Chapter 13 - Evania
I stared down at the marriage certificate in my hands, fingers tightening on the edges as if it might disappear if I let go.
My name sat there in neat black ink, permanently paired with his.
I was now married.
The word felt surreal—too big, too final, too real to fit inside my chest. A laugh bubbled up, sharp and breathless, and I pressed the paper flat against my thighs as I sat on the edge of my bed.
I had always imagined this moment differently.
There was supposed to be a dress I obsessed over for months, a first dance, champagne, and a thousand pictures to prove it had really happened.
Instead, there was a quiet office, a marriage contract, and a ceremony conducted in a living room by a man I'd never met before.
And yet.
I was officially a married woman.
I exhaled slowly, letting the reality wash over me again. Somewhere between shock and disbelief was a very clear, undeniable fact: I had fulfilled my lifelong dream.
I married a billionaire.
The irony of that thought almost made me smile.
I had said it jokingly so many times growing up—half fantasy, half manifestation—that I never truly expected it to come true.
And yet here I was, still wearing the same clothes I'd put on that morning, staring at legal proof that my life had just taken a sharp turn into a romance novel.
And that was when it really hit me.
My parents.
"Oh God," I muttered, my eyes widening as I followed that thought to its inevitable conclusion.
I had to tell my family.
Not just that I got married, but that I married someone I'd known for barely any time at all. That I had walked into a stranger's office one day and walked out as his wife. That I'd signed a contract before I'd memorized the way he took his coffee.
Not only had I gotten married without them, but I also married a stranger I'd been on one date with.
I knew little about him despite all the details we shared on our date, and I hate to think what their minds would conjure up at the mention of his wealth.
Would they think I was a gold digger for agreeing as easily as I had?
I pressed the heel of my hand into my forehead, the beginnings of a headache blooming behind my eyes.
They were going to lose their minds.
My mother would unravel in tears. My father’s questions would sting like small wounds, quiet but cutting. My twin sisters would huddle together, casting anxious glances. My brother’s sense of duty would curl into guilt. And someone would inevitably ask if I was pregnant.
I could already hear it.
I could wait a day. Or two. Or a week. Let the shock settle.
Figure out how to explain this without sounding completely unhinged.
But I knew myself better than that. If I didn't do it now, I never would.
Before I could overthink it any further, I reached for my phone and dialed Elena's number. She answered on the first ring.
"Finally," she said, breathless with anticipation. "I've been waiting all day. Did you forget to call me?"
I let out a shaky laugh. "I didn't forget. I just needed a minute."
"A minute?" she repeated. "What happened?"
I closed my eyes and took a breath. "After you left, we went to his office."
"Okay, that's not bad."
"We went over the marriage contract," I continued. "It was just like I imagined it would be."
"You sound awfully pleased with yourself," she muttered. "What's wrong?"
"And after everything was signed," I went on, before I could talk myself out of it, "he took me to his best friend's house."
There was a pause. "His best friend's house?"
"Yes."
"Why his best friend's house?"
"Because his best friend is ordained," I said weakly.
Silence.
Then, slowly, "Evania... are you saying what I think you're saying?"
I swallowed. "He married us."
Another pause. Longer this time. Long enough for me to think she was no longer on the phone.
"You're joking," she said.
"I'm not."
"Elena," I added quickly, "I'm married."
She gasped so loudly it crackled through the phone. "Oh, my God."
"I know."
"Oh, my God."
"I know," I repeated, a laugh bubbling up through my nerves. "Please don't scream."
"I'm not screaming," she said, very much screaming. "I'm processing."
"Well, process quietly," I pleaded.
"So you've done it," she said slowly, "you married a billionaire after wanting to for so long. Is it everything you hoped for?"
I stared at the certificate again. "I'm terrified," I admitted. "But also excited and oddly calm."
"Calm?" she repeated.
"Yeah," I said. "Like this makes sense in a way nothing else ever has."
She hummed thoughtfully. "I'm happy for you, Eva."
"I'm just scared about telling everyone else," I confessed. "Mom is going to freak out. Dad is going to ask if I lost my mind. They're going to think I did this for the money."
"And did you?" she asked gently.
I didn't hesitate. "No, but it's an added bonus."
She smiled. I could hear it in her voice. "Then you're fine."
"You don't think this is insane?"
"Oh, it's absolutely insane," she said. "But you've always been a little crazy. I'm used to it."
