“That sounds nice. But you can’t tell me you wouldn’t have been happier in a Spider-Man costume than a bowtie and dress shoes.”
“I was always more of a Batman guy.”
“Big surprise.” She rolls her eyes. “Billionaire kid wants to be billionaire vigilante. You could have at least been original and gone for Cyclops or something.”
“Like fromThe Odyssey?”
“Like from the X-Men,” she says, exasperated. “Honestly, you’re the CEO of a media company. Your whole job is knowing IP. You’re lucky I’m not telling your board about this.”
I chuckle. “So nothing’s wrong, other than my comic book knowledge?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She looks back at her feet. “It’s more…awkward.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been tracking my cycle, ever since my father proposed this whole idea. I wanted to let you know that my ovulation window should start around the day of our wedding. There’s no pressure—but you should know that I’m serious about this.”
She gazes at me, carefully cataloguing my response. I realize that she’s checking to make sure that I’m taking this part seriously, too. The real weight of what we’re about to do settles on my shoulders. We’re going to have a child together, and I can’t begin to imagine what that will mean.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I appreciate your efficiency.”
“So we’ll start then?” she murmurs.
“Yes, we will. Oh, while we’re here, I have something for you.” I pull a small velvet box out of my jacket pocket and hand it to her. “Your engagement ring and wedding band.”
She opens the box. When her eyes fall on the rings, there’s no excitement in them. It’s a simple set in white gold. The engagement ring features a large, cushion cut diamond, and the band has diamonds studded around it. I frown. Maybe she wanted something flashier.
“They’re lovely,” she says politely.
“You can choose any ring you want, if you don’t like them,” I assure her. “I just thought you should have something, for the optics.”
“No, it’s fine.” She pulls out the engagement ring and slides it on her finger, handing me back the box. “It’s not important. We both know this marriage isn’t about romance.”
I thought the ring was nice when I picked it out. Now, when I see it on her hand, I’m not sure I like it, either.
7
MAURA
My pajamas are a silky bridal white, trimmed with delicate ivory lace. My stylist chose them for me, probably assuming that the night before my wedding, I’d at least try and sneak into the groom’s room. Of course, since James and I have no sexual relationship yet, the only person to see them is me. As pale as I am, I look like a ghost, covered neck to ankle in white.
Oh, well. At least they’re comfortable enough to lounge in while I wait for the hair and make-up artists to knock on the door of my hotel room. It’s a quaint country inn, with artfully faded wallpaper, antique damask-covered furniture, and views of bucolic hills spotted with wildflowers.
I lie on a lumpy ancient couch, staring at my phone instead of the landscape. I scroll mindlessly through Instagram, past posts by my favorite artists and incessant ads for shoes, not really taking anything in. I’m too wound-up and distracted to appreciate the peaceful view.
In three hours, I’ll be married.
I arrived late last night, after a day full of last-minute dress fittings and spa treatments. Now, my nails are painted pale pink, my skin is moisturized and exfoliated, and my eyebrowsare waxed into the acceptable shape. I’ll look perfect in pictures today, which is the most important part of my wedding ceremony.
James and I didn’t write our own vows or choose the song that will play as I walk down the aisle. I didn’t choose the flowers, which are all white and ivory and green. They don’t even fill the small sunroom where the ceremony is taking place. Instead, they’re all artfully arranged behind where James and I will be standing, where they’ll look perfect for the cameras.
We’re not even having a real reception, just posing for photographers and giving quotes to a few reporters. The photos will be released to approved press outlets by our publicists, announcing to the world that our marriage is legitimate.
It’s my wedding, but it feels like it couldn’t have less to do with me.
I’m scrolling past an ad for ballet flats when a text flashes at the top of my phone.
Unknown
