Or was it just my imagination?
Thing is, I have yet to get a proper look at him. So far, I’ve snuck a few peeks through my eyelashes or out of the corner of my eye. He looked suspiciously good. It might’ve been a hallucination.
I exhale and stare at him directly for the first time since I walked into this hall.
Oh là là, he’s hot!
Tall and muscular.Handsome face. Dark, magnetic eyes. Older than I expected. A thirty-something rather than a twenty-something. He’s decked out in a bright yellow tailcoat over a slim-fit white T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. He’s pulled his sleeves up to show off the elaborate tattoos snaking up his arms. And then there are the piercings. In both ears.
Where Mike’s style is authentic, Antoine’s feels contrived. Too loud. Too “Look at me, I’m so different!” Like an overgrown teenager trying to make a statement.
How could the experts possibly think he was a good match for me?
Er… they read your letter, Laura.
Yep, this is pretty much what I asked for. I wrote that I wanted an artist, a free spirit, a man who doesn’t try to conform to society’s expectations. Basically, I pictured my parents’ ideal son-in-law and described his opposite.
And voilà, Antoine!
I should be pleased, shouldn’t I? He’s exactly what I’d asked for.
Yes, but…
Panic rises in a powerful wave, threatening to knock me off my feet.
I don’t want to marry Antoine!
He’s handsome, sure. But handsome doesn’t mean sane—or safe.
What if he’s wild?What if he’s on drugs? What if he’s one of those tortured artists who pick fights in bars for inspiration?
I steal another glance at his face. His expression is calm. Focused. And his chocolate eyes don’t seem glassy or empty. They hold something that clashes with his clownish clothes, something that’s at odds with his oh-I’m-so-naughty body art…
Intelligence.
Is that really what it is?Or is my mind simply fabricating a reason for me not to whirl around and run away?
The sudden silence in the room makes me snap back to reality.
“It’s time for the vows,” Isabelle whispers in my ear, realizing I’d zoned out.
The deputy mayor steps forward, looking far too serious for this madness. He turns to me, but the silent entreaty in my eyes makes him start with the bridegroom.
“Antoine,” the official begins. “Do you take Laura to be your lawfully wedded wife, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health? If you do, please say so.”
“I do.”
How instantaneous!
Is it because he meant it when he said I was “very pretty,” or because of how little this whole thing means to him? Whichever the case, I’m grateful he didn’t humiliate me in front of my family and friends, not to mention Mike, who will inevitably see this.
The deputy mayor turns to me.
“And now, Laura.”
My pulse is hammering. All the cameras are on me.
What do I do?If I say yes, I’ll have to go on a honeymoon with Antoine. I know I won’t have to sleep with him.The WAFS newlyweds aren’t expected to have sex on their wedding night.Lots of couples don’t even kiss or touch each other during the honeymoon. There’s no pressure to be intimate with each other. The only thing we’re expected to do is bearoundeach other, and talk.
