AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I trace the wordyoursfor what seems like the hundredth time. It was such an interesting word choice for him to use, and I’ve overanalyzed every reason why he’d do it. I guess in the eyes of the law—and those around us—he will be mine.
But I don’t want to be his. And I don’t really want him as mine. At least I think I don’t, but I’ve read this letter one too many times for me to be fully confident that the sweetness of the letter isn’t lost on me.
Taking a deep breath, I neatly fold the letter and tuck it into the clutch I’ve brought to the church. When I agreed to get married today, I thought I’d wear something from my closet that somewhat fit the bill for a wedding dress. I thought we’d get married in a courthouse, do something that didn’t really feel like a wedding at all.
Archer had other plans.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, admiring the dress I’d picked out for myself. When I first found out that he wanted me to choose an actual dress, I didn’t want to listen. I’ve already been robbed of the wedding I dreamed of as a little girl. I, at least, wanted to save some things for when I get married for real one day.
One of those things was choosing a wedding dress.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wanted to go look at dresses. There was nothing in my closet I wanted to wear, so I did what he’d asked.
And I chose a dress that hugged my body perfectly. It only had to be hemmed for length; everything else was perfect. When I tried it on at the first bridal shop, I cried. The bridal assistant thought it was because I found the one. She said we always know when it’s the one—just like we know when we find the one to marry.
Her words made me cry harder because I hadn’t found the one for me; I’d just made stupid decisions to get me into amarriage that wasn’t for love in the slightest. The tears fell, and I didn’t know if it was because I loved the dress, or if I was regretting the situation I’d found myself in. Either way, I didn’t want to try on any others.
The details on it are exquisite. It has long sleeves with silk buttons from my elbow to my wrist. The neckline leaves a lot to the imagination. It cuts right under my collarbones in a straight line, but it fits so perfectly that the curves of my breasts is still visible through the ivory silk fabric.
It clings to my body all the way until it reaches my thighs, before spreading out in a trumpet style. The train is long and stunning, but I’ve opted to have it bustled for today. I wasn’t going to wear a veil, but the assistant insisted. When she pinned it into my hair, tears welled in my eyes all over again.
I looked like a bride.
I just didn’tfeellike a bride.
Today should be the best day of my life, but as I stare back at my reflection, I don’t see the happiness in my eyes that should be there. Instead, I have bags that no amount of concealer could hide. There isn’t a lover’s glow to my cheeks. If anything, my skin looks dull.
I know this is for the best, but I just wish things were different. I wish I was marrying a man I loved. A man who loved me.
At least I look the part.
I tenderly wipe underneath my eyes, trying not to ruin the makeup I’d carefully applied this morning. When I end up smearing some of my mascara, I grab a tissue from a small table inside the St. Michael’s changing room. I dab underneath my eyes, taking deep breath after deep breath to calm my nerves.
A knock sounds at the door as I attempt to gather myself. My shoulders shake as the door opens. I expect it to be my dad or maybe even my mom.
It isn’t either. Instead, I find Archer stepping through the door.
He looks more handsome than I could’ve imagined. It makesmy chest hurt a little to look at him. To know that I’m chaining my life to his in the saddest of ways.
“Archer?” I murmur, sliding my hands down the front of my dress. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
He moves to shut the door, not really looking at me until the door is fully closed. Mid-step, he pauses, his body freezing as his eyes finally meet mine.
For a short moment, we’re both incredibly still as we stare at one another. So much is said between us at that moment, except I don’t really know what any of it means.
All I know is I think Archer Moore—my future husband—just took my breath away.
“Hi,” he gets out, clearing his throat. He appears to be fazed, like he wasn’t expecting to find what he did.
“Hi,” I whisper, suddenly nervous in his presence for reasons I don’t understand.
He takes a few tentative steps forward, as if he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to stand close to me or not. For some reason, he seems so much bigger today as he comes to a stop in front of me.
Maybe it’s not just the stature of his tall, toned body but the heaviness of knowing what we’re about to do.
He wears a black tuxedo that has to be custom-made for his body. As he tucks his hands into the pockets of the pants, the fabric tightens around his thick biceps. He appears to play with something in his pocket as his eyes roam freely over my body.
“I wanted to check on you,” he admits, his voice softer than it was yesterday.
