"Do you, Alora Carter, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The priest's voice was calm, but to me, it boomed like thunder. My hands shook inside Jake's. His grip was firm, steady, like he knew exactly what he was doing while I struggled to breathe. My throat burned, but I pushed the words out.
"I do."
The two words cut my tongue like glass. The crowd shifted. Dresses rustled, pearls glimmered. They all smiled as if they were watching a love story. They had no idea this was only a show.
The priest turned to Jake. "And do you, Jake Cole, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do." His answer was quick, smooth, confident. Our eyes met. He was calm, almost too calm. Like someone who always wins. My smile stayed in place, but inside, I broke.
"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Applause rose like a wave. Roses shook. Cameras clicked.
"You may now kiss the bride."
Jake leaned in and kissed me. Slow. Sure. A kiss that claimed instead of comforted. My stomach twisted, heat pulling through me against my will. When he pulled away, the crowd cheered louder. I kept smiling. But my mind slipped into the past.
TWO WEEKS EARLIER...
Harry had given me a ring, promising forever. He was my mother's choice, the ideal man. I believed him. I believed us. Just this morning, I'd done the impossible; I secured a wedding venue people booked years in advance. A castle-like hall with chandeliers that sparkled like stars. It felt like a dream. Our dream.
I carried that excitement with me as I climbed his stairs two at a time, already rehearsing how I'd tell him.
Maybe I'd start with a "guess where we're getting married?" Or maybe I'd let him figure it out when I showed him the receipt. My cheeks actually hurt from smiling.
The door to his apartment wasn't locked so I pushed it open... and stopped breathing.
A laugh came first. High. Carefree. A woman's. The sound hit me like a slap because I knew it. I'd heard it once before, faintly, through the phone when Harry cut our call short.
Then came his voice; low, heavy, threaded with desire. A voice I thought was mine alone. The room smelled of perfume I didn't wear. The sheets were a mess, twisted in a way no sleep could explain. Her legs tangled over his. His hand slid down her back, slow, familiar.
"Harry?" My voice cracked. That wasn't really a question. It was a plea, maybe an answer?
He turned his head and met my eyes. And sighed. Not guilty. Not sorry. Just… annoyed. Like I'd interrupted something I had no right to. The girl laughed again and pressed her face into his chest, as if I were invisible. My hand shook so hard the ring slid right off my finger. The sound of metal hitting the hardwood was sharp enough to slice through me.
My chest caved in. My dreams: the aisle, the flowers, the chandeliers, all crumbled to ash in that second. I don't remember if I screamed. Or cried. Or begged. I only remember the cold numbness that spread through me, freezing everything I thought I knew.
And then my mother's words haunting me the next day. "Alora! You're just twenty-nine. Successful, beautiful. You can't just live like a widow when you were never widowed. You need to move on."
BACK TO THE PRESENT...
"Alora." My mother's voice snapped me back. She leaned close, graceful in lavender silk, diamonds flashing under the lights. Her perfume was heavy.
"Smile, darling," she whispered. "This is a wedding, not a funeral."
I forced a smile. Small, careful. My hands trembled where no one could see. She squeezed my hand. "Liveliness, darling. That's what they came to see."
But something inside me broke. I turned my head immediately and whispered, my voice brittle and clipped. "Isn't this what you wanted, Mother? A wedding? Well, here it is."
Her painted smile didn't fade, but I saw the crack underneath.
Hours later, Jake's hand gripped mine as we walked down the steps. He played his role perfectly. Every smile, every touch.
"Smile," he muttered. I did, but my eyes betrayed me. He noticed, and his jaw tightened.
The cameras followed us until the limo doors shut. Inside, I sat stiff, my dress gathered in my lap. Jake loosened his tie and studied me. Even caged, I kept my chin high. It almost made him smile.
"You did well in there," he said.
"Like an actress?"
"Like a bride." The word cut cold. I turned to the window. The city blurred by. The people cheering for us, while I mourned.
"You'll get used to it," he said.
"And if I don't?"
"Then learn."
I faced him. "Why me, Jake? I've seen your type, models draped on your arm. Women you could buy, those who fit perfectly into your..." I stopped, tilted my head, and narrowed my eyes in disdain. My look said it all. "Why me?"
His smirk grew. "Because you're not them, Alora. You looked like a fight worth having. And I love a challenge."
"Don't romanticize this. We both know this isn't fate. It's a deal."
"Fair enough," he said. "I get my inheritance. You get peace from your mother. Eighteen months. Then it's over."
The limo jolted. My ring sparkled in the light, mocking me.
"Feels like a funeral."
"Well... you said yes to me."
My eyes snapped at him. "I said yes to the contract. Not to you."
He leaned close, voice low. "For eighteen months, you said yes to me. Better learn to play the part, baby."
"Don't call me that."
He only smiled. The limo slowed, tyres crunching gravel. I looked out the window and froze. A house rose out of the dark. White stone glowing under lanterns. A fountain shimmering like silver. Perfect. Too perfect. Like a rented fairy tale.
"This isn't your house," I whispered, feasting on the beauty with my eyes.
"No," he said. "Every wedding needs a honeymoon. This is ours. Just for the weekend."
I turned back to him. "A rented fantasy. How fitting."
He held out his hand, confident, like a man who owned everything. I placed mine in his, even as the cold sank deeper.
This wasn't about vows. Or love. It was about who would break first.
"Welcome to your honeymoon, baby," Jake said, a smirk tugging his lips. "The show's just begun."