If only I could go back and rewrite that moment. If I’d known what was to come, I never would have agreed to something I now know I couldn’t uphold.
“Then why does it matter if I seem distant? Isn’t that what we agreed on?”
I don’t have a good answer to that question, because the truth is that I miss the easy friendship we used to have. I miss the wayshe used to tease me and challenge me and make me laugh. I miss feeling like I was talking to my best friend instead of this person who doesn’t even seem to like me anymore.
“I guess I just want to make sure you’re happy,” I say finally.
“I’m fine, Ben. I’ll be fine.”
But she doesn’t look fine. She looks like someone who’s slowly disappearing into herself, retreating from everything that used to make her vibrant and alive.
“The five million will be transferred to your account before the wedding,” I say, standing up from the bench.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what you’ve earned.”
We walk back to our cars in silence, and I realize that offering her more money hasn’t made me feel better about this situation at all. If anything, it has made me feel worse, like I’ve confirmed that what we’re doing is purely transactional.
Like I’ve reduced the most important relationship in my life to a business deal with a clearly defined monetary value.
As I drive home, I can’t stop thinking about my father’s words about his marriage. How they learned to coexist but never to really know each other. How they prioritized compatibility over connection, practicality over passion.
How they ended up as polite strangers sharing a life that satisfied neither of them.
This weekend, I’ll marry Freya in front of everyone we know, and we’ll begin exactly the same kind of arrangement my father spent our entire coffee conversation warning me against.
The difference is that my father married a woman he never loved.
I’m about to marry a woman I’m terrified I love too much, who sees our relationship as nothing more than a well-compensated business transaction.
And I have no idea which situation is worse.
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 ourhoneymoon 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.”
