Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
LAURA
I sabelle’s voice is a constant buzz in the background, full of such unnatural enthusiasm, she comes across as slightly deranged.
“And now,” she coos, “the moment we’ve all been waiting for! The moment of truth! Will our bride and groom say yes to Love? Do they want a lifetime together?”
A lifetime?
My palms are sweating. My chest feels tight, and it has nothing to do with the corset under my wedding gown.
What have I done? What was I thinking?
The answer is, I wasn’t. I was mad at Mom, Dad, Aunt Mei and Mike. And now I’m about to make a life-changing decision in front of dozens of cameras, the production team, and cheering strangers. The pressure to ignore the voice of reason and deliver the entertainment they count on weighs heavy on my shoulders. It’s pushing me into the embrace of a man whom I didn’t know from a bar of soap two minutes ago.
“You look very pretty, Laura,” he says smoothly.
I reply on autopilot, “You, too!”
He gives me a crooked—and unexpectedly sexy—smile.
Or was it just my imagination?
Thing is, I have yet to get a proper look at him. So far, I’ve snuck a few peeks through my eyelashes or out of the corner of my eye. He looked suspiciously good. It might’ve been a hallucination.
I exhale and stare at him directly for the first time since I walked into this hall.
Oh là là, he’s hot!
Tall and muscular. Handsome face. Dark, magnetic eyes. Older than I expected. A thirty-something rather than a twenty-something. He’s decked out in a bright yellow tailcoat over a slim-fit white T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. He’s pulled his sleeves up to show off the elaborate tattoos snaking up his arms. And then there are the piercings. In both ears.
Where Mike’s style is authentic, Antoine’s feels contrived. Too loud. Too “Look at me, I’m so different!” Like an overgrown teenager trying to make a statement.
How could the experts possibly think he was a good match for me?
Er… they read your letter, Laura.
Yep, this is pretty much what I asked for. I wrote that I wanted an artist, a free spirit, a man who doesn’t try to conform to society’s expectations. Basically, I pictured my parents’ ideal son-in-law and described his opposite.
And voilà, Antoine!
I should be pleased, shouldn’t I? He’s exactly what I’d asked for.
Yes, but…
Panic rises in a powerful wave, threatening to knock me off my feet.
I don’t want to marry Antoine!
He’s handsome, sure. But handsome doesn’t mean sane—or safe.
What if he’s wild? What if he’s on drugs? What if he’s one of those tortured artists who pick fights in bars for inspiration?
I steal another glance at his face. His expression is calm. Focused. And his chocolate eyes don’t seem glassy or empty. They hold something that clashes with his clownish clothes, something that’s at odds with his oh-I’m-so-naughty body art…
Intelligence.
Is that really what it is? Or is my mind simply fabricating a reason for me not to whirl around and run away?
The sudden silence in the room makes me snap back to reality.
“It’s time for the vows,” Isabelle whispers in my ear, realizing I’d zoned out.
The deputy mayor steps forward, looking far too serious for this madness. He turns to me, but the silent entreaty in my eyes makes him start with the bridegroom.
“Antoine,” the official begins. “Do you take Laura to be your lawfully wedded wife, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health? If you do, please say so.”
“I do.”
How instantaneous!
Is it because he meant it when he said I was “very pretty,” or because of how little this whole thing means to him? Whichever the case, I’m grateful he didn’t humiliate me in front of my family and friends, not to mention Mike, who will inevitably see this.
The deputy mayor turns to me.
“And now, Laura.”
My pulse is hammering. All the cameras are on me.
What do I do? If I say yes, I’ll have to go on a honeymoon with Antoine. I know I won’t have to sleep with him. The WAFS newlyweds aren’t expected to have sex on their wedding night. Lots of couples don’t even kiss or touch each other during the honeymoon. There’s no pressure to be intimate with each other. The only thing we’re expected to do is be around each other, and talk.
This isn’t a one-way ticket to hell. I can handle this.
“Laura,” the official says, “do you take Antoine to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health? If you do, please say I do.”
I switch off my brain and let my mouth pronounce, “I do.”
The official turns to Isabelle. “The rings, please.”
Isabelle sends me a look of gratitude for not bolting mid-ceremony and gestures to an assistant who brings the wedding bands. Antoine and I slip them on each other’s ring fingers.
“By the authority vested in me,” the official declares grandly, “I now pronounce you a married couple. Antoine, you may kiss Laura.”
Oh, no. No, no, no!
Antoine steps toward me. He moves slowly, like he’s giving me time to let him know if I don’t want to be kissed. I am paralyzed, my breath shallow, and my knees lock in place.
It’s just a kiss . I’ve kissed a stranger in a nightclub once or twice. No biggie.
Antoine leans down toward me. I turn my face up. He smells clean and fresh. Not sure what cologne he’s wearing, or if it’s just soap, but I like it. Our eyes meet. The paying viewers in the back of the room cheer us on.
Antoine’s lips touch mine, soft and gentle. I appreciate it. I also like that he keeps his arms at his sides and doesn’t try anything funny with his tongue. The tension in my shoulders eases as I realize he’s not going to turn up the heat. What’s happening is a low-intensity, no-drama, PG-13 interaction. It’s romantic on the surface, but devoid of any erotic charge.
We stay docked for a few more seconds to make sure the public doesn’t feel cheated.
Well done, Antoine!
Just as I expect him to step back, he leans in a little closer. His lips part. Immediately, mine do too—of their own volition. Our breaths mingle. It’s shockingly pleasant. And then it’s over.
He draws back and smiles at me benignly, like we just shook hands on a business deal.
Isabelle’s voice booms, “There you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen! Laura and Antoine are officially married!”
Everyone cheers. I force a smile. Cameras swivel toward us, capturing the moment from every angle. Antoine’s lips curve upward. His eyes meet mine again. I can’t quite read the expression in them. Amusement? Annoyance? A bit of both?
Well, this is it.
I did it. To punish my overbearing parents and my underwhelming ex, I married a tattooed stranger in a yellow tuxedo.