by Nia Arthurs
My mom is… the complete opposite.
She pushed for my life to go according to The Plan.
The Plan is a four-step journey carefully crafted for her only baby girl.
College. Bachelors Degree. Dream wedding. Masters Degree.
She was crushed when I decided to go for my Masters and skip the marriage part. A parade of blind dates ensued as she desperately tried to change my mind.
Poor thing. I discovered pretty early on that I am not cut out for long-term relationships. My slew of failed attempts was evidence enough. My smarting heart calloused after every indiscretion.
I’m a data person. The amount of time, energy and effort I put into chasing men who didn’t want me (or wanted me and an entire harem) was not being returned.
So I gave up.
So did Mom.
That’s why she had no problems accepting my engagement to a total stranger.
In fact, she was floating on air.
All she could talk about was our wedding. The one we’d hold after Novah’s, of course, because wouldn’t that be rude to steal my cousin’s thunder?
I remember how her black eyes were sparkling. How her long nails twitched. How her smile couldn’t drop if she tried. When she finds out that there’s no princess dress, huge reception or special ceremony…
When she finds out I’m getting hitched in a cheesy Elvis Presley wedding chapel on the strip…?
I’m so dead.
“Elizabeth,” Brogan calls my name gently, “are you okay?”
I hear his voice from far away. Like it’s coming from a can.
His face eases closer to mine.
Blue eyes.
Black irises.
Golden flecks.
“You’re not scared of airplanes, are you?” he asks.
No.
Not airplanes.
I’m scared of five-foot-four Caribbean women with hands as heavy as paddleboards and the aim of an Olympic javelin thrower, especially when she’s got that Jamaican slippers leveled at my head.
I gulp.
“Here.” Brogan takes off his thermal and slips it over me. “You’re shaking.”
The jacket smells like him.
Something clean. Warm. Earthy.
I like it.
Like the smell.
It’s calming.
I inhale deeply.
“That’s it.” He nods. Blue eyes dart over my face. “Better now?”
“Yes.”
He shifts in his seat. Pulls down the window shade so I can’t see the clouds. “You said you wanted to talk rules.”
Rules.
Right.
Laws.
Boundaries.
That’s important.
“There are a few things,” I begin.
“Wait, let me take out my laptop.” He pulls a fancy model from his briefcase and opens the lid.
“Does it need to be that official?”
“I’m a lawyer.” He shrugs. “Everything needs to be written in clear, concise language. Hazard of the trade.”
I stare at him. “You’re a lawyer?”
His lips do that twitching thing again.
“I mean…” My eyes drift away.
He doesn’t look like a lawyer. An assumption I realize now is a little unfair. Lawyers don’t have one type of look. Just because he wears ripped jeans and has a scraggly beard doesn’t mean he couldn’t study for years to pass the bar exam.
“I was partner at my old firm,” he says. It sounds almost like a boast, but there’s a guardedness creeping into his eyes. I’m starting to notice that it comes up whenever he talks about his past. Or when I stare too long at his hands.
Rather than press him for more information, I tease. “I’m relieved.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“The chances of you being an ax murderer just decreased by fifty percent.”
“Just fifty?”
“I thought I was being generous.”
His lips tilt up.
I smile back.
This is okay.
We can do this.
I can totally marry a man I don’t know.
Whatever.
It’s fine.
Perfectly fine.
Brogan poises his slender fingers over the keyboard.
I take a deep breath. “Rule Number One: no one can ever know this is fake.”
“No one?” He glances at me. “My friend Lucas knows.”
“Lucas?”
“He’s trustworthy.”
“Okay. No one except Lucas. And definitely no one in my family.” I shudder to think of Novah getting her hands on this information. She’d lord it over me for life. “We have to convince my mom and the rest of them that it’s real.”
He nods.
“So if that requires some physical interaction,” I study his expression to see how he feels about that, “we might have to do it.”
Brogan just shrugs.
“Kissing,” I say hesitantly.
He writes it down.
“Hugging. Handholding. The usual.”
“Got it.” He nods as if we’re discussing what we’ll order from a menu and not how we’ll handle PDA. “Anything else?”
“No sex,” I add.
He glances at me with an incredulous look.
I shrug. “We’re being thorough.”
He dutifully types it in and then hands it over for me to read. “I added one last clause.”
“What is it?”
“Our marriage is over the day I get my inheritance. Not a second before.”
“What if it takes a year?”
“It won’t.”
“But what if?”
“Then,” he shrugs, “you’ll be stuck with me for a year.”
What the hell am I doing?
“Trust me, I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that too.”
I scan the document, my stomach rumbling with nerves.
I’ve come this far.
Might as well…
“Okay. Looks good.”
“We’ll sign this along with the marriage license.”
I nod nervously.
Brogan sends me another questioning look.
