Married by Contract

I was unable to feel my hands. My fingers were numb from the lace gloves, and the veil's weight was like a crown of chains pressing down on my head. However, it wasn't the jewels or the fabric. It was the loud, suffocating silence that existed inside of me, like the prelude to an uncontrollable scream. My heart ached against my ribs as if it were pleading with me to run as I stood at the end of the long, white aisle. From the corners, cameras flashed, but none of them managed to capture the important moments. Not the shuddering in my knees. Not the constriction in my throat. Not the way my gaze kept straying to the hefty doors behind me. The ones that would shut down after I said, "I do." I was unable to identify the song that the string quartet played, but it was gentle and classical. Not exactly her, but my mother had made a wise choice. After informing them that her mother would be too weak to attend, her nurse did. A car had been offered by Peter. I hoped that meant something. However, he hadn't arrived by himself. He didn't. Behind me, there was a whisper, "Mira." Lila, my cousin, is adjusting my train. "You appear to be on the verge of passing out." I replied in a whisper, "I might." She squeezed my hand but remained silent. How could she respond? It was obvious to all that this wedding was not about love. It was about saving Dad and my family. I inhaled sharply and moved forward. The chapel had the scent of a funeral procession, with white roses lining the aisle. Rather than looking ahead, I counted them. One, two, three, forty-seven. Faster than my steps, my heart also counted. Peter Blackwood was already at the altar when I looked up, tall and imposing. He was as sharp as his suit. When his eyes met mine, they remained unsoftened. I didn't think they would. They stared right through me, grey as frost. He had no smile on his face. He wasn't, of course. Before this, I had only met him twice. He once consented to the marriage in a hospital hallway as if he were signing a contract. The second instance occurred during the signing of the contract. He hadn't given me a look back then either. He looked now. But I didn't see any warmth. Control was the issue. icy and unyielding. When I got to the altar, I put my hand in his. His fingers closed around mine, but they weren't soft or tight. Just enough firmness to remind me that I was now his. The officiant started talking. The rushing in my ears made it difficult for me to hear him. In my mouth, my tongue felt heavy. I continued to look down at my bouquet's silk ribbon. I hadn't cried. Not yet. "...to possess and hold from now on." I didn't recognize the voice, but my lips moved. It was as if someone else was speaking through me as it reverberated back to me, steady and gentle. "...for poorer, for richer." It's Peter's turn. He spoke without faltering. It was detached and deep. managed. "Until death do us part, in health and in illness." He didn't even blink. Then came the rings. chilly metal. chilly touch. I pondered whether he could sense my clammy fingers. If he saw how mine trembled when I attempted to put the band on his finger. "You can give the bride a kiss." My breath caught. He touched my waist. I remained motionless. I turned my face just enough for him to brush against my cheek as he leaned in. His breath was warm against my skin, but it didn't make the cold inside of me go away. There was never a kiss. I was appreciative. The cheers began. Hollow, far away, now I was the wife of Peter Blackwood. A name that carried influence, wealth, and authority. And no room to breathe. Expensive cologne and leather were the scents of the limousine. Peter sat next to me with his hands clasped on his lap and his legs slightly apart. Since we left the chapel, neither he nor I had spoken. The quiet was fragile. brittle. As if the entire arrangement would fall apart if either of us said something incorrectly. I looked out the window while folding my hands in my lap. London came by in gold and grey tones. The crowds shifted. Automobiles sounded. Life continued. My life had simply ceased. Peter remarked, "You didn't even glance at me during the vows." I was surprised by his voice. It was heavy but silent. I made a slight turn. "I thought you wouldn't notice." He smirked, but there was no humour in it. “I notice everything.” I was at a loss for words, so I said nothing. He didn't exert pressure. Rather, he took a folded piece of paper out of his jacket's inside pocket. Ivory parchment, thick. The contract of marriage. "Signed. sealed. Completed. He gave it a one-finger tap. "There is no turning back now." I gave a nod. He turned to give me a full view. "Mira, don't expect love." For the first time since the ceremony, I looked him in the eyes. "I didn't intend to." His mouth quirked. "All right. After that, we'll get along just fine. He didn't live in a penthouse. It was a silent glass palace. Floor-to-ceiling windows, marble flooring, and a view of the Thames below sparkling. However, there was no warmth. Don't laugh. No life. Peter led me into a spacious guest room and said, "This is where you'll stay." Ask Iris if you need anything. She is in charge of the house. I turned slowly, admiring the room's sterile beauty. White bedding, ivory curtains, and a walk-in closet larger than the bedroom I grew up in. "And you?" Quietly, I asked. He declared, "I live in my room." "At the end of the hallway." Naturally. At the door, he paused. "There are regulations." My stomach became tight. "No media. No interviews. Avoid leaving without security. Don't discuss us with anyone. I gave him a look. "Am I still able to communicate with my family?" His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was making a calculation. "Yes, if they call. However, no visits without first discussing it with me. "All right." He hesitated once more. "This is not a personal matter. It serves as protection. defence. He uttered a word that meant authority. He didn't wait for me to answer. He shut the door after leaving. My hands were clenched in my lap as I sat on the edge of the bed. There was silence in the room, too large, too tidy, and too strange, like the remainder of my life at this point. I lifted the veil. My hair, laden with flowers and pins, cascaded down my back. I tried not to cry as I tugged at each one individually. I wasn't sure I could stop once I got going. After that, I lay down and gazed at the ceiling while still wearing the white gown. Now I had a husband. However, I had never felt so isolated. How long I slept is unknown to me. I opened my eyes to find the windows dark. My brain ached. I had a dry throat. After removing the dress and draping myself in a robe, I entered the hallway. The illumination was low. Everything was quiet. I made my way to the kitchen. Water was what I needed. Something tangible. Something I could grasp. I stopped as I went by the living room. Peter took a seat. He hadn't switched on the lights. With his back straight and a glass in his hand, he sat by himself in the dark. Most likely whisky. He threw his jacket aside and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. At first, he didn't notice me. I observed him. Without fear, for once. He appeared... worn out. Then he spoke abruptly. "Have you had any sleep?" I went cold. He spoke in a soothing tone. Not chilly. I took a step closer, close enough to see his profile in the city lights. Indeed. Just a bit. He ignored me. Simply slowly swirl the glass. "You didn't want this, did you?" "No," I muttered. "Neither am I." My chest ached from the way he said it. He continued, "I'll try my best to make it bearable." I didn't answer. I had no idea how. At last, he turned to face me. His eyes were dark and unreadable. "Mira, go to bed." Yes, I did. A knock on the door woke me up the following morning. Groggy, I sat up. "Yes?" Iris came in, stiff but courteous. "Please come to Mr. Blackwood's office. Right now. My heart skipped a beat. "Has something occurred?" She didn't respond. She simply gestured for me to put on my clothes. I was outside Peter's home office ten minutes later. Before I could knock, the door flew open. Peter was standing there with a tablet in one hand and a phone in the other. His eyes were dark, and his jaw was clenched, but his expression was unreadable. "Enter," he said. I entered. He displayed the tablet. "What is this?"