CHAPTER SIX
1058 Words
ELLA.
I hadn’t seen Archer again after that dinner.
Not properly.
Only in passing. Once. Maybe twice. He was always leaving just as I entered, or buried in hushed conversations with my father behind closed doors. I told myself it didn’t matter; he was busy, the wedding was days away, and surely this was just how arranged marriages worked.
But it did matter.
Every hour that passed without a word from him tugged tighter at my nerves. And when the weekend came, when I opened my eyes to the soft glow of the morning sun on my wedding day, my stomach churned so hard I thought I might throw up.
I was sitting in the makeup room now, legs crossed and fingers twisted in my lap. My stylist was saying something probably about the blush tones she’d picked for my eyeshadow but it all passed over me like drowned out noise.
A marriage should feel like a beginning.
This felt like standing on the edge of something I couldn't name.
“Ready, miss?” someone called from the door.
I froze, heart stuttering.
That was my cue.
I nodded once and stood, the fabric of my white gown rustling softly as I stepped toward the open doorway. The hall outside was empty except for the man I’d known my whole life the one I’d grown up calling father, though love never felt quite attached to the word.
“There you are,” he said, voice tight.
He looked sharp in his black suit, hair slicked back like always. He took my arm in his, then leaned close. His breath hit my cheek as he spoke through clenched teeth.
“Don’t f**k this up, Ella. A whole lot rides on this deal going through.”
I blinked at him, the sting of his words landing sharp.
That was all I got. No compliment. No fatherly smile. No, you look beautiful or I'm proud of you. Just a warning. A threat disguised as business.
Then the music swelled, and the doors opened.
I took a breath I didn’t feel and let him lead me forward.
The hall was full of faces. Too many faces. My heels clicked against the marble as I walked down the aisle toward Archer Wolfe, the man I was marrying, the man I’d given my virginity to before I even knew I was to marry him and who now stood tall and distant at the altar.
He looked… devastating handsome.
Grey eyes like slate. Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders in a tailored suit that probably cost more than my college tuition. He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Didn’t look at me.
And I didn’t look at him either.
I kept my eyes forward, locked on the priest, afraid that if I met Archer’s gaze, I’d crumble. Because I remembered how he looked at me that night we had s*x. How he touched me like I mattered.
And now he wouldn’t even spare me a glance.
The priest spoke, his voice solemn and low, but the words washed over me in a blur. I repeated my vows with a voice that barely held steady. Archer’s voice was clearer. Strong. Unreadable.
When the rings came out, my fingers trembled. I tried to force them still, but Archer noticed.
Of course he did.
His hand grazed mine as he slid the ring onto my finger, and my body betrayed me, shivers raced up my spine, a tingle down my arms, heat blooming low in my belly.
I hated that I felt it.
I hated that I still wanted him.
"You may now kiss the bride."
There was a pause.
Archer stepped closer, slow and deliberate. His hand reached for my veil and lifted it back. His grey eyes caught mine then, flinty, cold, unreadable and for a split second, I wished I were someone else entirely.
Then he kissed me.
Not sweet. Not tender. It was a kiss for the cameras. For the crowd. For the business deal.
And just like that, he pulled away.
Applause erupted. Guests stood, clapping and smiling, none of them seeing the ache that pulsed through my chest as Archer took my arm and led me out of the hall.
Outside, a black car waited. The driver nodded as we approached.
“We’re heading to the reception now, sir,” he said.
Archer cursed under his breath. “Of course we are,” he muttered, and yanked the door open.
I slipped in after him, careful not to wrinkle my dress, and folded my hands tightly in my lap. The silence between us felt thick and suffocating. I glanced at him and his jaw was clenched, his gaze out the window.
I looked away quickly. He didn’t want me. That much was obvious.
And it made everything feel lonelier than I expected. The seat beside me could’ve been a hundred miles away. I wanted to say something, ask him why he was so cold, but my throat tightened. I wished my mother were here; she would’ve held my hand, told me I looked beautiful, told me love would come.
But she wasn’t.
She’d never see me in this dress. Never see me marry.
The thought pulled hot tears to the backs of my eyes.
I sniffled quietly, dabbing beneath one eye with my finger, hoping Archer wouldn’t notice.
He did.
Of course he did. He turned sharply, fingers catching my chin, forcing my face up.
“You’re crying?” he snapped. “For f**k’s sake, didn’t you want this?”
I blinked at him, startled. “I…” The words lodged in my throat. “I don’t—”
“Save it,” he growled, shoving the door open. “Let’s just get this over with.”
He stepped out, and then offered me a hand. My chest burned. Embarrassment, pain, confusion all swirling together in a mess I couldn’t understand.
I swallowed hard, dabbed my tears with a trembling hand, and followed him out, head bent.
He was waiting with his arm extended, stiff and formal.
I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow.
We walked in silence toward the grand doors of the reception hall. The cheers grew louder inside. His grip tightened.
And then he leaned in, his voice a whisper in my ear.
“Smile pretty, wife. Everyone’s watching.”
- Writer
