My wedding dress is stunning. It’s exquisite. It’s exactly what I would have chosen if I was marrying for love, for real, and by the tears in Claire’s eyes, she knows it too.
“You look breathtaking, Rielle,” Indy whispers, tucking some flowers into my hair.
The stylists have all left, the penthouse is in disarray, and Claire and I polished off a bottle of champagne. Right now, it’s just the three of us, and the last year with all of its ups and downs, laughter and tears, triumphs and failures, slams into me as I meet their eyes in the reflection of the mirror. My friendships with these two women have been the one constant I counted on for the past year.
Now, today, I’ll be adding Torsten to that number. For two years, at least.
My stomach sours when I think of our expiration date.
“What’s wrong?” Claire frowns.
I shake my head, shake away the thoughts that don’t matter because today is my wedding day. “Nothing.” My hands smooth over my hair one last time. It’s been curled into big waves that cascade over my shoulders. The front pieces have been pulled back and blue hydrangeas hold it all together.
“Something blue,” Indy explains when my fingers delicately trace a petal.
I smile. “Do you guys think this is too much?” I tilt my head, studying my curve-hugging dress. The top is all lace, with capped sleeves and scalloped edges that dip low in the front. A huge lace band binds my waist before fanning out into delicate tulle that falls straight to the floor. I lift the skirt to peek at my heels, incredible Manolo Blahnik white satin pumps with a peep toe. A wedding gift from my besties.
Indy shakes her head as Claire nods. We all burst out laughing.
“It’s definitely too much for City Hall,” Claire explains, waving her arms up and down the length of my body. “You’re going to draw a lot of attention and turn a lot of heads. Just the way we like it!”
I laugh, nodding in agreement.
“But,” Indy adds, “we still thought it would be fun to go all out and have a real wedding day.”
“It is,” I agree, turning toward her. “Everything happened so quickly with Torsten, so unexpectedly. I can’t believe the team flies to Tampa tomorrow.” I shrug. “It’s kind of nice to get caught up in it all. The past year has been hell for me and this all seems like a too-good-to-be-true dream.”
“But you’re okay with it?” Claire asks, her blue eyes assessing as they search mine. “Because I know you feel like you have to do this but you really don’t.”
Indy wrings her hands. “Claire and I were talking and—”
I shake my head, cutting her off. “I love you both, very much, for looking out for me the way you have. It means more to me than you will ever know just that you would offer to bail me out financially. But I’ve seen more friendships and relationships ruined by money than anything else.”
Indy frowns. She knows very little about my family, and Claire, only a tiny bit more. But there once was a time when Dad and Jerry Jensen were like brothers, their relationship thicker than blood. Until a deal went wrong, fortunes were lost, and their friendship was destroyed. I didn’t know any of these details when I accepted Jerry’s offer to help me with college. Up until that point, he’d been like an uncle to me. Sure, things seemed a little strained when Dad and Jerry were in the same room but I figured it was because of a stressful deal they were working on. Not because they carried blame and contempt for each other. Once I accepted the loan, Jerry hiked up the interest rate to ensure a Carter would be forever in his debt. In a way, he burned my last bridge home. But today is my wedding day and there’s no room for Dad or Jerry in my thoughts.
“I made a deal with Torsten, and I’m going to stick to it. Besides”—I give a little twirl, my dress flaring perfectly—“if this is how it’s kicking off, with all this glamour and perfection, it’s going to be great, right?”
Indy nods enthusiastically. Her brown hair is swept to the side in a complicated braid that hangs over her left shoulder. She’s got stars in her eyes, a common occurrence since she fell in love with Noah Scotch. Claire regards me a little more realistically but after a moment, she smiles. “I hope so, Ri. You ready to go?”
I nod, turning to cast one last look at myself in the mirror. I’m ready.
Our City Hall service takes a grand total of seven minutes. Claire was right, we garnered a lot of attention.
With the three of us girls done up like we’re headed to the Emmys and the guys all hulking and dangerously handsome in their suits and sports coats, even the judge raises her eyebrows when Torsten and I are called up. The process is easy and efficient. Given the magnitude of the decision, the legal implications, the significance of it all, I thought it would take longer.