I laughed despite myself. "That's for being cool about this."
"That's what big sisters are for."
I must have fallen asleep sometime after midnight. The last thing I remembered was talking to Elena; the next, my phone was vibrating insistently on my nightstand.
"Hello?" My voice was thick with sleep.
"Good morning," Callahan said, sounding entirely too awake for someone who had likely gone to bed just as late as I had. This was also the first time he'd called me since I gave him my number, which already had me on edge. I sat up instantly, trying to force my body awake.
"Good morning," I replied, rubbing my eyes. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes. Well - mostly." He hesitated, and that alone was enough to make me cautious. "My parents would like to meet you."
There it was. The moment I'd been mentally preparing for since the words I'm being forced into a marriage of convenience had left his mouth.
I stared at the wall across from my bed, my heart thudding loudly in my chest. "I figured this would happen eventually," I said carefully.
"I hoped it wouldn't be so soon," he admitted. "But my mother is annoyingly persistent."
That earned a small smile from me. "When were they thinking?"
"In two hours," he said. "I tried to get out of it since it was so last-second, but as I said, she insisted, and I haven't gotten them to sign over their shares yet."
I swung my legs out of bed, suddenly very awake. "Okay," I said, taking a steadying breath. "I can be ready in two hours."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, like he hadn't expected my answer to come so easily. He had every right to be surprised because I was currently freaking out. How was I supposed to shower, do my makeup, and pick an outfit in just two hours?
"You're sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure," knowing full well that I wasn't.
"Good," he said, relief evident in his voice. "I'll pick you up at noon."
We hung up shortly after, and the moment the call ended, reality crashed into me in full force. I was meeting his parents. Not as his friend, girlfriend, or fiancée, but as his wife.
The thought sent a nervous thrill through me, followed quickly by panic. I moved fast after that, as if slowing down would give my anxiety time to catch up. I headed straight for the bathroom, turned the shower on hotter than usual, and stepped beneath the spray.
The water helped. It always did.
I let it run over me, grounding myself in the warmth and focusing on the physical sensations rather than the mental ones. Luckily, I had removed and washed my wig then reapplied it yesterday morning, so I didn't have to think about my hair now.
I kept my makeup light with clear mascara to define my lashes, a neutral shadow, and a hint of blush with minimal foundation. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard. Then I turned toward my closet and froze.
I stood there longer than I’d like to admit, arms crossed, staring at rows of clothes that suddenly all felt wrong. Too casual. Too formal. Too much like me. Not enough like the version of me I was supposed to be today.
I stared at the pile forming on my bed and finally grabbed my phone. If anyone could fix this, it was Sabrina. She answered almost immediately. “Did you finally ruin another outfit with coffee?”
“I do not ruin outfits,” I said. “But I do need your help.”
“With?”
“Picking something to wear.”
There was a pause. “Oh? For what?”
I hesitated for just a second. “I’m going out.”
“With who?”
“The guy I went on a date with earlier.”
She hummed suspiciously. “And?”
“His parents might be there,” I added quickly. “So I want to make a good first impression.”
Silence.
Then— “His parents?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I rushed out. “They might just be around.”
“You don’t meet parents unless it’s a big deal.”
“It’s just lunch.”
“With his parents.”
“Sabrina.”
“Fine. Show me your closet.”
I switched to video and aimed the camera toward the disaster zone behind me.
“Why do you own so much black?” she asked.
“I like black.”
“You look like you’re permanently attending a stylish funeral.”
“Can you focus?”
She leaned closer to her screen. “Okay. Grab the navy midi dress, the fitted one.”
I pulled it out.
“Good. Now also take the cream blouse and your black tailored trousers.”
“That’s very corporate.”
“Don't you want to look respectable?”
“Of course, but I don’t want to look like I’m applying for a position in the family.”
She laughed. “Try the dress first.”
I changed quickly and came back into frame.
She blinked. “Okay. That’s nice.”
“Nice?”
“You look grown. Elegant. Like you make responsible decisions.”
If only she knew.
“Too much?” I asked.
“No. It’s perfect for meeting parents.”
I tried the blouse and trousers next.
She tilted her head. “That’s powerful. Maybe too powerful.”
“So the dress?”
“The dress,” she confirmed. “Hair down. Soft waves. Nude heels.”
“I was going to put my hair up.”