3. Stepping into the Unknown
three
Stepping into the Unknown
Emma
My racing heart knew—long before I did—that my life was about to change forever. Not only had my parents’ sordid divorce when I was a teenager given me an ugly idea about marriage, but my previous experiences with love were less than perfect. That was why pretending to marry a man I wasn’t in love with should have been easy. To me, there was nothing sacred about that ritual, or the document that accompanied it. A social charade, that was what it was. And love? Love was a beautiful emotion that didn’t need documents or witnesses.
Love was a whole other thing.
On the fourteenth of January, my girlfriends and the ladies of the family gathered in the suite Dean had given me, sipping on champagne and laughing at each other’s anecdotes. My mother, separating herself from the merry crowd, stood behind me while the makeup artist worked on my face.
I could see her reflection in the mirror, not even attempting to hide her surprise and bafflement. “Honey, are you sure you want to do this?” She placed her hand over my shoulder, a gesture the artist quickly brushed off, so he could do his job from the right angle.
“Yes, mom. Dean and I are in love,” I lied with a steady look at her eyes in the mirror.
Shaking her head, she tittered nervously before taking a sip from the antique flute in her hand. “It’s just that I thought… I expected you to give me a little heads-up, is all.”
“So that you can discourage me? I know what you think of men and marriage.”
“No, Emma! God, how can you think that? I want you to be happy!”
“And I am. So, can we drop it, please? My happiness shrinks with every shred of doubt you try to instill in me about this wedding.”
My cousin Sara quickly approached, half-drunk already, hugging my mom from behind as she giggled. “Oh my gosh, Em! When you see downstairs, you’re gonna die! It’s like a fairytale down there!”
Yes. My wedding planner did an excellent job creating every little girl’s dream for the fantasy that was to be my wedding day. Every girl in this room was jealous of the fact that I had landed a handsome tech billionaire. And last night, my father had brazenly asked me if Dean had gotten me knocked up.
After her second drink, my mother let go of her worries, allowing elation to take over. Her only daughter was getting hitched to one of New York’s most sought-after bachelors. I was about to join one of the country’s wealthiest families. Watching her flaunt it in her drunken high was almost grotesque. My younger brother, Evan, on the other hand, tossed a careless remark my way about how he never knew I would have turned out to be a gold digger.
And I took the blows as they came, with a steady smile on my face .
My family was dysfunctional, cynical, and tainted by a lifetime of bitterness, violence, and an ugly divorce that concluded it all with nasty looks and snide remarks whenever we were in the same room together. None of that was Dean’s fault, and I would have been damned if I wasn’t going to protect him from their toxicity. The last thing he needed now was one more obstacle to acceptance, healing, and peace.
The ceremony was beautiful, and we had both recited vows that Dean had personally handpicked from the internet. His mother—looking like an absolute angel, though frail—cried silently as we kissed.
Later, she came and gave me a feeble hug, her body betraying her, and whispered in my ear, “If you can tolerate his reclusive phases, believe me, you’ll realize that you’re the luckiest girl in the world… he will never mean to push you away, he just needs to lean on his own company sometimes. And I mean that with all the love, darling.”
Tearing up, I held her a little tighter and longer than appropriate. I knew that Dean was watching us, but I wanted to put the woman’s mind at ease. “I love your son, Pearl. You don’t need to worry. He and I are perfect together, and I know that he would never hurt me… and I promise you, I would never, ever hurt him.”
When we pulled apart, I saw a look in her eyes that exactly resembled the one Dean had given me when we were back in his office. A look of resolve, and a plea to take care of things. It was what drew my attention to a detail I hadn’t noticed before; Dean looked a lot like his mother. Her angelic features, her black hair, her plump lips and the dimple in her chin. The features that gave him the manly air were his strongly defined nose, which he must have inherited from his father, and his voice… that slightly raspy, deep voice.
My heart beat faster, and I didn’t know why. The hardest part was over .
Upon insistence from my mother and the women in the family, we were escorted upstairs to our suite around three in the morning. Everyone had been drinking as rivers of alcohol wouldn’t stop flowing. An overall atmosphere of joy celebrated and blessed this well-choreographed dance until Dean and I were finally alone behind a closed door.
Turning to me, he undid his cuffs and approached with tired eyes and a faint smile. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said.
“Yes, you can.” I wrung my hands, afraid that I would lose control and hug him out of pity. Instead, I turned around and stood by the window, looking at the party still raging in the garden. “You can make me a promise.”
“Anything.” His voice had gotten closer, which meant that he was standing right behind me.
