I married a stranger

Chapter six: The drive

Rose’s POV:

I glance at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. The car was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. He clearly said the car would be pick me up by seven, and it is already thirty minutes past seven.

Not that I am waiting for him.

At least, that was what I keep telling myself.

I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of my dress before letting out a frustrated sigh. I’m not even sure why I am so nervous. It is not like this was an actual date.

This is Christopher.

My soon-to-be husband and I’m going to meet his parents.

The thought still felt strange. I kept picking at my nails trying to calm myself down. “Calm the f**k down rose” I mutter to myself.

Before I can think about it any further, the sound of a car pulling up outside catches my attention.

I freeze.

A moment later, my phone buzzes.

“I’m outside.” It is Christopher.

I stare at the message for a few seconds before rolling my eyes, Of course he does not come to the door. Typical Chris.

I grab my bag and head downstairs, trying my best to ignore the nervous feeling twisting in my stomach.

When I step outside, I immediately spot his car parked by the curb. And there he was, leaning against the driver’s door with his arms crossed, looking as effortlessly composed and handsome as ever.

His eyes met mine.

For a brief second, neither of us says anything. Then his gaze travels over me before returning to my face.

“You’re late,” he said.

I blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You took long enough.” I stare at him in disbelief.

He comes to pick me up, and somehow, I am the one being accused of being late.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter sarcastically. “Next time I will make sure I’m standing outside waiting for you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.“Good.”

I narrow my eyes at him, I already regret coming.

He moves to open the passenger door for me, I raise my brow slightly surprised. “I did not know you were a gentleman.” I say to him. He got into the car and looks at me before starting the engine.

“I don’t think opening the door for my fiancé counts as being a gentleman” he says as he drives.

My heart skips a beat. He said that word again.

He does not just say fiancée, he says my fiancée like I am his to own. The thought of being his makes me feel hot all of a sudden. I roll down the car window, needing some air.

He looks at me before turning his attention back to the road. “Do you want me to turn on the AC.” He asks.

“No I’m fine.”

He does not say anything after that.

The silence between us becomes almost unbearable. I stare out the window, watching the houses and shops pass by, while my fingers continue to fidget with the strap of my bag.

I do not know why I’m this nervous. I have met plenty of people before, have went to events and exhibitions were I had to greet and talk to people. His parents are just two more people.

Two very important people who are probably going to judge me the moment I walk through their door.

I glance at Christopher.

He looks completely relaxed, one hand resting on the steering wheel while his eyes remain fixed on the road. My eyes drifted toward his hands resting on the steering wheel. The veins along the back of his hands stood out beneath his skin, especially whenever his fingers tightened around the wheel. I found myself staring longer than I should have, tracing the lines with my eyes before quickly looking away.

Why did his hands have to be so attractive?

I swallowed, forcing myself to focus on the passing scenery, but a few seconds later, my eyes betrayed me again. There was something about him that made looking away feel impossible.

“Do you always stare at people when you do not know what to say?” He suddenly asks.

“I was not staring.” I say looking away.

His eyebrow lifts. “Right” The smugness in his voice made me want to roll my eyes.

“How long have you known that you were going to marry me?” I asked him. His eyes briefly move toward me.

“What kind of question is that?” He says.

“A normal one.”

He lets out a quiet sigh. “I have known for a while.”

I frown.

“And you were just okay with it?”

“I did not have much of a choice.”

Neither did I. For some reason, hearing him say it makes my chest feel a little heavy.

“So you do not want to marry me?”

He is quiet for a moment. “I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

He glances at me again, his expression unreadable.

“I’m saying that neither of us planned for this.”

I look away.

He is right. Neither of us planned for this, But somehow we are still doing it.

A few minutes pass before I decide to ask the question that has been bothering me since I agreed to come.

“What are your parents like?”

His hands tighten slightly around the steering wheel. “They are a lot.” He replies.

I turn toward him.

“A lot?”

“You will understand when you meet them.”

“That does not exactly make me feel better.”

A faint smile appears on his lips.

“I was not trying to.”

I stare at him.

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

I shake my head, trying not to smile.

For the first time since getting into the car, I feel some of the tension leave my body. Then Christopher turns onto a quieter road.

I look ahead. A large black gate comes into view, My stomach immediately drops.

“Is that your parent’s house?” I ask him.

He nods. I sit up straighter, suddenly aware of every little detail about myself.

“Oh my God.”

Christopher looks at me.

“What?”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Please don’t.” I glare at him.

“This is not funny.”

“I know.”

But the slight smile on his face tells me otherwise. The gates slowly open, revealing a massive house behind them.

I stare at it in silence.

This is it.

I’m about to meet Christopher Blackwood’s parents.