Married To The Lawsons

Our First Meeting.

Today, I meet the Lawsons.

Yes, you heard me right. It is about to become official. My long awaited nightmare. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, fully dressed and glammed up like a runway model.

The makeup is flawless. Not mine, of course. One of my mother's favorite artists showed up at the crack of dawn with a suitcase full of contour, highlighter, and judgment. Courtesy of my darling mother again. My hair is swept back into a sleek bun. And this dress? Dark blue, off-shoulder, snug at the waist. I think it's beautiful, elegant, formal and suffocating.

I don’t recognize myself.

I'm finally meeting my soon to be… something. Husband, I guess.

My mother’s voice rings out from the hallway, sharp and clipped. “Dorathy, let’s not be late. Remember, first impressions matter.”

Exhaling, I grab my tiny clutch, and step out.

We walk to the car in silence and of course the driver’s waiting, doors open, engine running. Everything is choreographed like it’s a scene in a movie I didn’t audition for.

Once we’re seated in the backseat and the gates roll open behind us, the lecture begins.

“You will smile when you need to and laugh, but not too loudly. Let him speak first and don’t slouch, please, Dorathy.”

The car rolls out the driveway of our estate and I rest my head against the window, watching LA slowly blur past. “Would you like me to curtsy too?”

She ignores that.

“Don’t be sarcastic. Not today.”

I say nothing.

“This is important. The Lawsons are a respected family. You’ll be expected to hold your own elegance and composure.”

“Obedience?” I throw in, unable to help myself.

She gives me the look. The one that could silence a room and I almost laugh. “You’re not a child anymore.”

“No. Just someone getting handed off like a vintage bottle of wine.”

She sighs like I’m the one being unreasonable.

We pull up to the restaurant, the Lawsons private rooftop space overlooking the city. The kind of place that costs more to breathe in than most people make in a week. Everything about it screams exclusivity. Walking in, hostess greets us like she’s been rehearsing it all morning. We’re led upstairs to a quiet corner with a long table and a view that could make your heart ache.

They’re here already.

Mr. and Mrs. Lawson look like polished marble statues. Just as I had imagined. He sits stiff, in an expensive suit that probably has its own insurance policy and she looks regal, in that silk dress and diamonds that catch the light just enough to remind you who you’re dealing with.

And to their right, I see him.

Ted Lawson.

Dark hair neatly combed back, the kind that would fall effortlessly into place if he ever let it. His jawline is precise, like it was sculpted by someone who wanted to prove a point and I have to admit, the pictures on magazines and cold press articles don't do him any justice.

His eyes, intense, calculating, locks onto me the second I step forward.

He is studying me, and I admit I am doing the exact same thing but he gives nothing away.

As we arrive the table, he rises, movements effortless.

"Mrs. Gates," he says, nodding at my mother.

"Ted," she greets in return, smiling as she takes her seat.

Then, he looks at me.

"Dorathy."

His voice is smooth, polite and controlled.

"Ted," I say back, matching his tone.

We sit.

Three waiters walk to our table, menus in hand and minutes later, waiters glide in and out, refilling glasses and offering wine.

The conversation starts, mostly between our parents. Business talk. Deals, investments, and legacy. All I can think of now is why a grown ass man, would need his parents to arrange his marriage for him.

When the food arrives, my plate is set in front of me. A perfectly cooked filet, seared at the edges, pink in the center, paired with velvety mashed potatoes and bright green asparagus. It looks perfect.

I pick up my fork and cut into the meat, but I don’t eat. I just move it around the plate, pushing the asparagus aside.

I sip my water and count how many times his father says the word “tradition.”

Then, Ted turns to me.

"Are you always this quiet?"

I glance up, meeting his still unreasonable and cold gaze.

"Only when I’m listening to the terms of my life being negotiated over steak."

His lips twitch, almost like he’s amused. "Honest."

"Problem?"

"Not at all." He leans back slightly. "I appreciate honesty."

I don’t respond.

He watches me for a second longer, then says, "You seem… unenthusiastic."

"Would you like me to pretend?"

His brow lifts slightly. "That won’t be necessary."

"Good," I say, setting my glass down. "Because I don’t plan to."

A pause.

Then, I see something I don’t expect. The faintest hint of a smirk.

"You don't like this arrangement," he says, more of a statement than a question.

"Do you?" I shoot back.

His gaze stays steady. "No."

Honest.

I study him, trying to find something behind the indifference. Some flicker of emotion. Nothing.

I sit back, fingers tapping against my lap.

"Then we’re on the same page."

A beat.

He tilts his head slightly. "Are we?"

Before I can respond, his mother speaks, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Dorathy, dear, are you enjoying your meal?"

I glance at my untouched plate. "It’s lovely." I say.

"Good," she beams, satisfied. "I hear you studied in New York?"

I nod, oh I know exactly where this is going.

"Any plans for a career?" she asks, her voice very polite but expectant.

I can feel my mother’s stare without even looking her way.

"I had plans," I say carefully. "Still do."

"Oh?"

My eyes flicker to Ted, and he's interested. Waiting and listening.

I pick up my fork, twirling it between my fingers. "Depends how much free time I have after the wedding."

Ted’s smirk returns, just slightly. His mother, however, just laughs lightly, brushing it off.

I put the fork down. My appetite is gone.

The rest of dinner is quiet. Formal. Exactly what I expected.

By the time dessert is served, I excuse myself to the restroom just to breathe.

I look at myself in the mirror again. Still in this dress and makeup that has begun to feel heavy.

And above all things, I just want to go home or maybe somewhere far away with no mom, and no Ted Lawson.