My eyes were fixated on the scene in the garden, and the way my father made sure to dance with all of my young, hot friends in front of my mother. “I’m sure you noticed that my parents’ relationship lacks… well, a lot of good things.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
Clutching the curtain with my hand, I remained in place, now watching my mother drink her pain away. “I just need you to make me a promise. Treat me with respect in front of people?” I turned around, facing him with determined eyes. “No matter what happens between us?” I paused, watching his eyebrows slowly meet in a wrinkle. “My father never did. And I promised myself that if I were ever to get married, I would never accept that sort of humiliation.”
“Emma.” Dean had the sincerity I lacked, since he immediately wrapped his arms around me, tenderly placing my head on his shoulder. “I would never dream of treating you any less than a queen deserves. In front of people, and when we’re alone. I know we’re not really married, but as far as I’m concerned… this contract between us makes us one entity—one team. Your pride is mine, and I would never want to hurt you.” He paused, and I thought he smelled my hair for a second. “I hope you believe me.”
Weak in the knees, I knew I had to act quickly before doing something I would have soon regretted. I wasn’t used to feeling so safe and protected in the arms of a man, and it was bound to play tricks on my mind. Gently pulling myself out of his arms, I looked away and took a step toward the dresser. “Thank you, Dean. I really appreciate that.” I took off my shoes, since they were new and had been killing my feet for hours. “Geez, how long do you think they’ll stay?”
“I wouldn’t count on everyone leaving any time soon.” He sighed, unbuttoning his shirt. “Our family has the habit of offering rooms at weddings. They’re all likely to leave in the morning.”
Reality soon returned to take the center stage. “What—What about Pearl’s hospital appointment? It’s at eight o’clock.”
A serious expression quickly took over his face. “I know, and I have it all sorted out. We’ll leave through the east wing—there’s a back exit from there, and that’s where the car will be waiting for us.”
“Okay,” I whispered. Wringing my hands, I looked at his frowning face and hesitated for a second. “I—Do you think I should get out now?”
“No, no. It’s too risky. Someone might see you.” He looked around the room, his hand reaching for the nape of his neck and squeezing, cringing as if he had a spasm there. “Uh—Why don’t you sleep here in my bed? I’ll take the couch.”
My eyes landed on the couch he referred to; it was more of a loveseat, and he was far too tall to be comfortable on it. “That’s ridiculous, Dean. We can both sleep in the bed. If—That is, if you don’t mind.”
He continued to massage his neck for another moment before shaking his head. “No, I don’t mind.” He turned around and pointed toward a closed door. “That’s the dressing room, and the bathroom’s through there. Feel free to grab anything of mine to sleep in.”
“Okay.” Avoiding any further eye contact, I grabbed the fluffy skirt of my wedding dress and walked over to the door, opening it and disappearing in there, closing it behind me.
The dressing room was almost as big as the bedroom, with neatly arranged sections of everything one would imagine existing in someone’s closet. There was an entire wardrobe filled with plain t-shirts in all shades and colors, and at the bottom, an equally diverse assortment of cycling shorts. I quickly reached the conclusion that those were the best items to sleep in, given the circumstances.
In the bathroom—which looked like a fully-fledged spa in its own right—I stood in front of the mirror and proceeded to attempt to remove my makeup. Naturally, Dean didn’t own any makeup remover, so I had to use soap and water for the job. A bottle of hand lotion also helped.
When I came back out into the bedroom, Dean was already fast asleep in his dress shirt, pants, and socks. Tiptoeing, I made my way over to the foot of the bed and ever so gently took off his socks. The last thing this troubled groom needed was to suffer from pressure marks on his shins when he woke up early in the morning to take his mother to the hospital.
Around dawn, I was startled awake by something odd and my eyes shot open. Dean was clearly having a nightmare, snorting and mumbling in his sleep as his hands twitched in place. I knew I wasn’t even supposed to be here for this, yet here we were. So, with a racing heart, I reached out with one hand and placed it softly on his shoulder. He let out a different sound, as if in approval. When I let my hand slide onto his chest, his hands stopped twitching, and the troubled expression holding his eyebrows in a knot relaxed. His face soon smoothened, and he began breathing normally again.
Lying back down, I positioned myself on my side so that I could keep an eye on him for a moment. A moment that soon faded as I drifted off, his face being the last thing I saw.
When the alarms on both our phones started ringing, Dean was the first to swiftly shove aside the covers and leap out of bed. Pushing myself up, I realized that I had no idea if he liked to speak at all upon waking. My conundrum didn’t last long, since Dean turned to me and said, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I softly replied, quickly covering my face with my hands as if to brush away my messy bed hair. In reality, and for some unknown reason, I worried if I looked good enough in the morning for him to see.
As if it mattered at all.