Instead, we recite a few words, sign our names, and smile for the flash of a camera. Then, Torsten kisses me deeply in front of the entire room. I giggle, he grins, and then sweeps the group, all nine of us, to The Ivy for a celebratory lunch.
“Damn, he’s pulling out the big guns,” Claire murmurs to me as we enter The Ivy. It’s a swanky, downtown restaurant renowned for its creative menu and world-class mixologists. I used to think getting a reservation was nearly impossible, but since learning the ease with which Noah Scotch manages to obtain them, I’m beginning to rethink that assumption.
Today, we’re led to a private room in the back. When I step inside, my breath catches in my throat.
“Wow,” Claire breathes out.
“Stunning,” Indy agrees, stopping beside me.
The three of us look up, to where hundreds of flower petals hang on nearly invisible threads from the ceiling, down the entire length of the table. It gives the illusion that petals are being sprinkled from the heavens, floating gently to Earth at different speeds. Three big centerpieces with white roses, blue hydrangeas, and baby’s breath, dot the table, surrounded by tiny flickering tea lights.
The table is set for nine, with printed menus and name tags resting on each plate. Champagne flutes are already poured, waiting for a toast.
“Do you like it?” Torsten asks. His hand skates down my back, his fingertips brushing against my spine.
I shiver from his touch, my body going both hot and cold at his proximity. Just two nights ago, those fingers, that mouth, made me come undone. And now, Torsten is my husband, giving me a fairy tale wedding day that people dream about.
None of this is real, I remind myself. I need to remind myself.
Because when I turn around and fall into the shimmering, bottomless, blue pools of Torsten’s eyes, it sure as hell doesn’t seem fake. Not the worry in the tightness of his lips, not the hint of hope in the rings around his irises, and definitely not in his possessive touch as his arm wraps around my waist.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him the truth. He smiles and it’s mesmerizing, hitting me straight in the chest.
How the hell did this beautiful man go this long without a serious female attachment in his life? Why did he choose me? Any woman would have leapt at the chance, with zero conditions, to be standing where I am right now, in his arms, under a freaking blanket of petals. Why would he ask me and voluntarily go half a million dollars into debt?
“You’re beautiful, Ri,” he murmurs, surprising the hell out of me when he leans forward and brushes a kiss over my lips. “Happy wedding day, sweetheart.”
My lips tingle and a jolt of desire shoots through me. I practically melt into Torsten, wanting more, wanting him. My head feels fuzzy, the room suddenly hazy. He grins, tips my chin up, and kisses me again. This time it’s long and deep, soulful and sensual. I grip his shoulders and press my breasts into his chest. It feels like I’m drowning and gulping oxygen at the same time.
The cheers and whistles of our friends ring out around us and I have the sudden urge to smile.
The flash of a camera way too close to my face pops and I pull back, dazed. Torsten swipes the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip, as if to wipe away my lipstick, before turning to have a few words with the photographer.
I feel lightheaded and unsteady on my feet. That kiss was all-consuming. It was intense and passionate and all. for. show. Of course Torsten hired a photographer; I saw him and his camera at City Hall. It’s all part of the act, all part of making this look real.
By the happy smiles of our friends, even the ones who don’t know the full story, Torsten and I are pulling it off. I should feel relieved. Not hollow. Or hurt.
Claire sets a glass of champagne in my hand and gives me a worried glance.
I take a sip, savor the taste. It tastes expensive, one of the finer things in life I haven’t had in a long time.
“You okay?” Claire whispers.
I nod, taking another sip. My gaze flits to our friend group, laughing and talking. Everyone has a drink in hand. The atmosphere is jovial; it feels like a true celebration.
“That looked intense,” she adds.
“Felt intense,” I admit.
Claire’s hand wraps around my wrist and I look at my best friend.
“You sure you know what you’re doing, Ri?”
I shake my head, keeping a small smile on my face in case anyone, such as the photographer, looks over. “Not a goddamn clue.”
Claire squeezes my hand and I smile for the camera.
Flash.
