Ties That Bind
1436 Words
Selene sat on the edge of her bed, twisting her robe’s hem like maybe it’d give up state secrets if she wrung it hard enough.
Across the room, that contract with Raymond just lay there on her vanity, acting all smug—crisp, official, impossible to ignore. She’d put her name on the dotted line for this so-called truce. Keep the peace. Be civil. Ha. Meanwhile, her guts were doing cartwheels. Who came up with the genius idea that you should share your life with someone you can barely stand, let alone love?
She tucked her legs up, hugging her knees, all balled up. The house was so dead quiet it was honestly kind of rude. Every single creak, every sigh from the floorboards, was like the universe rubbing her nose in her own second thoughts—and, annoyingly, this tiny stubborn ember of hope. Raymond, of all people, had actually surprised her. He wasn’t just polite; he was… decent. Like, actually paying attention to her, not just ticking boxes off some family merger checklist.
Her mind, as usual, wandered off to her dad whenever things got heavy. She could almost hear him: “Some promises aren’t said out loud; you just live them.” That’s what she’d clung to when she’d agreed to all this. But now? Maybe honoring the past didn’t have to mean handing over her whole future. There had to be some loophole. Or at least some wiggle room for a little actual happiness.
A knock yanked her out of her spiral. “Selene? It’s Raymond. Can I come in?” His voice sounded weird… Careful.
She hesitated, then dragged herself up and opened the door.So there he was, death-grip on a manila folder like it might suddenly sprout teeth and gnaw his fingers off. “Uh, hope I’m not interrupting or anything,” he mumbled.
She just waved him in—total nonchalance. “Yeah, whatever. Door’s open.”
He crept inside, scanning the place like he thought something might jump out at him. The room still screamed ‘hotel’—all sterile and impersonal—except for the classic Selene chaos: her shawl tossed over a chair, a poetry book that looked like it had survived a hurricane, and candles that, against all odds, actually smelled like real vanilla.
“Figured you might want to see this,” he said, hesitating a sec before handing the folder over. “It’s from the archives. The OG agreement our dads made.”
She grabbed it, flopped onto the couch, and started thumbing through the old papers. Somewhere in the mess, a letter peeked out—fancy cursive, dated from way back before either of them had a clue. She started reading it aloud, her voice doing that shaky thing it did when she pretended she wasn’t nervous:
“To our beloved children, Raymond and Selene, if this letter finds its purpose, it means we’re not there to walk you through all this. We joined our families out of trust, not control. We believed in what could come next. Sure, duty matters, but we always hoped for love. That you’d find in each other not just a spouse, but a friend, someone who’d actually get you. Whatever you choose, do it with respect and guts. The rest will fall into place. With all our love, Richard & Gregory.”
Her hands shook by the end. The letter wasn’t some royal decree—it felt… soft. Like a wish.
Raymond sat beside her—not in her face, just close. “I didn’t even see this until after my dad passed. I think he really, really wanted it to be enough.”
She managed a lopsided smile. “They didn’t trap us. They gave us an out. Or, I guess, a chance.”
They sat there in that thick, not-weird silence. It actually felt kind of okay. Then Raymond cleared his throat. “So, um, my cousin Alexander’s throwing this fancy charity thing on Saturday. Black tie, the whole shebang. Want to be my plus-one? It’d… mean a lot if you came.”
Well, life doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath, does it?
Selene hung back for a second. God, she hadn’t done the whole “public spectacle” thing since the wedding, and that had been more than enough for a lifetime. The tabloids had made her their latest chew toy, and honestly?
She’d rather eat glass than deal with their nosy questions. Still… maybe it was time to show up for herself, not just as “Raymond’s wife,” but as, well—Selene. Whoever that was these days.
“Fine,” she muttered, trying to act chill, but her hands were already fidgeting with her sleeve. “I’ll go, okay?”
Raymond’s whole face just—melted. Soft, grateful, almost mushy, which was so not his usual vibe. “Thank you. I’ll have the stylist send over some options tomorrow.”
He nearly made a clean exit, but, nope, he had to pause at the door, tossing a look over his shoulder. “Selene… What did I say in the garden? Still true. I want to be your friend first. The rest can wait its turn.”
Wow, okay, that landed. She blinked, off-balance, but managed a crooked little smile. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”
Then, boom—the night of the gala just showed up, no warning. Like, was someone fast-forwarding the week? Suddenly she’s in front of the mirror, face-to-face with this total stranger who just happens to be her. That emerald dress? Unreal. Off-the-shoulder, dramatic as hell, lace everywhere—it felt like something a panicked princess would wear on a bad day.
Her hair was all fancy, swept up with rebel curls sneaking out, and the diamond necklace (Raymond’s family showing off, obviously) sparkled on her collarbone like it had its own agenda. She looked… well, intimidating. On the outside, anyway. Inside, she was two seconds from vibrating out of existence.
Raymond popped in, cool as a cucumber in his tux, like he hadn’t just walked off the cover of GQ. He stared for a heartbeat. “Wow. You look… just, wow.”
Instant heat in her cheeks. “You clean up pretty decently yourself.”
He offered his arm, the whole old-school gentleman move. She took it, praying she wouldn’t face-plant before the night even started.
A car pulls up, and—yep—paparazzi everywhere, flashes going off like someone brought the Fourth of July. Selene went stiff, but Raymond gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Eyes up. I’ve got you.”
Inside? The ballroom looked like a billionaire’s fever dream. Chandeliers, marble, the kind of people who only exist on magazine covers. The Smiths still had that “we own the world” energy because suddenly everyone was watching. Walking in felt like being tossed to couture-wearing lions.
Then Alexander swooped in—Raymond’s cousin, resident chaos gremlin. “Raymond! Selene! Already stealing the spotlight. Love it.”
Raymond did that polite, practiced smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Alexander gave Selene a wink. “We’ve all been waiting to meet the woman who wrangled the infamous Raymond Smith.”
She snorted. “Wrangled? Trust me, he’s not housebroken yet.”
People laughed, and suddenly her ribs weren’t squeezing her lungs so hard. Raymond stuck close, introducing her around, making sure she didn’t get lost in the sea of rich-and-ridiculous. Before long, she was chatting, actually laughing—was she… enjoying herself? Unthinkable.
At some point, the music switched gears—cue string quartet, all classy and dramatic, and the crowd drifted to the dance floor. Raymond turned to her, palm out. “Dance with me?”
She hesitated, then—whatever—shrugged and grabbed his hand.
They moved together, slow and easy, and something inside her—something soft—unfurled. Not nerves. Not fear. Just… warmth. Maybe even admiration, if she dared admit it.
Raymond leaned in, his voice all low and honest. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
She looked up, catching his gaze. “No, seriously—thank you. For everything.”
The music swelled around them, wrapping them up. For the first time, it didn’t feel fake, or staged, or like some PR circus act. It felt solid. Real. Like maybe respect and trust weren’t just buzzwords, but actual things you could build something on.
Those old chains between them? Felt lighter. Maybe not chains at all anymore—maybe threads. Threads she was secretly hoping would stick.
- Writer
