The black sedan rolled to a complete stop. I looked out the window, expecting some grand destination, but instead, my eyes focused on the building immediately in front of us: the Civil Registry Office.
I turned to Sebastian, my confusion immediate and absolute. "What are we doing here?" I asked.
Sebastian gave me a strange, almost bored look. "To get married, of course," he said. "What else would we be doing here if not getting married?"
I was more perplexed than before. "But we haven't even applied for a marriage license yet," I pressed. "How can we just get married like that, right now?"
He looked at me with an air of mild annoyance, as if my ignorance was an inconvenience. "Your father called me six days ago to tell me he was agreeing to marry you to me," he informed me. "He already gave me everything that would be needed to apply for a marriage contract."
I became completely speechless. My father's eagerness to sell me, to finalize the transaction, was appalling. He hadn't just agreed; he had done all the groundwork for the immediate sale. I let out a dry, humorless snicker.
"Let's go then," I said, the finality of the situation settling over me like a heavy shroud.
I pushed open the car door, not waiting for Sebastian to move first. I got out, and he followed, stepping down from the car with his usual controlled indifference. We walked toward the entrance of the Civil Registry.
A man suddenly stopped and turned toward Sebastian.
"Boss," the man said respectfully.
This man was undeniably handsome, but he possessed an aura of refined, controlled menace. His entire demeanor radiated danger, yet it was a danger that felt somehow subordinate to Sebastian's own terrifying presence. This led me down another mental rabbit hole: What exactly is it that Sebastian does? I already knew the root of my father's debt involved illegal activities, but seeing this man reaffirmed the scale of the operation. The sight made me question my entire decision again, making me rethink the depth of the commitment I was about to make. What was I truly getting myself into?
But it was too late. There was no refusing now; we were standing directly in front of the registry.
My inner dilemma was interrupted when Sebastian addressed the man. "Is the preparation done?"
"Boss, it's done," the man confirmed. "You just have to go in and get married. Please follow after me."
The man led us toward a specific hall. "I've reserved a small civil ceremony with a justice right at this hall," he explained to Sebastian.
We entered the space and I was struck dumb. It was clearly a room in the courthouse, but it had been professionally decorated to look exactly like a small wedding hall. Flowers, white drapery, and seating transformed the government space into something elegant, if sterile. I was speechless, wondering just how powerful Sebastian was to orchestrate such an immediate, private, and elaborate transformation within a civil registry office.
The ceremony itself was a blur. The officiant spoke, but half the words of the vow didn't even sink into my brain. I was numb, running on a strange mix of shock and forced compliance. When prompted, I said "yes," sealing my fate. We all signed the license, the officiant signed it, and we handed the document back to the assistant, who immediately gave it to a clerk for filing.
The man who worked for Sebastian—whose exact role I still didn't know, but who clearly managed all the logistics of Sebastian's life—stepped forward.
"I have booked a photography session," he announced to Sebastian. "So you can take pictures for a keepsake of this day."
Sebastian immediately turned and glared at the man, a look of pure displeasure clouding his face. The man seemed to panic momentarily, rushing to justify his decision.
"Well, I thought that a young girl like your wife might want to have something like this for safekeeping," he quickly explained. "Which is why I booked the photography section."
Sebastian looked at me doubtfully, as if trying to gauge whether the photography session was genuinely necessary. Every fiber of my being wanted to tell Sebastian the truth: I don't give a damn about this wedding, let alone a photograph of it. I'm being forced into this against my will. Why would I want a photo of such a moment?
But the man who worked for Sebastian was looking at me, his eyes wide and pleading.
I didn't know who this man was, what his relationship to Sebastian was, or what this marriage would entail for my future. Until I understood the hierarchy and the rules, my priority was simple self-preservation: I absolutely could not afford to offend anyone.
So, I nodded my head toward Sebastian, signifying that I did, in fact, want the photo.
We were led to the photographer's booth. The photographer himself was brimming with enthusiasm, his smile wide and genuine. I was initially speechless, wondering if he knew Sebastian or me, or if he was some old family friend happy for our union.
The reason for his excitement soon became clear. He beamed at us and said, "You two are such a good looking couple. Since I started taking marriage photos in my life, you two are the most good looking couples I've ever taken a picture of."
The photographer then quickly tried to arrange Sebastian and me for the photos. The problem was, we looked like we were practicing extreme social distancing. A clear, emotional gulf existed between us, giving the photographer a visible headache. After countless attempts and constant chatter about how we lacked the "harmony of a newlywed couple," and after failing spectacularly to elicit even the smallest smile from Sebastian, we finally finished the session.
Sebastian's only acknowledgement was a nonchalant instruction to his man—who had just returned from God knows where while we were taking photos.
"Get the photo from him later," Sebastian ordered.
The man nodded respectfully at Sebastian. "Yes, I will get it from him and bring it to the house later."
He then presented a document to Sebastian. "This is the marriage certificate that the clerk issued."
I watched Sebastian's hands remain firmly in his pockets. He didn't touch the certificate. He only said to the man, "Give it to her. She should add it to the things she wants to keep for safekeeping."
The man respectfully handed the official marriage certificate to me.
I took the document, my fingers closing around the stiff paper. I was utterly speechless. I was married. I truly could not believe it. In all my future plans, getting married at nineteen was never on the agenda. According to my vision, I would have been married around twenty-six, and the man would have been a law-abiding citizen, definitely not someone who dabbled in illegal arms like Sebastian.
Holding the certificate, the full weight of my new reality crashed down on me.
Sebastian turned to leave, and I quickly followed him out of the building. We got back into the car together. I had one final, necessary question.
"Where are we going now from here?" I asked, looking at him.
Sebastian looked back at me indifferently, his answer short and absolute.
"Home."