A lone, sorrowful mother sat by herself at a wedding, the object of everyones snide jokes, when a sharpdressed crime lord drifted toward her and whispered, Pretend youre my wife and dance with me.
Laughter rippled through the hall louder than the strings.
Emily Harper perched at the far end of the marquee, hands clenched nervously in her lap, eyes fixed on an untouched flute of champagne perched on the sideboard. Her borrowed, faded lilac dress barely concealed the tired hollowness behind her gaze. Across the room, couples swayed beneath gilded chandeliers while murmurs swooped around tables like circling hawks.
Shes a single mum, isnt she? a coldspoken bridesmaid purred. Her husband walked out. No wonder shes alone, another snickered.
Emily swallowed hard. She had vowed not to weepnot today, not at her cousins ceremony. Yet when she saw a father and his little girl twirl on the dance floor, something cracked inside her. She thought of her son, Oliver, sleeping at home with the nanny. She thought of the countless nights she had pretended everything was fine.
A deep, gentle voice rose from behind her. Dance with me.
She turned and found herself facetoface with a man in an immaculate black suit. Broad shoulders, dark eyes, an aura that seemed to swallow the room. She recognized him instantly: James Hart, rumored to be a powerful businessman from London, though whispers called him something far more sinistera head of a criminal syndicate.
I I dont even know him, she stammered.
Then lets make believe, he said softly, extending his hand. Pretend youre my wife. Just for one dance.
The crowd fell quiet as she hesitated, fingers trembling, slipping from his firm grip. Murmurs of astonishment fluttered through the ballroom as James led her to the centre of the dance floor. The band shifted to a slow, haunting waltz that filled the air.
As they moved, she noticed something odd: the teasing had ceased. No one dared whisper any longer. For the first time in years, Emily no longer felt invisible. She felt seen. She felt protected.
When James leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, he murmured words that would change everything:
Dont look back. Just smile.
The music faded, but the room remained hushed. All eyes were fixed on the mysterious gentleman and the solitary mother who now seemed a queen. Jamess hand rested lightly on her waist, his gaze scanning the audience with razor precision.
When the piece ended, he guided her out of the circle. You did well, he murmured.
Emily blinked. What just happened?
Just say, James replied with a halfsmile, that we needed a distraction.
They slipped to a corner table, her heart still thudding. He poured her a glass of whisky, each movement measured and deliberate. Those people wont bother you again, he said, glancing at the gossiping crowd. They fear what they cant understand.
He studied herher jaw, the faint scar by her ear, the way she could be both dangerous and kind. You werent supposed to help me.
I didnt do it for you, he whispered. Someone in this room wanted to make a fool of me. You turned the tables.
Emily frowned. So I was just a cover?
Perhaps, he said, his expression softening. But I didnt expect you to look at me the way you did, as if I were human.
Before she could answer, two men in dark trench coats approached, murmuring in Italian. Jamess face hardened. He rose abruptly. Stay here, he ordered, his tone ironclad.
Curiosity won over fear. Emily followed him outside, her heels clicking against polished marble.
By the valet desk she saw James speaking with another man, a pistol tucked under his coat. Their words were sharp, tense. The stranger slipped away in a black car, and James turned, spotting her watching.
You shouldnt have seen that, he said, moving closer. I didnt mean for you to
Youre brave, he cut in. Or foolish.
His eyes locked onto hers. Now that youve seen me, you cant just vanish from my life, Emily.
The night breeze carried the scent of roses and dread.
For the first time, Emily realised she had stepped into something far larger than herself.
Two days later, James knocked on the door of their modest flat. Oliver was building Lego towers in the living room when he looked up and asked, Mum, is that the man from the wedding?
James gave a faint smile. Something like that.
Emily hesitated, unsure whether to let him in. You shouldnt be here.
I know, he replied, stepping forward. But I dont like unfinished business.
He noted the peeling wallpaper, the secondhand sofa, the quiet strength in her eyes. Youve fought alone for too long, he said. You dont have to any more.
Emily crossed her arms. You dont even know me.
I know what it feels like to be judged, James said slowly. To be the villain in everyones story.
Silence settled over the cramped room. Oliver crept out from behind the couch, clutching a toy car. James knelt. Nice wheels, he said. Olivers rare, sincere grin warmed Emilys heart.
Days stretched into weeks, and James visited more often. Sometimes he brought groceries, other times he fixed the squeaky front door. Occasionally he said nothing, simply sitting while Emily read bedtime stories to Oliver.
Rumours swirled about himpower, danger, bloodbut none of that mattered when he was in the kitchen, helping Oliver with his homework. He wasnt the monster whispered about; he was just James.
One stormy night, rain pelting the panes, Emily finally asked, Why me?
He looked at her with calm intensity. Because when everyone else turned away, you didnt.
She wasnt sure she could ever trust him completely, but for the first time in years she no longer feared the future. The woman once mocked and pitied had reclaimed her power, not through a fairy tale, but through something raw, imperfect, and alive.
As they stood by the window watching the downpour, James whispered, Perhaps it wasnt such a terrible idea to pretend after all.
Emily smiled. Perhaps not.
What would you do if a man like James asked you to pretend to be his wife for a night? Say yes or walk away? Share your thoughts below.
