Fatal Marriage

by Charlotte Byrd

  I look beautiful but incredibly sad. I force a smile but that seems to only draw attention to the sorrow in my eyes.

  2

  Aurora

  Ellis turns her attention to my hair. I was going to do this myself but I’m afraid that if I were to be alone again, I wouldn’t be able to stop the tears.

  It’s good to have her here; she’s a distraction that I desperately need.

  Ellis talks about the guy that she’s seeing and I’m not following along. He’s one in a long line and I’m sure that there will be others after him.

  “I think that I’m going to marry him,” she says.

  I look up at her and raise my eyebrows.

  “Really?” I ask, surprised.

  “I love him, well, as much as I can love anyone. He’s not a Birkin bag, you know.” She laughs and I laugh.

  She says that she’s just kidding but we both know that she’s not.

  “What makes you say that?” I ask.

  “Well, I like spending time with him. He’s smart, charming, runs in the same social circle.”

  “But are you in love with him?” I ask.

  “What does that matter?”

  “Isn’t that the reason to get married?”

  “I don’t know, Aurora, is it?” she asks me.

  I narrow my eyes trying to figure out what she does or doesn’t know.

  “What are you referring to?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, holding her arms across her chest. “You just don’t seem to be that into Franklin. It’s almost as if this whole relationship, or engagement, or wedding wasn’t your idea.”

  “I don’t know,” I say as innocently as possible. “It’s not that I don’t care about Franklin but this is more his idea than mine.”

  “You’re still hung up on Henry, aren’t you?” Ellis asks. “Do you know that most people think that this doesn’t work and that women are forced to marry men for a variety of circumstances? Even if they’re not full-on coerced, there are always other considerations besides love when it comes to marriage. Especially if you are from established families like we are.”

  “What are you talking about? Your mother has had a number of husbands and she has all of her own money.”

  “Yes, people think that we have money but perception isn’t always reality.”

  I tilt my head and wait for her to explain.

  “We don’t have as much money as we should. My mother has made a lot of really, really, really bad investments. In fact, she’s filing bankruptcy and we are probably going to lose all of the properties. David, the guy that I’m dating now, has a lot to offer me and he loves me. If he were to ask me, how could I say no?”

  As I walk down the aisle toward Franklin, my thoughts are no longer on just my predicament but also on Ellis’s and all of those hundreds of thousands of women out there who have to marry men they don’t love just to keep their position in life.

  People say that money isn’t everything, but sometimes it’s the only thing.

  If my father had run his company in the proper way and not squandered the whole pension fund and hadn’t made bad investments that left him practically bankrupt, then I wouldn’t be doing this to not only save my legacy but also all of those innocent people’s lives who would be ruined if they lost the only money they had.

  There was a moment when I thought that I could get out of it. I thought that I could be selfish and just run away and start my life with Henry but now, I know that I have to go through with it. I have to jump into the fire in order to make everything right again. There are no guarantees but I have to try.

  When I take my position next to Franklin at the altar, I repeat the vows that the minister says but instead of that promise, I make myself another.

  I vow to save Tate Media and to take control of it, I say silently to myself. I vow that nothing like this will ever happen again.

  After we exchange our vows and the choir sings their praises and everyone at the church stands up and claps as we walk out, I glance over at Franklin and feel sick to my stomach.

  He looks genuinely happy.

  Despite everything that’s happened, I suddenly have a doubt about whether I’m wrong about him.

  Maybe he has his faults but what if he actually loves me? Is that possible?

  No matter how attractive he is or how charming, I have to remember the truth.

  He knows full well that I have agreed to marry him under certain circumstances and he is enforcing them. He knows that I don’t love him and he clearly doesn’t love me.

  In fact, he barely even respects me. If he did, then I wouldn’t have caught him in bed with another woman when we were still trying to make things work.

  I have never been intimate with him and as I dance with him on the dance floor in front of all of these strangers, I wonder what will happen tonight.

  I don’t want to sleep with him but it’s our wedding night.

  Will he take no for an answer?

  We say goodbye to our guests around two in the morning. I want to stay out even longer but everyone starts to disperse. I say goodbye to my father last and we embrace each other for a long time before Franklin pulls me away.

  “Thank you,” Dad whispers into my ear and I almost burst out crying.

  Franklin leads me upstairs to the bridal suite. In the elevator, he takes my hand in his and shivers run up my spine.

  “This is it,” I whisper to myself.

  I won’t be able to push him away much further. I won’t be able to say no anymore.

  We have been engaged for months and we have barely exchanged more than a kiss or two. There was only one instance I remember when he put his tongue in my mouth.

  I pushed him away for as long as I could but what about tonight?

  “You were so beautiful walking down the aisle,” Franklin says, intertwining his fingers with mine.

  “Thank you.” I give him a slight nod.

