A Contract of Love
Today finds me at our old oak dining table, practically buried underneath a mountain of wedding magazines. Page after page passed through my handsI pored over them with a fascination bordering on obsession, drinking in every glittering photograph. My eyes sparkled when I took in all those exquisite details: delicate lace, elegant embroidery, the gossamer weight of veils. I lingered over the images of snow-white gowns far too long, quietly picturing myself in each. A warm swell of anticipation filled my chest as I imagined walking down the aisle towards my fiancé, every eye upon me, my family trembling with excitement.
Beautiful… I whispered, unable to look away from an especially stunning dress with a billowing skirt and fine straps. It seemed impossibly magicallight as air, satin reflecting the studios lights like moon glow.
But the smile melted from my face almost as quickly as it arrived. I set the magazine aside and stood, crossing over to the tall mirror in its ornate wood frame, and scrutinised my reflection. Turning to one side, tilting my chin, I tried to see myself as someone else might. A swirl of doubts circled my mind; what if all those perfect images could never match reality?
That would never suit me, I said more firmly, as if stating a fact so as to accept it. My figure just wont do.
I spun again, visualising myself in a full princess silhouettelayers of tulle, tight bodice, all volume and no mercy. I winced at the thought almost immediately.
Something simpler would be better, I rationalised, talking aloud, as though consulting an invisible advisor. The big skirts are outId only look massive. But I cant wear something plain, either! Im not getting married every day, am I?
A flutter of panic crept in, and I raked my hands through my hair. So many choices, so many beautiful ideas, but none quite right. My gaze drifted back over the scattered magazines, hoping that the next glossy spread would bring clarity, but instead I just felt more tired and lost.
I need to talk to someone urgently, I mumbled, sinking onto the edge of the chair. Before I drive myself mad organising all this.
A sudden bang from the front door shattered the quiet of the house, making me jump. My eyes flew from the sketches and photos on the table. Who could it be at this hour? The thought ran cold down my spine. The only people with keys were my father and Adam, my fiancé. But both shouldve been busyDad was due at a crucial business meeting, and Adam had an important work seminar hed mentioned this morning.
I waited, barely breathing, listening intently. Awful thoughts swarmed my mindwhat if it was an intruder? Usually at this hour, I was at my salon, leaving the house empty. The creep of fear tightened between my shoulders.
I crept from the table, moving as silently as I could, making my way to the staircase that led down to the lounge, the best vantage to see the hallway and front door. I cloaked myself behind the wall and peered over the banister.
Relief slumped my shoulders at onceit was just Adam. His familiar figure instantly settled my heart. He kicked off his shoes, tossing them haphazardly towards the rack, whistling beneath his breath.
Adam? I whispered, puzzled. Why was he home now? He was supposed to be at his meeting…
I watched, waiting for some clue as to his change of plans. Perhaps hed come to surprise me? Or… who was he talking to?
Just a bit longer, sweetheart. His voice was gentler than usual, almost soft. I stiffened. He never spoke to me like that. Ill hold up my end of the bargain soon, and then we can be together.
My insides turned to ice. I clenched my hands, nails biting into my palm, fighting to keep even a gasp from escaping. A bargain? Who on earth was sweetheart?
How much longer will this go on? Six more months, Adam said, his tone shifting to something practical, detached. Yes, the weddings in a month, then weve got a few happy months as man and wife… Here, his words snagged and a note of distaste crept in, as if the very idea was sour to him.
I swallowed hard, trying to make sense of it. Our wedding… a bargaining chip? Part of some deal?
What Jacob Anthony chooses to do afterwards is no concern of mine, Adam pressed on, more assured by the second, as though ridding himself of a burden. Ill just gather my things and leave, as soon as the rest of the money lands in my account.
It was like a slap to the face. I staggered, grabbing the doorframe for support, my mind spinning with one realisation: Hes been lying. All this time.
I retreated, quiet as a mouse, torn up inside, but one clear thought got through: Dads involved. A contract. Payment. A six-month plan. All the puzzle pieces formed a dreadful tableau that made me want to screambut I couldnt force my voice out.
As much as it hurt, I forced myself to keep listening. Maybe Id hear something to make sense of it all.
Adam settled into the armchair, stretching his legs and carrying on the conversation, blissfully unaware that I was just steps away, hearing every word. He felt safe, carelesssure that I was at work, nowhere near home.
What are you worrying about? he said, shaking his head with false affection. Its you I love, always has been! I only agreed to all this because of you. Dont you want a flat in the heart of London? Nice clothes and jewellery? How else would I earn that as an assistant? Six months, love. And I promise well be sorted.
No… actually, itll be much sooner than that, I said, my voice trembling as I made my way down the stairs, each step an ordeal against the numbness in my legs. I kept walking. I would not collapse.
