Chapter 22
FREYA
Iwake up the morning before my wedding with five million dollars in my bank account and a heart that feels like it’s been hollowed out with a spoon.
I thought the money would make this easier somehow. I thought having such a tangible benefit from our arrangement would help me focus on the practical aspects instead of the emotional ones. I thought it would remind me that this is business, nothing more.
Instead, it makes me feel like I’ve sold my soul.
I push that thought away and get dressed, trying to focus on the day ahead.
I have two important appointments—first, a final walkthrough of my exhibition at The Jetson Gallery, and then my last dress fitting with Bella.
Both should be exciting, celebratory moments, but they feel like obligations I have to endure.
The Jetson Gallery is bustling with activity when I arrive.
Ron Gabriel and his team are putting the finishing touches on the “Emerging Voices” exhibition, which opens Monday, the day after my wedding.
Ben and I decided to postpone our honeymoon until after the opening, so that we don’t miss the event.
“Freya!” Ron greets me with genuine enthusiasm. “Perfect timing. We just finished hanging your pieces. Come see how they look.”
I follow him through the gallery, past works by the other artists featured in the show. Each piece is beautifully lit and professionally presented, just lovely.
“Here we are,” Ron says, stopping in front of a wall that displays four of my paintings.
The sight takes my breath away. My work looks important here, significant. Next level.
“What do you think?” He asks, clearly proud of the presentation.
“They look incredible,” I say, and I mean it. “Better than I ever imagined.”
“I’ve already had several inquiries from collectors who saw the preview materials. I think you’re going to be very happy with the response.”
This should be the moment when everything feels worth it. All the years of struggle, all the rejection letters. This showing represents everything I’ve worked toward.
But standing here, looking at my art displayed like the work of a real artist, I feel nothing. Well, not nothing. I feel empty.
I have success, and yet it means nothing, because after this showing, I’ll be going on a honeymoon with a man who doesn’t love me, and what is success if you don’t have someone meaningful to share it with?
“I should probably head to my next appointment,” I say, suddenly desperate to leave the gallery. “Dress fitting.”
“Of course. But Freya? This is just the beginning for you. After people see your work Monday night, everything is going to change.”
Everything already has changed, I want to tell him. Just not in the way he thinks.
The drive to the bridal salon takes twenty minutes through Chicago traffic, giving me time to try to shift my mindset from melancholy artist to excited bride. By the time I park, I’ve managed to construct something resembling enthusiasm for the final dress fitting.
Bella is already waiting inside, chatting with the saleswoman who handled all my alterations. She lights up when she sees me, practically bouncing with excitement.
“There’s the bride!” she says, pulling me into a hug. “Are you ready to see yourself in perfection?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The dress is everything we hoped it would be after alterations. The silk flows perfectly, the neckline is exactly right, and the train creates an elegant line behind me without being overwhelming. When I step out of the dressing room, Bella audibly gasps.
“Freya, you look…” She trails off, pressing her hand to her mouth. “You look like a princess.”
I turn to look at myself in the three-way mirror, and she’s right.
The dress is absolutely perfect. It fits like it was designed specifically for my body, and the color—ivory with just a hint of warmth—complements my skin tone beautifully.
My hair is pulled back in a simple style for the fitting, but I can imagine how it will look tomorrow with professional styling and makeup.
I look like a woman who’s about to marry the man of her dreams.
Which makes it even more heartbreaking that this is all pretend.
“The fit is excellent,” the saleswoman says, circling around me to check every seam. “Just a tiny adjustment needed at the waist, but nothing major. You’ll be absolutely stunning tomorrow.”
Bella is still staring at me with tears in her eyes. “Ben’s gonna die when he sees you walking down that aisle.”
Will he? Or will he be completely ambivalent, his mind focused on his wind turbine deal?
“Hey.” Bella’s voice carries a note of concern. “Are you okay? You look like you might be sick.”
I catch my reflection in the mirror again, and I can see what she means. Despite the beautiful dress and the perfect fit, I look pale, strained. Like someone who’s about to face execution rather than marriage.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just wedding nerves.”
“Are you sure? Because if you’re having second thoughts—”
“I’m not having second thoughts.”
But as I say it, something inside me snaps. The careful control I’ve been maintaining for two months suddenly crumbles, and before I can stop myself, I’m sobbing. Not delicate tears that might be attributed to bridal emotion, but ugly, heartbroken sobs that shake my entire body.
“Oh my God!” Bella rushes to my side, and the saleswoman tactfully retreats to give us privacy. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“I can’t do this,” I gasp between sobs. “I can’t marry him tomorrow.”
“What do you mean you can’t marry him? Freya, you love Ben. Anyone can see that.”
“That’s the problem,” I cry, and suddenly all the words I’ve been holding back for months come pouring out. “I do love him, Bella. I love him so much it’s destroying me. But this whole engagement, this whole wedding—it’s not real. It’s fake. It’s all fake.”