  “I can’t believe that we actually did this.”

  “Me either.”

  I glance up at him and our eyes meet just as the elevator reaches the top floor. It’s a penthouse with an enormous bedroom, Jacuzzi tub, and floor-to-ceiling windows around every wall.

  We are on the fiftieth floor so we’re looking down at all of New York City.

  It should be the happiest night of my life but I would rather spend tonight it in a roadside motel that charges by the hour than here with him.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Franklin asks, walking over to the bar. I shake my head no.

  “No, thanks, I’ve had a few glasses already.”

  “A few glasses? That’s hardly any!”

  I smile, knowing it’s not my place to bring up how much he drinks even though I am his wife now.

  I sit down and wait for him to pour a glass of whiskey and take a seat next to me. He drops his arm over my shoulder and pivots his body toward mine. I’m still wearing my wedding dress and I can hardly breathe.

  “Thank you for today,” he says.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I don’t know how to respond before adding, “It has been a long day. I’m really tired.”

  “Well, why don’t I help you get out of those clothes and you can put your feet up?”

  He moves closer to me and I flinch. When he stands up and pulls me up to my feet, I take a step away from him. I want this to stop but I’m scared to say no. I have said no a lot and I have seen some aspects of his anger.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, pulling away from him.

  In the walk-in closet, I peel off my dress and drop it on the floor. I unbuckle the strapless bra digging into my rib cage and glide out of the Spanx holding in my stomach, finally letting out a deep sigh.

  There is a fluffy, comfortable towel hanging by the bathroom, but I opt for the sweats that I packed in my bag.

  When I come out, Franklin makes a sour expression on his face.

  “Oh, no,” he says, “I thought that
you would bring your robe so we can be twins.”

  He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs spread out. His robe falls open just so I can see everything.

  I freeze. I don't know what to do.

  All the blood drains away from my fingers and I stare at him.

  “Come here,” he says, patting the bed next to him. “Come sit next to me.”

  I shake my head no.

  “Come here,” he says sternly.

  When I do as he says, he turns to me and flashes a big wide smile.

  Franklin tugs on my shirt and pulls me closer to him. I resist but only for a little bit. I can't resist anymore. I feel an obligation and for some reason I can't say no.

  He turns my head up and touches my lips with his. Suddenly, I snap out of it.

  “No. I can't!”

  When I pull away, Franklin pulls me closer. He tries to kiss me again and I can't pull away.

  “You're gonna say no on our wedding night?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “This is how you want to start out a marriage?”

  “No. I don't, but the thing is that I'm not really feeling it. I mean, I know that we're married but what is this really? I mean, do you actually love me?”

  “Yes, I do,” he says, staring deep into my eyes.

  “No, you don't. If you did, then we wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be making me do something that I desperately don't want to do.”

  I watch him breathe in and out, with great effort.

  I watch him think.

  I wait for him to try to kiss me again but he surprises me. Instead, he pulls away.

  Without saying another word, he gets up, closes his robe, and walks out. He shuts the French doors behind him and turns on the television. I can hear the muffled sounds through the door.

  I sit back down on the bed and wrap my arms around my knees.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  These questions and about a hundred more swirl around in my mind until my head starts to pound. I go to the bathroom and fill a glass with water all the way to the rim and drink it without stopping. When it's empty, I fill it up again, only managing to drink about half.

  I hadn't realized just how thirsty I was until this very moment. My headache seems to disperse a little and my thoughts become clearer.

  Maybe he left me alone for now because he does actually care about me?

  Maybe he's trying to be my friend?

  Maybe he's trying to be a good husband?

  I wash my face in the sink and search for the tube of moisturizer in my purse, I glance down at my phone instead.

  Four missed calls.

  They're all from Henry. There are also a number of messages. I stop myself from listening to the voice mail and from reading any of the messages.

  My fingers itch to see what he has written.

  I haven't talked to him since I was too much of a coward to tell him the truth of what happened at my father’s house.

  I left him a note and told him that I would love him forever and that part was true. I did all that to protect him and I thought that that would push him away.

  Luckily, it hasn’t.

  Still, tonight, I don't allow myself to hear his voice or to read his words.

  I stop myself, not because I don't want to hear it but because it feels like the right thing to do at the moment.

  Franklin didn’t force himself on me and I feel an allegiance toward him, no matter how slim.

  Of course, how low are my standards that I am actually thankful that my husband didn’t rape me? Be that as it may, I appreciate the gesture and I return it in kind.

  3

  Aurora

  The week after the wedding, we host a dinner party. Franklin has postponed our honeymoon to Bora Bora for a month or two, until all of the paperwork and negotiations with him taking over Tate Media are complete. Secretly, I'm relieved. I want him to be as busy as possible because then he might not notice me snooping around. If he's occupied, then maybe he'll be too tired to make a move on me at night.

