So, guess what? Ed and I are in what’s basically a sham marriage.
It all sort of just happened. Ed needed to be married for his career to take offhe works for this seriously prestigious company, and at the top is Mr. Nicholas Hawthorne, whos a massive advocate for family values. Hes the patriarch of a rather imposing family clan, father to five grown-up daughters, father-in-law to five sons-in-law, and grandfather to a whole army of grandchildren. The mans madly proud of his family, its practically his whole identity. For him, bachelor might as well be an insult. Unmarried blokes at work? Doesnt matter if theyre charming or brillianttheyre basically seen as the office rejects.
So, when Ed cottoned on to this, he realised hed absolutely have to be married if he ever wanted a job that actually matched his talents and ambitions.
After weighing it all up, he asked me if Id be up for a fake marriage. Not exactly a risky gamble on his endEd and I have known each other since our nursery days (our mums are mates and still chat all the time). We even spent every year at school sitting next to each other: Ed would sort my maths out, and Id add all the punctuation to his essays. Basically, he knows me inside out, knows Ive not got a calculating bone in my body, and wouldnt go after his flat or his bank balance if we ever split.
For my part, I said yes in a heartbeat. At the time, Id just broken up after a three-year relationship, and honestly, I was in such a rut, feeling pretty low. I just needed something to take my mind off thingsto avoid drowning in a proper drawn-out depression. Plus, I wont lie, it felt a bit satisfying to show my ex that Id moved on to someone clever, ambitious, driving a flash car with a gorgeous flat in Central London. Not to mention, it felt grand in front of my friends: living proof that I was doing just fine.
So, our objectives lined up perfectly, and Ed and I quietly signed the marriage register at the local town hallno fuss, no pomp, no crowd of onlookers, not a limousine or a single dove in sight. Didnt even do the wedding dress or morning suit. Just nipped out from work early on a Thursday, popped into town hall, signed our names where we were told. But we did slip rings onto each others fingers, for good measure.
I even changed my last name for a whileWentworth has a kind of ring to it, more interesting than plain old Smith.
Honestly? The whole thing worked out exactly how wed hoped.
Within a month, Ed was promoted to Director of the Department at work. Totally deserved it, too.
And from my end, suddenly everyonefrom family to matessaw me as this sorted married woman. The real cherry on the cake was when my ex sent me a couple of texts basically saying, Hope youre happy, I sort of thought we might have had another go. Well, too late now, palyou snooze, you lose! Cant help but feel a bit smug.
So yeah, the marriage ended up delivering everything we wanted, and then some.
By the way, I even moved in with Ed for a while, just to keep things looking more legit. He suggested it himself.
So, this one Saturday morning, Im in Eds airy kitchen making breakfastomelette, scones, some strong coffee with milk. Eds a firm believer in a full English to start his weekends. Out the window, I can see the start of a beautiful April day. Springs always been my favourite season.
Got a full list of things to do: need to pop in on my parents, a proper tidy-up at home, laundry, maybe whip up a nice Saturday lunchthinking pork chops, a good stew, homemade pizza, or maybe a Caesar salad. Typical housework stuff, you know. Just heaps of little jobs to juggle.
Funny to thinkits been thirteen years now, this pretend marriage with Ed. Our daughter Emilys starting primary school this year, and our lad Ben is finishing Year 5top marks in every subject, too, just like his dad, whos honestly a smart and genuine bloke.
Not like my husbandyou know, the fake oneIf youd told me, back on that casual Thursday afternoon at the registry office, that thirteen years down the line Id be packing plimsolls for a school sports day, kneeling on the kitchen floor wiping peanut butter off Bens cheek, and sharing inside jokes with Ed over burnt toast, Id have laughed you out of the room.
Weve never had an anniversary that involved candlelit dinners or matching jumpers on windswept beaches. We barely remember to renew our passport-sized wedding photos tucked in drawers somewhere. But I do remember late-night chats, sofa forts with the kids, quietly holding Eds hand under the table at school assembliesbecause, as it turns out, if youre going to fake a marriage for life, you might as well end up with your best friend.
I glance at Ed now, hair sticking up, coffee mug in hand, smiling back at me like hes still in on the joke we started all those years ago. And, as Emilys laughter rings out from the hallway and Ben launches a flying scone at his dad, I realise its not about who starts with love letters or wedding cakes. Sometimes its just about showing upfor omelettes, for birthdays, for little hands in yours as you walk to the school gate.
The world thinks our marriage was for show. Maybe it was, once. But then again, maybe every love story starts out as just an idearight up until one ordinary day, you wake up and realise its become your everything.
And isnt that the most real thing of all?
