Ten
1363 Words
Marriage does not feel real immediately after the kiss.
It feels ceremonial.
Symbolic.
Almost theatrical.
It only begins to sink in when people start calling you his wife.
We stood at the front of the hall receiving blessings from well wishers, distant relatives, family friends, political allies, business partners. It was a small wedding, yes, but small in our world still meant influential.
They shook Alexander’s hand firmly.
They held mine more delicately.
Bless you.
May your home be peaceful.
May you be fruitful.
May your union prosper.
I smiled until my cheeks ached. Alexander stood beside me like he had done this his entire life. Calm. Polished. Occasionally glancing at me, as if assessing whether I was still steady.
Every time someone referred to me as Mrs Dubois, something inside me flinched slightly.
Mrs Dubois.
I slipped my hand out of his when a cluster of older guests approached him for deeper conversation. It was subtle. Intentional. He noticed, of course, but he did not stop me.
I found Camille in a quiet corner of the hall, dabbing at her eyes for the hundredth time.
“You,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her.
She sniffed dramatically. “Do not start with me.”
“You did not tell me I was about to become your sister in law.”
She groaned. “How exactly was I supposed to tell you? Hello best friend, by the way, surprise, you are marrying my brother next month.”
“You could have tried,” I muttered.
She looked genuinely torn. “I did not know how to. And by the time I confirmed it, everything was already in motion. He asked me not to interfere.”
That sounded like Alexander.
Strategic.
Controlled.
“You are unbelievable,” I said, but there was no real anger in my voice.
She studied my face carefully. “How are you really?”
The question lingered.
I exhaled slowly. “At least I do not have to worry about the family I married into.”
She smiled faintly.
“And at least my husband is not an old man with three previous wives and political ambitions,” I added dryly.
She laughed softly through her tears.
“Honestly,” I continued, lowering my voice, “I am relieved.”
Her brows lifted.
“I know I am in safe hands,” I admitted. “I just do not know what marriage holds.”
That was the truth.
Alexander was not cruel. He was not unstable. He was not reckless.
But he was still Alexander.
Reserved.
Dominant in quiet ways.
Calculated.
Camille wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. “I vouch for him,” she said firmly. “He is many things, but he will not hurt you.”
I allowed myself to lean into her for a second.
“Maybe it will not be as scary as it sounds,” she added.
Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut in.
“She is my wife now.”
Alexander.
We both turned.
He was not looking at me. He was looking at Camille.
“You should know you cannot hug her whenever you want,” he added calmly.
Camille pulled away with a dramatic groan. “Oh my God, you are already insufferable.”
I folded my arms and gave him an offended look. “Excuse me?”
He finally looked at me.
His expression did not change much, but something flickered in his eyes. Possessive. Amused.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
Camille rolled her eyes and stepped aside, clearly enjoying whatever tension was unfolding.
Alexander leaned toward my ear, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
“Thought I would be perfect,” he murmured.
My breath caught.
“At least you are not married to a beast.”
Heat crept up my neck instantly.
“And I love the way I can still make you turn crimson,” he continued softly. “How long do you crush on people, Elena?”
My heart nearly betrayed me in front of the entire hall.
“I do not,” I whispered sharply.
He pulled back slightly, studying my face with infuriating calm.
“You used to avoid me,” he said.
“That was years ago.”
“And yet,” he replied quietly, “your ears still give you away.”
Camille made a gagging sound behind us. “I am still here, you know.”
Alexander straightened.
Without another word to me, he walked toward the stage where the microphone stood waiting.
And in that exact moment, I knew.
Whatever he was about to say would not be harmless.
I followed him with my eyes as he adjusted the microphone.
The room quieted.
He held the mic effortlessly, like he belonged under attention.
“I will keep this short,” he began smoothly.
Of course he would.
“I would like to thank everyone who honored us with their presence.”
Polite applause.
He glanced briefly at me before continuing.
“My wife has had a long day.”
My wife.
The words landed differently this time.
“She is exhausted from the ceremonies,” he added casually.
I narrowed my eyes.
“And while I appreciate celebration,” he continued, a faint smile touching his lips, “I would love to skip the after party and take my wife home.”
The hall erupted in teasing laughter and cheers.
My jaw tightened.
He did not look at me while he said it.
He did not need to.
“She deserves rest,” he finished.
Rest.
That was one way to frame it.
Camille leaned toward me and whispered, “He is not even subtle.”
I swallowed.
Alexander handed the microphone back and descended from the stage like a man who had just made an executive decision.
When he reached me, he did not ask.
He simply extended his hand.
“Shall we?” he said quietly.
I looked at his hand.
At the ring on his finger.
At the calm authority in his posture.
“You enjoy this,” I accused softly.
He tilted his head slightly. “Enjoy what?”
“Making decisions.”
“I made one decision,” he replied. “You.”
That silenced me more than it should have.
He leaned closer again, just enough for his voice to brush against my ear.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I am not taking you anywhere you do not want to go.”
The statement held weight.
Consent.
Control.
Safety.
He was reminding me without saying it directly.
Still, the fact remained.
I was now his wife.
And he had just publicly announced his intention to take me home early.
Camille squeezed my hand one last time. “Call me if he scares you.”
Alexander arched a brow at her.
“I heard that.”
“Good,” she shot back.
I allowed him to guide me gently through the hall toward the exit.
Every step felt heavier than the walk down the aisle earlier.
Because this was no longer ceremony.
This was real.
Outside, the air was cooler. Quieter.
He opened the car door for me without speaking.
Before I got in, I looked up at him.
“You could have warned me,” I said softly.
“About what?”
“That you were the groom.”
His gaze held mine steadily.
“If I had told you,” he replied, “you would have overthought it.”
He was not wrong.
“And you would not have walked down that aisle calmly.”
Also true.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice once more.
“You were brave today,” he said.
The compliment caught me off guard.
“And you?” I asked.
“I was certain.”
There it was again.
Certainty.
As I slid into the car, one thought echoed louder than the others.
This man is going to change my life.
Whether gently or forcefully.
Whether sweetly or strategically.
And for the first time since this entire journey began, I was not just afraid.
I was curious.
- Writer
