Chapter 10
FREYA
“The ceremony would take place in the rose garden,” Michelle explains, gesturing toward the manicured grounds that stretch out before us. “And then guests would move to the terrace for cocktails before dinner in the grand ballroom.”
It’s absolutely gorgeous. It’s also absolutely perfect for the kind of elegant, high-society wedding that would photograph beautifully and convince everyone that Ben Lawlor is marrying for love, not strategy.
“The bridal suite is on the second floor,” Michelle continues, leading us up a grand staircase with a banister that feels too fancy to touch. “It has a private balcony overlooking the gardens, perfect for getting-ready photos.”
Ben walks beside me, asking practical questions about capacity, catering options, and backup plans for bad weather. He’s in full business mode, treating this like any other venue negotiation. Which, I suppose, it is.
But I can’t help getting caught up in the romance of it all.
The way the afternoon light filters through the tall windows, casting golden rectangles across the polished floors.
The way Michelle talks about ceremonies with such genuine enthusiasm, like every wedding here is a real love story worth celebrating.
The way I can picture myself walking down that garden aisle in a white dress, even though I know it would all be pretend.
When I was younger, I used to roll my eyes at friends who spent hours planning their dream weddings.
I was too focused on making art and geeking out over indie films, too independent to waste time fantasizing about white dresses and first dances.
Marriage seemed like something that happened to other people.
People who were more traditional, more willing to compromise their freedom for the sake of a relationship.
But standing here, looking out at gardens where dozens of couples have promised to love each other forever, I feel a pang of something that might be longing.
At this part of life, most of my friends are married or engaged or at least in serious relationships heading in that direction.
Bella has her beautiful chaos with Mark and the kids.
Even my college roommate, Sarah, who swore she’d never settle down, got engaged last month to a guy she met at a coffee shop.
And here I am, touring wedding venues for a marriage that isn’t real to a man who doesn’t love me.
“What do you think?” Ben asks as we finish the tour, Michelle having stepped away to give us a moment to discuss.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. “Really beautiful.”
“But?”
I look at him, surprised that he picked up on my hesitation. “No buts. It’s perfect. Michelle clearly knows what she’s doing, the grounds are gorgeous, and it has that old-money elegance that will photograph well for your image.”
“Freya.” He turns to face me fully, his expression concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re doing that thing where you agree with everything I say but you’re not actually happy about it.”
He knows me too well. I can’t tell him that walking through this venue made me realize how much I want a real wedding someday.
I can’t tell him that seeing the bridal suite made me imagine what it would feel like to get ready for my actual wedding, surrounded by my sister and my friends, nervous and excited about marrying someone who chose me.
I can’t tell him that for about ten minutes during Michelle’s tour, I forgot this was all fake and let myself imagine what it would be like if Ben actually loved me.
“I guess I’m just feeling the weight of how big this is getting,” I say instead, which is true enough. “A few weeks ago, this was one dinner. Now we’re booking venues and signing contracts and planning what’s essentially a performance for three hundred people.”
“We can still keep it smaller if you want.”
“Ben, your PR manager wants Vanity Fair to cover this. I don’t think ‘smaller’ is an option anymore.”
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognize from years of watching him stress about things. “You’re right. This has gotten way beyond what either of us originally planned.”
“It’s not your fault. Well, it’s not entirely your fault. I’m the one who suggested we go through with the wedding.”
“And I’m the one who told Carson we could make it public.”
We stand there for a moment, both of us apparently realizing how far we’ve strayed from the simple favor this was supposed to be.
“Michelle’s waiting for an answer,” Ben says finally.
“Let’s book it. It really is perfect, and Michelle seems wonderful. Besides, if we’re going to do this, we might as well do it somewhere beautiful.”
An hour later, we’re back in Ben’s office, sitting across from each other at his conference table with a lawyer between us. The view from the forty-second floor is spectacular, but I can barely focus on it because I’m too busy trying to process the stack of legal documents in front of me.
