Page 4 of Graciously His

The deepest part of the problem was what I couldn’t say aloud: Nick’s treatment of me was similar to Mother’s. He loved to make sure I was perfectly comfortable all the time, treating me like spun glass while feeding me foods you’re meant to give a sick person: toasted bread, chicken noodle soup, and oatmeal. Every time I’d tried to initiate sex throughout our relationship, he’d demurred, saying he didn’t want to mess up my joints, or cause further inflammation. I never asked where he got the idea that physical intimacy would cause me pain. I already knew Mother was at the root of it.

I sat in bed, spooning soup into my mouth, my hand shaking from the pain in my wrist. Every joint hurt badly enough that the painkillers hardly helped. Mother stepped into my line of vision and waved her hand in front of my eyes.

“Are you even listening to me?”

I startled, spilling some soup onto my pyjamas. “Oh no…”

Mother smirked. “It’s okay, Graciously. I brought a cloth.”

She proceeded to wipe me down, taking hold of me as if I were a young child instead of a woman who should’ve been graduating alongside her boyfriend.

“Now, what do you say about Nick? He’s the best you’re going to get, you know, and he said he’d be willing to move in right next door. The landlord’s looking for a buyer—you remember Moira? She still owns the place and I got her to cut you and Nick a newlyweds deal. I already put in an application for both of you. Nick’s on board, so you’re the one delaying things, Graciously. Don’t you want to live right next door, lovey? Don’t you want to marry a nice man with a promising future?”

No, I don’t, the words came to my mind, loud and clear, no, please…

I took another spoonful of Mother’s soup, the slightly astringent flavour causing the hinges of my jaw to smart.

“I’m not sure if Nick even wants me,” I whispered, trying to voice my concern. “We’ve never—”

I didn’t say more, but Mother seemed to understand.

“Oh, my dear, there is so much more to marriage than that.” She gave a fake little shiver, her eyes turning sharp. “In fact, you’re probably better off without it, when you’re so sick all the time. Be grateful for such a nice man, Graciously. Now, let’s call him and tell him the good news.”

And that was that. Mother called Nick and we were engaged, even though I never actually said ‘yes’. I was too sick to participate in the feverish planning that followed, and I barely saw Nick at all. He’d joined his brother in the North Island to deliver on the pact they’d made years before. While Nick had been getting his degree, his brother had skipped uni altogether to work three jobs for some startup capital. With Nick’s contacts and degree, and his brother’s money and sheer bloody-mindedness, the two of them put everything they had into launching a crypto app. And, to my amazement and Mother’s delight, it worked.

Even in the midst of my pain and dread, I couldn’t help but marvel at what my fiancé and his brother had managed to do: their app made more money in one month than most New Zealanders made in a year. And, once we were married, Nick would come back to the South Island to be with me. I was trying to reassure myself that this was the right thing, that marriage made sense at this stage, and that moving in next door to Mother would keep me close while allowing me to have my own life. More than that, I knew her assessment of Nick was right: he was a good man with excellent prospects, and I should be grateful he wanted me at all.

Despite my attempts at positivity, I was deeply unsure. I’d hoped to finish my Architecture degree once I was well enough, and I had no idea how returning to uni would fit with Nick and Mother’s marriage plans. Something told me neither of them would support me finishing my last two semesters. My final project had been all about customising residential houses to the land they were built on, matching innovation with environmental factors. This was nothing new, of course, but the merging of ancestral ways with sustainability was largely unstudied. I’d started the project early, and my supervising professor had wanted to see it through to the graduate level.

Then I got sick again.

My recovery was slow, with bouts of clarity in between days of pain as I watched Mother plan the wedding I didn’t want. The whole time, something niggled at me—Nate, that long-ago boy, whose face matched Nick’s, and who I still somehow missed.

When I finally met Nate for the second time, it was at my wedding.

To his twin brother.

Chapter 3

Nate

Ten Years Ago

Nick was getting married and I didn’t give a fuck. Our app was topping the charts and I was only getting started. He, on the other hand, wanted to shut down operations for a week to get married to his university sweetheart in the South Island.

“It’s one weekend,” he said, his voice going whiny like when we were kids, “and you can fly right back up here. Two hours on a plane, two days to celebrate, then you’re back. Come on, Nate. You don’t have to be tied to that desk. How about we enjoy some of that money we’re making?”

I let a sneer curl my lip. “Being tied to this desk is why we’re making enough money to obliterate your student loans.”

That slowed him down for a second. “Wait, you paid off my loans?”

“No,” I snorted, leaning back in my office chair. “I made an investment that’ll make more than enough to pay the loans off within the year—starting today. Happy future divorce, brother.”

“You fuckhead.”

He grabbed me up in a hug. I sighed, returned his embrace, then I resumed my seat in front of the three monitors, checking I hadn’t missed anything.

“You’ve got to meet her, Nate. You’ll love her.”