**A Marriage Without Love**
Edward married Emily out of spite, to prove to the woman he truly loved that her betrayal hadn’t destroyed him. He and Catherine had been together nearly three years. His love for her had driven him mad—he would’ve laid the world at her feet just to see her smile. Edward dreamt of marriage, but Catherine always cooled his passion. “Why rush?” she’d say. “I haven’t even finished university, and your business is barely scraping by. No decent car, no home of our own. Live with your sister in that cramped flat? No thanks—I won’t share a kitchen with Lucy, no matter how close we are.”
Her words stung, but Edward couldn’t deny the truth. He and Lucy were still crammed into their parents’ old flat in Manchester, and the family business, passed down after their parents’ death, was barely surviving. He’d dropped out of university to save it. Together, they’d sold the countryside cottage—the business came first. Within six months, debt swallowed what little inheritance remained. Both were still students: Edward in his final year, Lucy in her second. The money from the sale cleared the debts, restocked the shop, and left a small cushion. But Catherine lived in the moment, unwilling to wait. Her parents spoiled her, while Edward, suddenly the head of the family, saw things differently. He believed he’d fix it all—house, car, everything.
Then disaster struck. Edward waited outside the cinema as agreed, but Catherine arrived in a luxury SUV. “Sorry, we’re done. I’m getting married,” she said, shoving a book into his hands before vanishing. He stood frozen. What could’ve changed in just two days?
Lucy knew before he even spoke. “Found out, did you?” He nodded. “She landed some rich bloke. Wedding’s on the twenty-eighth. Asked me to be a bridesmaid—I told her to sod off. Sneaking around behind your back!” She burst into tears, furious on his behalf. “Don’t,” Edward hugged her. “Let her have it. We’ll do better.”
He locked himself away for a day. Lucy knocked. “At least eat—I made pancakes.” By evening, he emerged, eyes burning. “Get ready.” “For what?” “I’m marrying the first girl who says yes.” Lucy tried to reason with him. “You’ll ruin more than just your life!” But he was unmoved. “Come or don’t.”
The park was crowded. One girl laughed, another recoiled, but the third met his gaze and said, “Alright.” “What’s your name?” “Emily,” she replied. He dragged her and Lucy to a café to celebrate their “engagement.” Silence hung over the table. Lucy seethed; Edward plotted. His wedding would be the same day as Catherine’s.
“Is there a reason you just proposed to a stranger?” Emily whispered. “If it’s a whim, I’ll leave—no hard feelings.” “No. You gave your word. Tomorrow, we file the papers and visit your parents,” he said, forcing a wink. “Let’s drop the formalities, eh?”
For a month, they met daily, learning about each other. “Why did you do it?” she finally asked. “Everyone has secrets,” he deflected. “And you? Why agree?” “Felt like a fairy tale—the princess married off to the first passerby. In stories, that ends happily. Wanted to test it.”
In truth, it wasn’t so simple. Emily had loved and lost, her trust and savings gone with it. Flattery repulsed her. She wasn’t hunting for “the one,” but she valued intelligence and resolve. Edward had both. Had he been with mates instead of his sister, she’d have walked away.
“What kind of princess are you? Sleeping Beauty?” he mused. “Kiss me and find out,” she joked. But there were no kisses. Edward planned the wedding alone, letting Emily choose from his options. He even bought her dress himself, insisting, “You’ll be the most beautiful.”
At the registry office, they ran into Catherine and her groom. Edward forced a grin. “Congratulations,” he pecked her cheek. “Be happy with your millionaire.” “Don’t make a scene,” she snapped. Her eyes flicked to Emily—tall, poised, regal. Catherine felt small. Jealousy gnawed at her. Had she bet on the wrong horse?
“All good?” Edward muttered to Emily. “You can still back out,” she whispered. “No. We finish this,” he said. But as he looked into his new wife’s sad eyes, guilt twisted in his gut. “I’ll make you happy,” he vowed—and meant it.
Married life settled in. Lucy and Emily grew close, tempering each other—Lucy softened her sharp edges, while Emily’s knack for numbers streamlined the business. Within a year, they opened a second shop, then a contracting team. Profits tripled. Emily had a gift; every idea she slipped to Edward, he claimed as his own. By all accounts, life was good. Yet Edward ached. There was no fire, no madness like with Catherine. Just predictability. “Routine,” he thought. “I don’t love her. That’s all.”
Emily expanded the business—custom homes now. Their own mansion was first. The more they prospered, the more Edward wondered, *What if Catherine had waited?* The thought nagged him. Emily saw him fading. She tried to win his love, but hearts aren’t commanded. “Not all fairy tales come true,” she thought bitterly. But she’d play her part—her name demanded it.
Lucy noticed, too. “You’ll lose more than you gained,” she snapped, catching him on Catherine’s social media. “Piss off!” he growled. “You idiot! Emily *loves* you, and you’re still hung up on *her*?” Lucy shouted. Edward fumed. But the pull grew. He messaged Catherine.
She whined: her husband left her, she’d dropped out of uni, jobless, stuck in a dingy flat in Birmingham. Edward wavered. Emily was visiting her sick aunt in the countryside. Temptation won. He booked the train.
Riding to Birmingham, he fantasized about their reunion. Reality hit like a slap. “Handsome!” Catherine flung herself at him, reeking of sweat and cheap perfume. A tight skirt, garish makeup—she was a parody of the girl he’d loved. “People are staring,” he muttered, pushing her off. “Who cares?” She cackled, gulping lager. “Loan me some cash—I’ll make it worth your while.” He stood abruptly. “Work.” “Will I see you again?” she whined. “Doubt it.” He tossed her a few quid and left.
On the train home, he cursed himself. *Lucy was right. What was I thinking?* But one truth soothed him: *I’ve never even called my wife “Em.” She’s my closest friend.* Brakes screeched as he pulled over, replaying their marriage. Emily’s face filled his mind—her green eyes, warm smile, fingers threading through his hair. *I promised her happiness.*
He turned the car around and sped to her aunt’s village. “A week without you was too long,” he said when she ran outside. “I couldn’t last two days.” “Madman,” she laughed through tears. “Em, my love,” he whispered. And for the first time, their hearts beat as one—full, and finally, truly happy.
*Some lessons hurt before they heal.*