It’s not late when we get home, barely 7 p.m. But it feels as if I’ve lived a hundred days today and the fatigue of it all—the marriage, the celebration, the champagne—hits me hard. My eyelids are half closed by the time I step into the penthouse.
A week ago, I was fighting off Stu’s wandering hands, wondering what life in an alleyway would look like.
Now, I’m stepping out of shoes that cost almost as much as my old car in a luxury penthouse. Talk about a twist of fate.
On some level, I know it should bother me that I’m doing something highly illegal. I’m sure I should have some moral qualms about the whole arrangement. Maybe the past year, of trying so damn hard to just survive, has warped my thinking. Because right now, I’m so happy to be full and warm and safe, I could weep tears of joy.
“You have fun today?” Torsten asks. His voice is all rumbly and deep.
God, he’s sexy. His blue eyes blaze as he unbuttons the neat row of his dress shirt. I watch as he undoes his cuff links. They’re shiny and look heavy, expensive. Like him.
What does he think when he looks at me?
Torsten tilts his head, studying me. “You okay, Ri?”
I nod. Torsten Hansen is now my husband. Husband. My heartbeat races at the thought. I’m falling a little bit in like and lust for my husband. But not in love, right? No, never in love.
The weight of an important decision settles around my neck. In many ways, it seems heavier than the decision over whether or not to marry Torsten in the first place.
“If we sleep together…” I say and Torsten’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. I clear my throat. “If we sleep together, it will complicate things.”
He nods slowly.
“But if we don’t, we’ll just be celibate for two years…”
He nods again, frowning. He takes a step closer and his big hand envelops mine. It’s warm and strong, reassuring and tempting.
I lick my lips and Torsten’s eyes focus on my mouth. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Rielle.”
“If we do this, it’s just about sex. We both have physical needs; there’s no point in going without for two years when we’re here, right?”
He frowns, his eyes flashing with a burst of anger. He shuffles closer, his hand squeezing mine.
“No messy emotions, no complicated expectations. It’s easy to get carried away after a day like today.” I force a smile and unzip the back of my dress. I shimmy out of the top and push it down to my waist. It falls to the floor like a waterfall, rippling and rushing down my body.
Torsten takes a step back, his eyes scanning my curves. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. “Rielle, we could try—”
“No,” I cut him off. I don’t want to hear whatever he’s going to say. Because any words from him right now will make me yearn for the fairy tale that doesn’t exist. He’ll make me crave the happily-ever-after that isn’t in the cards for us.
I know better than to hope for things like that.
I step out of my dress, my hands dangling at my sides. I force myself to say the words I need to believe. “Tonight, going forward, this”—I gesture between us—“is just sex.”
His eyes are narrowed as they study my face. After a moment, he nods. “Just sex.” His tone is clipped.
I swallow and step forward, my hands finding his shoulders, my body pressing into his. I kiss him hard, hunger and hurt on my lips. His hands find my hips and squeeze. He meets me kiss for kiss, our teeth clashing, our tongues dueling.
Torsten Hansen fucks me fast and furious on his living room floor hours after he kissed me under a sky of rose petals. He takes me like a savage and I revel in it, in him. Afterwards, when we’re both sated, he storms to his bathroom to clean up and I retreat to my bedroom so I don’t have to witness the hurt and confusion in his eyes.
It’s for the best if we stick to the arrangement. Today was beautiful; it was more than perfect. But it was also dangerous and I need to remember that. My heart can’t handle any more breaks. At least, these are the rationalizations I feed myself as I toss and turn all night. Around 3 a.m., I finally fall asleep.
When I wake in the morning and step into the kitchen, Torsten’s gone. He’s already left for his flight. A simple note is tucked under a coffee mug on the island.
Ri, Be back in three days. Here’s a card for whatever you need. Torsten.
A lump squeezes my throat painfully. I pick up the gold credit card, threading it through my fingers.
“Dammit.” I toss it back on the island. Tears rush to the surface and a few of them spill over, tracking down my cheeks.
If I’m keeping things casual, then why the hell does this sting so badly? Yesterday morning, I felt cherished and desired.
Today, I just feel cheap.
What’s worse? I deserve it.