Adam jerked round at the sound of my voice. His face emptied; the smile gone, eyes wide with shock. Whatever words hed been preparing vanished, his phone clattering to the floor.
Alice? He breathed, getting up from the chair. A strange mixture of confusion and fear flickered in his voice. What is it, love?
He reached out to me, as if to touch, to calm me like so many times before. But I stood firm, chin up, my gaze now cold and sharp, my trust extinguished.
Alice… I whispered back, and the pain in that word threatened to swallow me. Do you really think Im deaf? That I heard nothing?
I faced Adamevery nerve raw, but needing to see his eyes, looking for any trace of remorse. But all I read was confusion and a desperate wish to find an excuse.
Sweetheart… Is that the girl you once introduced as your sister? My voice was level, but laced with icy tension.
Adam blanched. He scrabbled for his phonethe device a pitiful shield. His hands shook. He couldnt decide how to wriggle out of it, how to save his promised pile of cash.
Youre confusing things, he said finally, forcing calm. What sweetheart? I truly dont know what you mean.
He took a step closer, reaching for my hand, but I pulled away sharply. That small refusal firmed my resolve.
You know exactly what I mean, I said, my bitter laugh dry as sand. He flinched away from my words. I heard you say all those simpering things… It was revolting.
I gulped, battling the quaver in my voice. I mustnt let him see how deeply this betrayal cut. Every dream, every plan, every sweet momentreduced to farce, a tawdry play where Id been cast as the naive fool.
Adam kept silent, understanding now that denial was pointlesshis own fault for not checking if I was home. Still, he wouldnt admit it. He was clinging to the hope it might yet blow over.
Therell be no wedding, I declared, my voice steely with finality. Adam paled visibly. But before I send you packing, I want the truth. All of it. No lies, no excuses.
My voice didnt waver, even as my insides screamed. I folded my arms, bracing myself for more wounds. There were no tears in my eyes anymorejust a burning need to know how far the deception ran.
The truth? he spat, dropping the façade at last. There was no point in pretending anymore. You want the truth, do you? Fine. Not in a million years would I have looked twice at you if your father hadnt offered me this deal. Adams tone was blunt, hard, regretless. I gave you all that attention, took you out, played the partand in return, I got a cushy job and a fat payment. Two salaries for a bit of performance.
He might as well have been talking about doing the weekly shophe was so casual, so emotionlessbut every word sank like a stone in my heart, erasing the last shreds of hope.
All for money? I whispered, my voice little more than air, but I forced myself to meet his eyes.
And did you really think anyone would fall for you looking like that? Adam laughed cruelly, and the sound was a knife. When did you last look in a mirror? Go ontake a proper look.
Those words struck harder than any blow. I felt a lump growing in my throat, my eyes stinging, fists clenching to keep the tears inside.
I stared at him, speechless, the world dimming around me. Our talks, our dates, hopes of the futureall counterfeit. I was not cherished; I was simply a means to an end.
Out! I managed, my voice unexpectedly sturdy against the storm inside me. Ill send your things by courier. Get out!
Adam ran his gaze over mea final, cruel appraisalbut he didnt hesitate. Not a flicker of remorse. Slowly, deliberately, he shrugged on his coat, as if daring me to ask for contrition. The door banged shut, and sudden silence engulfed me.
As he left the house, Adams mind flashed with worryhow would he face Jacob Anthony? He knew all too well: my father wasnt forgiving, or a man anyone wanted to cross. Adam berated himself for his failed plan even as he remembered the money, now sitting in his account. The sum was considerable. It steadied him.
Well, I earned it, at any rate, he muttered, stepping into the crisp London evening. Lets hope no one tries to claw it back.
Back in the empty house, my fingers trembled as I dialed Dads number. I got it wrong several times, but finally the call connected.
Dad! My voice cracked as soon as I heard him answer. How could you? How could you do this to me?
I didnt let him interject, my words coming in a torrentragged, fierce, burning with pain.
You set this up! You paid him, made him pretend to be my fiancé! You never even asked what I wanted! You just decided!
I choked, but I couldnt stop.
I trusted you! I thought hehe loved me! And it was just a show! You made my whole life a lie!
Dad tried to respond, but I didnt listen. I had to let it all outthe grievances, the hurt, months and years of feeling let down.
Never again! Never meddle in my life! Never!
I jabbed the calls end and flung the phone on the sofa. My defences crumbled, tears running down my face as I buried it in my hands, shoulders shaking. In that moment, I was a child againwounded, betrayed, and utterly alone with my pain.
The tears werent just for Adam. Years of insecurity, doubt, fear crashed over me all at once. Ive always been self-conscious about my appearance. Id stand before mirrors, picking myself apart. If only my waist were slimmer if my figure more striking The thoughts circled endlessly. I envied the magazine models, the actresses, but my reality was something else, and it always hurt.