  I officially move into his palatial penthouse and though we are supposed to share the master bedroom, he allocates a room for me. It has its own en suite bathroom and courtyard as well as plenty of built-in bookshelves for all of my work.

  I join the dinner party a little bit after the initial few guests arrive but they are mostly Franklin’s single male friends who work in startups. He introduces me to everyone and their names and professional titles come in one ear and go out the other.

  I try to be pleasant and friendly but I take every opportunity to keep to myself. Luckily, the room is full of strangers who are only interested in congratulating me on our wedding and little else. They know that I'm not involved in the business of Tate Media and therefore I'm just window dressing.

  I take my time ordering a drink and then slip out onto the balcony. I find a nook behind a large plant and hope that no one will spot me here.

  Next time, I say to myself, I'm going to invite a friend or two to this thing. At least then I'll have someone pleasant to talk to.

  A loud burst of laughter startles me and I press myself against the wall. The voices belong to a man and a woman but I don't recognize them.

  “Are you sure that you're not cold?” the man asks. “You can have my jacket.”

  “No,” the woman says. “I'm fine. I've had a little bit too much to drink so I'm good.”

  “I've never been here before,” he says.

  “I haven't either. I can't believe that I actually got an invitation.”

  “I know, right?”

  “This place is insane,” the guy says. “Have you ever been to an apartment this big?”

  I start to feel very cold and debate whether I should just sneak out and go back inside but I have missed my chance. My only hope now is that they don't stay out here for much longer.

  The voices get muffled for a moment but then they turn back toward the door.

  I hear the woman ask, “So, do you think that's true?”

  “What?”

  “You know,” she whispers, “the whole thing about Franklin being into young girls.”

  “I guess so,” the guy says.

  My mouth drops open. What is she talking about?

  “Aren't you surprised?” she asks.

  “I mean, we all knew that he was really into women, right?”

  “Of course! Normally, I’d just say that Aurora is an idiot for marrying him if she thinks that he’s not going to cheat on her but, come on, fifteen year olds? That’s just not right.”

  “Wait, what?” he asks.

  “You didn't know about that?” she asks.

  “No! I thought that you were talking about him just sleeping around with, you know, women his own age or at least legal age.”

  “No, that is not what I heard.”

  As they go back-and-forth about whether or not this is true, my mind starts to race. I caught Franklin in bed with another woman but she was not underage. She was well into her twenties and she knew exactly what she was doing.

  Could this be true? Could he really be coercing underage girls?

  “How do you know about any of this?” the guy asks.

  “Cynthia Lazaro told me. Her older sister worked as a maid for him last year at his property in the Hamptons. There were all sorts of rumors swirling around there.”

  “Why didn't she go to the cops?”

  “You know why,” the woman says. “She didn’t want to lose her job. She was getting paid really well, a lot more than she ever got paid working at the Marriott and she had to clean a lot less.”

  The door to the balcony swings open, casting light on my face. I inch further behind the bush to stay hidden.

  “What are you two doing out here?” someone asks.

  His voice is deeper, older, and clearly annoyed. “I'm paying you to work and circulate, not flirt. Get back inside!”

  When the couple leaves, I let out a sigh
of relief and rest my back against the wall. Did I really just hear all of that?

  I walk back inside with a heavy heart. I need to find out the truth but how?

  Of course I can't ask Franklin. He will just flat out deny it. This is yet another thing that I have to get to the bottom of and yet another thing that I have no idea how to tackle.

  I head to the bar and refresh my tonic water with a slice of lemon, then make the rounds around the room. I walk briskly so that no one pulls me into a conversation. The few people that try, I wave to and promise to come back after using the bathroom.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Franklin near the library. Usually he is the one in the center of the room, holding court. This time he's leaning over a young woman in a waitress uniform of black slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a vest.

  I watch him from afar, sliding my body just out of sight. He flirts with her and even touches her hair. Even if she's not underage, he has no shame. There are people everywhere. This is a party that we are hosting as a couple and yet here he is, making moves on someone else.

  My purse starts to vibrate against my thigh. When I reach in and pull out my phone, I see that it’s a call from Henry. I let it go to voice mail.

  4

  Aurora

  I don't like to run. I don't like the way that my chest burns with each breath and I don't like how heavy my legs feel with each step. I can't run far without stopping. I have to take breaks when my air runs out and I get a pain in my side.

  On this evening, at twilight, when the city is covered in a magical sheen, I force myself to put on my sneakers and run out the door. I can run on one of the machines downstairs but it's not the same thing.

  Sometimes it's nice to take your mind elsewhere and watch a Netflix show or listen to an audiobook while pounding the rubber and setting the incline. Other times, it's absolutely necessary to get outside.

  I need the fresh air.