravagance. The cathedral was filled with hundreds of guests, all dressed in their finest, but for Nathaniel and Amelia, the day felt hollow.

As they stood at the altar, exchanging vows that neither truly meant, Nathaniel glanced at Amelia. She looked as flawless as ever, her blonde hair swept up in a classic style, her gown shimmering with delicate lace. But her eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—gave nothing away. They were mirrors of his own indifference, and that made the moment even harder to swallow.

When the priest declared them husband and wife, and Nathaniel leaned in to kiss her, it was mechanical. A formality, a gesture for the cameras and the people watching. There was no warmth, no spark. Just a contract sealed with a kiss.

As they walked back down the aisle, arm in arm, Nathaniel couldn’t help but wonder if this was what his life would be from now on—endless formality, a partnership without passion, a union based on convenience.

Amelia’s voice broke through his thoughts. “We’ll make it work,” she said quietly, her tone steady, but devoid of any emotion. “We have to.”

Nathaniel glanced at her, surprised by the calm resolve in her voice. He had expected bitterness, resentment—but instead, there was pragmatism. She was as much a survivor as he was.

“Yes,” he replied, his own voice low. “We will.”

They would make it work, because they had no other choice. But as they stepped into their new life together, both Nathaniel and Amelia knew that this marriage would be nothing like the fairytales they had once imagined. It was a deal, a pact between two people who had been forced into a world where love was a luxury neither could afford.

And in that world, survival would have to be enough.

The honeymoon was brief, a two-week getaway to the French Riviera that felt more like a business trip than a romantic escape. They stayed in separate rooms in a sprawling villa overlooking the sea, and most of their time was spent mingling with other wealthy couples, attending dinners, and taking photos for society magazines. The Westbrooks and the Sharps had meticulously orchestrated everything, ensuring the image of a united, blissful couple was projected to the world.

Nathaniel and Amelia played their roles well. They smiled for the cameras, danced at the extravagant parties, and gave just enough of themselves to convince onlookers that their marriage was more than a business deal. But when the cameras were off and the crowd thinned, they reverted to the cool distance that had already settled between them.

One evening, midway through their stay, they found themselves alone on the villa’s balcony. The Mediterranean breeze was warm, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and jasmine. Nathaniel had a glass of whiskey in hand, and Amelia sipped from her wine, both silently looking out over the moonlit sea.

“I suppose this is the part where we pretend everything is perfect,” Nathaniel said, breaking the silence.

Amelia didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Why bother pretending when it’s just the two of us?”

Nathaniel glanced at her, studying the sharp lines of her profile. For a moment, he wondered if there was more to her than the cold, businesslike persona she projected. But then, he reminded himself that they were the same. Two people trapped by duty. There was no point in hoping for anything beyond that.

He turned back to the sea, letting out a quiet sigh. “What do you want out of this, Amelia? Besides saving our families, I mean.”

She was quiet for a long time, and he thought she wouldn’t answer. But then she spoke, her voice soft but steady. “I want control. Control over my life, my choices. This marriage is a means to an end, Nathaniel. Once our families are stable, I plan to carve out my own path.”

Nathaniel could respect that. He had spent his life following his father’s orders, always doing what was expected of him. But deep down, he had always longed for something more—freedom, maybe. Or perhaps the chance to define his own success.

“And what about you?” Amelia asked, turning to face him now. “What do you want?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Honestly? I’m still figuring that out. But I do know one thing—I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living for someone else’s expectations.”

Their eyes met, and for the first time, there was a flicker of understanding between them. They were both prisoners of their families’ ambitions, both searching for a way to reclaim their lives.

Amelia gave a slight nod, as if acknowledging the silent agreement between them. “Then maybe we can help each other,” she said. “This marriage doesn’t have to be a prison, Nathaniel. We can make it work on our own terms.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast. “To survival, then.”

Amelia smiled faintly and clinked her glass against his. “To survival.”