She stares at me like I’ve started speaking a foreign language. “What do you mean it’s fake?”
“I mean, Ben asked me to pretend to be his fiancée to impress a business client, and it spiraled out of control, and now we’re getting married tomorrow in front of everyone we know, and it’s all a lie.”
The words tumble out in a rush, and once I start talking, I can’t stop.
I tell her everything—the dinner with Red and Marnie, the contracts we signed, the compensation agreement, the rules about not catching feelings.
I tell her about the engagement photos and the publicity and the way this whole charade has consumed our lives.
I tell her about the almost-kiss on my doorstep and the way Ben pulled away, and how I’ve been dying a little more each day knowing that he sees me as nothing more than a helpful friend providing a service.
When I finally finish, my sister is sitting on the little couch in the fitting room, staring at me with an expression I can’t read.
“You’re telling me,” she says slowly, “that your entire engagement is fake? That you’re marrying Ben tomorrow as part of some business arrangement?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been lying to me about this for months?”
“Yes.” The guilt threatens to consume me. “I’m so sorry, Bella. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. There were NDAs and contracts, and I didn’t know how to explain it without making it sound completely insane.”
“It does sound completely insane.” She’s quiet for a moment, processing everything I’ve told her. “But Freya… are you sure Ben doesn’t have feelings for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve seen you two together. At the family dinner, at the engagement party. The way he looks at you…” She shakes her head. “That’s not acting. That’s not someone going through the motions.”
“You don’t understand. Ben is allergic to committed relationships. He’s made that clear his entire adult life. His career comes first, always.”
“People change, Freya. And people can be wrong about what they want.”
“He had a chance,” I say, wiping tears from my cheeks. “The other night, after the engagement party.”
“Maybe he pulled away because he was scared. Maybe he has feelings for you too, but he’s terrified of ruining your friendship or complicating the arrangement.”
I want to believe her. God, how I want to believe that Ben might feel even a fraction of what I feel for him. But I can’t let myself hope for something that will only lead to more heartbreak.
“If he had feelings for me, he would have done something about it by now,” I say. “Ben goes after what he wants. He doesn’t give up when something matters to him. If I mattered to him that way, he wouldn’t have let fear stop him.”
“You’re talking about business, not love.
” She moves to sit beside me on the small bench in the fitting room, careful not to wrinkle my dress.
“Freya, I’ve never seen you like this before.
Not about any guy. The way you talk about Ben, the way you cry when you think about losing him…
this isn’t just about unrequited love. This is about someone who’s become essential to who you are. ”
“That’s what makes this so impossible,” I whisper. “Even after we divorce, even when this arrangement ends, how do I go back to being just his friend? How do I pretend that this year didn’t change everything for me?”
“Maybe you don’t have to. Maybe you tell him how you feel.”
“And ruin everything? Destroy our friendship and make the next year completely unbearable?”
“Or maybe you discover that he feels the same way, and this stops being fake and starts being real.”
I look at myself in the mirror again, this bride in her perfect dress with tears streaming down her face. Lord, I’m such a wreck.
“I can’t risk it,” I say finally. “I can’t tell him how I feel and have him look at me with pity or awkwardness or regret. I’d rather keep my feelings to myself and… get through it all.”
“Really?”
“I’m going to marry him tomorrow. I’m going to smile and say my vows and let everyone think this is the happiest day of my life. And then I’m going to survive the next year. At least I’m getting something out of it too.”
Bella wraps her arms around me, careful not to disturb the dress. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
“I brought it on myself. I should have said no from the beginning. I should have known better than to think I could fake being in love with him without it becoming real.”
“Or maybe,” Bella says softly, “this is exactly what was supposed to happen. Maybe this arrangement is the universe’s way of forcing you both to confront feelings you’ve been avoiding for years.”
“The universe has a cruel sense of humor, then.”
“Sometimes the best things in life require us to be brave enough to take risks. Even when we’re terrified of the outcome.”
I pull away from her embrace and stand up, looking at myself in the mirror one more time. Tomorrow, this dress will be photographed dozens of times. The images will appear in magazines and social media posts, evidence of Ben Lawlor’s romantic wedding to his childhood sweetheart.
No one looking at those photos will know that the bride’s heart is breaking.
“Help me out of this dress,” I say to Bella. “I need to go home and get some sleep before tomorrow.”
“Freya—”
“Please. I’ve made my decision. I’m going through with this wedding, and then I’m going to figure out how to live with the consequences.”
As she helps me out of the dress, I catch one last glimpse of myself in the mirror.
For just a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would feel like if this were real.
If Ben were marrying me because he loved me, not because I’m useful to his business.
If the vows we exchange tomorrow were promises we both meant to keep.
But that’s a fantasy, and I’ve spent too much time already living in fantasies about him.
Tomorrow, I’ll marry my best friend in front of everyone we know, and it will be the most beautiful lie ever told.