Id even considered cosmetic surgery, imagining how I might change. But every time, when I looked at Mumat Elizabeth, as she preferred to be called, even at homeI shelved the idea.
Elizabeth. The name itself was her musica symbol of who she wanted to be: graceful, mysterious, irresistible. She succeeded for a time. In her youth, she was a true English beauty: refined features, tumbling hair, that unmistakable poise that turned heads.
Everything changed after she trusted a brilliant specialist her friends spoke so highly of. She only wanted a small changea tiny tweak to her nose. But the surgeon let her down. The operation went wrong, and the consequences couldnt be fixed. Her face changed, permanently.
She didnt give up immediately. She traipsed from clinic to clinic, consulted the best doctors, spent a small fortune on revision work. Every time, she hoped shed recover herself. But it only grew worse…
She gave up on joy. Confidence faded first, then her desire to go out, until she hid from mirrors, her face shielded beneath wide hats and sunglasses. The depression arrived, blanketing her in fog. Mornings started with heavy glances in the mirror, days spent in the dimness of closed curtains, nights haunted by what-might-have-beens.
Then she vanished, leaving just a short note for Dad: I cant do this anymore. Forgive me. And silenceno calls, no letters, no attempt to reconnect. Gone, without a goodbye, leaving Dad to look after me alone.
I grew up gazing at photos of the old Elizabethgleaming, radiant. In my mind, that was my mother: smiling, warmth in her eyes. But I knew the truth, too. Every year made the gap between the woman in the portraits and the one who left us ache sharper.
I compared myself with my mother from early onand never in my favour. Mum had perfect cheekbones; Ive just got chubby cheeks, Id complain at my reflection. Her hair was silk, mines always a frizzy mess. Nothing ever sufficedmy nose too big, lips not plump, figure never sleek. Even when people called me pretty, I didnt believe them. I was, in my eyes, a washed-out shadow of Elizabeth, never properly beautiful.
That insecurity coloured everything. At school I kept to myself, afraid of drawing stares; at university, I dodged any presentation, terrified someone would fixate on my flaws. Boys rarely noticed me, and if they did, lost interest quickly. I blamed my appearance.
If only I were prettier, everything would be different, I repeated inside, not realising that maybe it was my lack of self-acceptance pushing potential partners away.
Then Adam came along. He burst in like sunshine through a closed window. He noticed me, looked at me like I was the only woman in the room, made specific, thoughtful complimentson my smile, my laugh, my kindness. He took me for coffee in sweet corners, bought flowers just because, remembered even my throwaway comments.
For the first time in years, I felt beautiful. Not flawless, like Mum used to be, but good enough. Attractive enough. Lovable enough. He helped me open up, to believe I deserved happiness. The more time I spent with him, the more certain I becamethis was real.
But it wasnt. All along, Adam had been playing a part. Every word, every kindness, a line in a scriptright down to the last compliment. And the author of it all was Dad, the person I trusted most
******************************
Weeks later, there I was, standing before the mirror of a bridal boutique. But the feeling I carried wasnt bright joy or even nervousness. I felt a cool, almost businesslike steadiness. The white dress fit gently, skimming my shoulders and flaring into a soft skirt. The lace at the sleeves caught the light and shimmered with quiet dignity.
I inspected my image. I didnt hunt for faults, nor did I nitpick every curve as I had for years. Today was different. Today, I accepted myself as I was.
An hour later, I was walking down the aisle between the gathered guests. Head high, spine straight, steady in my walk. My eyes werent dreamy; instead, I felt clear-eyed, determined, catching the stares (admiring, some curioussince I was surely not the typical teary bride before the altar).
People stepped aside, smiling, whispering compliments. I nodded back distantlymy mind was far from the pageantry. Instead, I thought of that conversation Id had with Dad not long ago.
Dad, Im going to accept Martins proposal, Id told him, holding his gaze.
He froze, mug in hand, caught off guard by my resolve.
Are you sure, love? Thats a big step.
Im sure, I replied, not wavering. Im done waiting for a love that may never come. I want stability, respect, a real family. Martin can give me that.
But love… Dad began, but I cut him off.
Loves wonderful, but I cant live my life just holding out for a miracle. I want to shape my own future.
Now, walking towards Martinwho looked rather anxious but was forcing good cheerI repeated my own words. His expression held no unbridled passion, but there was honest affection and respect. That, more than anything, mattered to me now.
When the registrar began her traditional speech, I realisedI had no regrets. This might not be the fairy tale. But it was my choiceconsidered, mature, my own.
Yes, maybe Martin wont love me madly, I thought, glancing at him. But hell respect me. And perhaps, in time, love will find its way
The thought gave me strength. I smiled at Martinnot for show, but honestly, glad to feel, for the first time in ages, that I was taking a real step forward. Perhaps love has many faces. And maybe, for once, the beginning of my story is not a lightning flash but the sound ground beneath my feetthe place to start building something real.