I swallow my panic and sink down into my seat.
It’ll all be fine. It’s fine. We’re fine.
My internal reassurances do little to ease the anxiety coursing through my veins. By the time we touch down and head to the Marriage License Bureau, I’m a puddle of nerves.
When we walk out of the building an hour later, I realize we’re one step closer to making things official.
Brogan squints, shading his eyes from the sun as we watch all the neon signs inviting us in.
“There are so many options,” I say, scanning the variety.
Do people really just fly here and get married in one day? It feels so… shallow.
Not that I’m one to judge.
Particularly since I’m here to do that very thing.
“Have any special requests?” Brogan asks.
His voice is quiet.
His eyes are searching mine.
I can tell that he’s trying to be as accommodating as possible, but I’m pretty sure it’s too little, too late. If he were all that worried about me, he wouldn’t have used mom’s phone call last night as leverage to get my name on that marriage license.
“No Elvis.”
His lips twitch.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
I stalk down the strip and enter the first marriage chapel that doesn’t boast an Elvis impersonator. Elvis is great and all, but I’m not in a rush to fulfill that particular stereotype of a Vegas wedding.
The pastor of the chapel seems nice enough and he even asks his wife to stand in as witness for us since we didn’t bring our own.
“Would you like to say your own vows?” he asks, after making us join hands in front of a fake-flower archway.
I nod enthusiastically.
Si
nce we’re planning to divorce, vowing to love Brogan ‘in sickness and in health till death do us part’ doesn’t sit well with me. I’m no liar and, when I make a promise, I keep it.
He takes my hand.
We face each other.
It’s weird.
This is…
I don’t know.
It almost doesn’t feel real. Like we’re playing a part. Like some director will yell ‘cut’ and we’ll throw each other’s hands away.
But there’s no director.
No cameras.
No audience.
There’s just Brogan, telling me he’ll take care of me and honor me for as long as we’re married.
And me, repeating the same, cold, formal words to him.
It’s a business transaction.
It feels like one.
No butterflies.
No smiles.
No… kiss?
“You may kiss the bride,” the pastor says again, as if we’re both hard of hearing and didn’t catch the instruction the first time.
Brogan remains in place. Studies me with his intelligent blue eyes. I know he’s thinking about our contract. Weighing whether this moment falls under the overarching principle of keeping our ruse.
I shrug. Beckon him over. We might as well get used to it. My parents will think it’s weird if we have our first awkward kiss in front of them.
Brogan gets my drift.
He steps in. Grasps my chin. Tilts my head.
There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Sadness, maybe. Regret? A bad memory?
And then his lips fall on mine.
It’s a gentle kiss.
Bordering on a peck.
But not.
His mouth brushes over my bottom lip.
My breath hitches.
My heart thunders.
Slowly, Brogan pulls back.
It’s not until I open my eyes and see him staring down at me that I realize I had my eyes closed. Embarrassment heats my cheeks. Why the hell did I close my eyes?
Trying to cover my horror, I turn away from Brogan.
Try to steady my breath.
Try to play it off.
It was just a kiss.
It meant nothing.
Nothing at all.
Seven
Brogan
I didn’t expect to feel anything when I kissed Elizabeth. From the stunned look on her face, she didn’t expect it either.
We stare at each other, trying to figure it out.
Her dark brown eyes dart left and right, searching mine.
I have no answers.
No promises.
No reassurance.
Does she want me to admit I’m attracted to her?
Sure. I can do that. I’m not blind. I think she’s a beautiful woman.
My gaze scans her elegant off-the-shoulder white dress and voluminous brown hair.
It falls on her thick eyelashes.
Her slender neck.
Her glossy pink lips.
Those lips…
They look as sweet as they’d tasted.
My body stirs to life.
She’s beautiful, sure.
But beautiful women are the most dangerous.
I know that firsthand.
Love hasn’t been kind to me and all the emotions that come with it have my fair and equal scorn.
It was just a kiss.
A kiss between strangers.
Something new and strange and different.
Nothing to get excited about. Even if I am, naturally, responding to the near-chaste touch.
It’s been a while.
That’s all it is.
“Would you like to take a picture?”
I defer to Elizabeth.
Releasing a shaky breath, she nods at the pastor.
We stand side-by-side. Close, but not touching.
It’s slightly awkward. Not very lovey-dovey. Reminds me of the old, black-and-white photographs of my grandparents as a couple. Both staring the camera head-on. Holding themselves straight. Faces as sober as a funeral shot. The opposite of romantic.
But then again, this isn’t the moment for romance.
And it will never be.
The next few days are about survival.
Steph’s.
As we catch a taxi and head back to the airport, Elizabeth is uncharacteristically quiet.