“This is fairly straightforward,” explains Gia Welson, the family law attorney Ben hired to handle our arrangement. She’s a woman in her fifties with sharp eyes and an expensive suit, the kind of lawyer who probably handles divorces for Chicago’s elite on a regular basis.
“The agreement specifies that the marriage will be dissolved after one year,” Gia continues, flipping through the pages.
“Mr. Lawlor will retain all business assets acquired before and during the marriage. Ms. Hull will receive the compensation package as outlined in Exhibit A, plus any gifts given during the marriage period.”
Compensation package. As if I’m an employee being hired for a particularly unusual job.
“There are confidentiality clauses, of course,” Gia continues. “Neither party may discuss the arrangement publicly during or after the marriage. Ms. Hull, you’ll also receive a severance payment upon completion of the contract, contingent on your adherence to all terms.”
I stare down at the papers, feeling sick. This is really happening. We’re actually going to sign legal documents that turn our friendship into a business transaction with a predetermined expiration date.
“Any questions?” Gia asks.
Ben looks at me. “Freya? Anything you want to add or change?”
I shake my head. What would I add? A clause requiring him to actually fall in love with me? A provision that this won’t destroy our friendship when it’s over?
“No questions,” I manage.
We sign the papers in silence, our pens scratching across expensive legal paper while Gia witnesses our signatures. When it’s done, she shakes our hands and congratulates us on our upcoming marriage, as if we’re a normal couple taking a normal step in a normal relationship.
After she leaves, Ben and I sit in his office, neither of us quite sure what to say.
“Well,” I finally break the silence. “That was… official.”
“Very official.”
“One year,” I say, more to myself than to him.
“One year. And then you’re free to find someone who wants to marry you for real.”
The words sting, even though I know he doesn’t mean them to. But they highlight exactly what’s wrong with this whole situation—I’m committing a year of my life to a fake marriage, which means a year of not dating, not meeting anyone, not moving forward with my actual life.
“What if I meet someone during the year?” I ask. “Someone I truly want to be with?”
His expression tightens almost imperceptibly. “Discretion would be required, obviously, but it’s not like you’d be a prisoner.”
“Discretion. Right.” I lean back in my chair, suddenly exhausted. “God, Ben, what are we doing?”
“We’re helping each other. You’re helping me secure the biggest deal of my career, and I’m giving you the financial freedom to pursue your art full-time.”
“Is that what this is? A business partnership?”
“What else would it be?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with all the things we’re not saying. What else would it be? It could be a chance for both of us to stop pretending we don’t have feelings for each other. It could be an opportunity to explore what we might be together if we were brave enough to try.
But those are dangerous thoughts, and we’ve already agreed: no catching feelings.
“Nothing,” I say finally. “It’s exactly what you said it is.”
Ben nods, but something in his expression suggests he’s not entirely convinced either.
He’s right about my walking away with some good from this. He insisted that the honeymoon to Japan wasn’t enough; he wants to also give me enough money that I won’t ever have to work again.
I have to say, it’s generous, and I’m grateful, but…
There’s always a “but” when it comes to him.
“I should go,” I say, standing up and gathering my purse. “I have some design work to finish tonight.”
“Freya.” Ben stands too, moving around the desk to walk me to the door. “Are you sure you’re okay with all this? Because if you’re having second thoughts…”
“I’m not having second thoughts.” It’s not entirely true, but it’s what he needs to hear. “I made a commitment, and I’m going to honor it.”
“Thank you. I know this isn’t easy.”
“What are friends for?”
But as I ride the elevator down from his office, I can’t shake the feeling that friendship isn’t what this is anymore. Signing those papers changed something between us, turned something organic and real into something calculated and temporary.
I agreed to help Ben with one dinner, and somehow that spiraled into engagement photos, wedding venues and legal contracts. My entire life is about to change… where I live, how I spend my time, what people think of me… and it’s all for a relationship that comes with a built-in expiration date.
The worst part is that I have no one to blame but myself. I’m the one who suggested we go through with the wedding. I’m the one who agreed to all the publicity. I’m the one who keeps saying yes when I should probably be saying no.
I don’t want a fake marriage to Ben.
I want a real one.
And that was never part of the deal.