Do you, Freya? Do you actually love me? Or are you just incredibly loyal to someone you consider a friend?
I keep writing, my hand moving almost without conscious thought.
I love that you make me laugh, even when I don’t want to. I love that you’re the only person who can drag me away from work and make me remember that life is supposed to be lived, not just endured. I love that you see beauty everywhere—in art, in nature, in people who think they’re ordinary.
I love that you’re strong enough to stand up for what you believe in, and soft enough to cry at sappy movies. I love that you dance in your kitchen when you think no one’s watching. I love that you still save the last bite of dessert for me, even though you pretend you’re doing it because you’re full.
I love your kindness, your creativity, your stubbornness, your laugh. I love the way you smell like vanilla and paint and grass at the park. I love the way you fit perfectly against my side when we used to watch movies together.
I love everything about you, Freya Hull. I have loved you for years, probably since that night you made me watch fireworks instead of studying. I’ve been too afraid to admit it, too focusedon building a successful life to risk the most important thing in it.
I stop writing abruptly, my heart pounding.
Everything I just wrote is true. Every single word.
I’m not writing vows for a fake wedding. I’m writing a love letter to the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.
I’m completely, utterly, devastatingly in love with Freya Hull, and I’ve been lying to myself about it for years.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. All this time, I’ve been telling myself that what I feel for her is friendship, affection, protectiveness. I’ve convinced myself that the reason I’ve never been able to commit to a woman is because I’m too focused on my career.
But the truth is that no other woman has ever measured up to Freya. No other woman has ever made me feel the way she does—like I’m the best version of myself, like I’m enough exactly as I am.
I’ve been in love with her since we were teenagers, and I’ve spent fifteen years running from it because I was too much of a coward to risk everything for love.
But what if I don’t have to risk everything? What if she feels the same way?
I think about the way she looked at me the other night on her doorstep, the way she leaned in like she wanted me to kiss her. I think about how hurt she seemed when I pulled away, how distant she’s been ever since.
What if she pulled back not becauseshedoesn’t have feelings for me, but because she thinksIdon’t have feelings for her?
What if we’ve been lying to ourselves and each other this entire time?
I look at my watch. It’s almost six o’clock on Friday evening. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m supposed to marry Freya in a ceremony that we’ve both been treating as an elaborate performance. But what if it doesn’t have to be fake?
What if I tell her how I feel?
The thought terrifies me more than anything else I’ve ever done. But it also fills me with something I haven’t felt in years—hope.
I grab my keys and sprint to my car, my mind racing as I drive through rush hour traffic toward downtown. There’s something I need to do before I talk to Freya, something that will show her I’m serious about this.
The jewelry store where we bought her engagement ring should still be open. I pray they’re still open. I find a parking spot three blocks away. I run the entire distance, probably looking like a madman to the tourists and shoppers strolling along the sidewalk.
David, the same sales associate who helped us pick out the engagement ring, looks surprised to see me bursting through the door five minutes before closing time.
“Mr. Lawlor! How can I help you? Is everything all right?”
“I need a ring,” I say, slightly out of breath. “There was a ring Freya fell in love with when we were here before, but she wouldn’t let me buy it for her.”
David’s eyes light up with understanding. “The oval diamond with the twisted band. From the artisan collection.”
“That’s the one. Do you still have it?”
“I do. In fact, I’ve been holding onto it because I had a feeling…” He trails off with a knowing smile. “Let me get it for you.”
While David retrieves the ring, I pace the small showroom, my nerves getting the better of me. What if Freya doesn’t feel the same way? What if I’ve completely misread the situation? What if telling her how I feel ruins not only our fake engagement but also our real friendship?
But then I think about my father’s words at coffee yesterday, about how he regrets settling for a marriage without real love. I think about Anthony’s question about whether this arrangement is worth losing Freya. I think about the vows I just wrote, every word of which came straight from my heart.