Not that I know her well enough to say whether being chatty is in her character. But, both times we’ve met, she’s always had something to say. Some fact to share. Some joke to make.
Right now, she’s sitting on the opposite end of the backseat, as far away from me as humanly possible.
Her hands are gripping the fake bouquet tightly. Brown fingers rub a leaf. Then the stem. Then up to a pink petal.
Her straight white teeth snag on her bottom lip.
Is she regretting the marriage already?
It’s a little too late.
We’ve got a contract binding us together for the next seven days.
I blow out a breath. Stare at the silver buildings glinting outside.
I’m married.
Again.
Just like that.
My thoughts veer to my first wedding.
That day, I sweated bullets. Jumped with excitement. Shook with nerves.
That day, I had tons of people in the church, eager to share in the festivities.
That day, Lana wore an extravagant wedding gown with a long train and sparkling jewels. A European artist did her makeup. Her shoes? Custom-made.
We’d had fourteen groomsmen and fourteen bridesmaids. All decked out in tailored tuxes and expensive dresses.
We had a huge reception at one of the oldest estates this side of the country.
A mountain of wedding gifts.
An entire article written in Page Six.
But none of it had mattered to me.
Not one guest, or bridesmaid or a stitch of Lana’s fifteen-thousand-dollar dress.
All I’d cared about was starting our life together.
Making a family.
Enjoying a love that would endure forever.
Forever turned out to be a lot shorter than I thought.
Elizabeth makes a sound that’s part-sigh, part-huff.
I glance over.
Watch her.
Today’s wedding was less exciting, less expensive, less well-attended, but the steadiness in my heart is its own reassurance. I don’t miss the big church or the fancy wedding dress or the loud reception.
I don’t miss love.
This marriage with Elizabeth is… something else. I promised to never hurt her and, though she promised the same, I know she can never hurt me.
She won’t have a single opportunity to.
Because I’ll never let her that close.
A phone buzzes.
I reach for my pocket, but Elizabeth stops me. “It’s mine.”
Easing back, I continue my scan of the city roaring past my window.
In the background, I hear Elizabeth’s voice—softer and more restrained than I’ve heard her speak before. “Yes, Novah. Yes. Tomorrow? Sure. I’ll do that. Of course I’m bringing him. You have no idea how much trouble I went through to—” She pauses. Glances at me.
I meet her gaze.
“He’ll be there, okay? So stop bothering me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Elizabeth roughly ends the call and stuffs the phone in her purse.
I catch a glimpse of the cracked screen before she zips up her bag. “Your cousin?”
“We’re around the same age. You know how it is in a big family. You’re forced to be friends simply out of proximity.”
I shrug. My family’s not that big or that close. I have an older brother who lives out of state. We don’t really catch up unless Mom forces us to.
“She wants us to do the cake tasting tomorrow.” Elizabeth clears her throat. “Can you make it?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s a part of our agreement.”
“Still…”
“We’re bound by the law.”
“Are you saying I can trust the contract more than I can trust you?”
“I’m saying I’m taking this seriously. So you don’t have to thank me for doing my part when you’ve done yours.”
“You’re rather pragmatic, aren’t you, Brogan?”
“Pragmatic?”
“By the books.”
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
“How very lawyer-y of you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
Her smile is hesitant, but at least she doesn’t look like she’s on the verge of throwing herself out of the cab anymore.
Progress.
Leaning forward, I speak to the driver. “Can you take us to the nearest mall?”
“Mall?” Her eyes widen. “What for?”
I shrug.
“Don’t we have a flight to catch?”
“Are you in a rush?”
“I took the whole morning off.”
“Good.”
She studies me but doesn’t ask any more questions.
We get to the mall and I lead her confidently to a jewellery store.
Tinny pop music plays from the speakers.
Glass cases boast all sorts of rings, bracelets and necklaces.
The fluorescent lights are harsh.
I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the reflective mirrors and wince. My skin looks especially pale and tired right now. Even more so in comparison to Elizabeth’s warm and vibrant brown skin.
“What are we doing here?” she whispers.
I arch an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“You’re getting me a ring?”
I nod.
“Everyone thinks we’re just engaged.”
“Then consider it an engagement ring.”
“It’s fine.”
“But—”
“You’re getting a ring.”
“Brogan…”
“Unless you want to get matching finger tattoos.”
She scrunches her nose.
The store clerk watches us intently. “Can I help you, folks?”
I pull out my wallet. “Whatever she wants.” Chucking a chin at Elizabeth, I smack a credit card on the counter. “Charge it.”
Elizabeth pulls me aside. “You don’t even know me. What if I run off with that?”
“Then I’ll know I married a thief.” My lips twitch.
She doesn’t smile back. “We’re only doing this for seven days. Let’s go to a pawn shop or something. It’s really not worth it to drop so much cash over something that won’t last.”