Love Of Lust

Chapter Eleven - THE WEDDING

Becky POV

The morning of the wedding dawned warm and clear, a pink sunrise bleeding across the sky.

I woke up too early and couldn't get back to sleep. Of course. The only things I had left in my apartment were a few clothes and other necessities, most of which I'd already packed for the mystery honeymoon.

I wished he'd just tell me where we were going. All of this secrecy made it almost seem…romantic. Like we were a real couple.

Clearly, we didn't need any help getting ourselves confused on that front. I'd spent the whole day before cleaning every inch of my apartment, in accordance with the three-page-long list of demands my landlord had sent over.

Apparently, I wasn't going to get my three hundred dollar security deposit back if I didn't give the place the white glove treatment. Of course I didn't care about the money anymore, but I needed something to do. Anything to take my mind off of the future.

So there was nothing to do on my wedding day except sit and think. My stomach was in knots. I made myself a cup of mint tea and sat by the window, watching the empty sidewalks slowly fill up with people.

I had an appointment at the hair salon in a few hours, and I was going to meet Zara there. She was going to stand beside Riad as his "best man."

I had no one. Not even my father, to walk me down the aisle. But that was fine. I'd walk down the aisle by my own damn self. I had two million dollars waiting for me at the end of it. I had to stop getting caught up in stupid, pointless sentimentality. This was a fake wedding, for God's sake. There was absolutely no reason to get emotional over it.

Weddings were a con to begin with, clearly. The soaring divorce rate spoke to that. I was just helping Riad take advantage of a very convenient loophole in the immigration laws of the United States that allowed for couples to stay together, if they were willing to sign a piece of paper.

It was as simple as that. People did it all the time. My resolve thus steeled, I drove to the salon with my head held high.

If I seemed distant, people would simply write it off as nerves. I had nothing to worry about. I just had to get through the day, and after that, things would settle down into some version of normalcy that I hadn't quite figured out how to achieve yet. But I knew that I would.
Somehow.

Zara chattered at me the whole time we were getting our hair done. I nodded and smiled, but didn't hear a word of it. None of this meant anything. None of it mattered.

Walking through the marble archway of the art gallery, I was struck again by how breathtaking the place was. They had set up pew-style seating and laid out a long, red carpet for me to walk on. I wandered aimlessly through the gallery until Zara chased me down, insisting that it was time for me to change into my dress. I'd completely lost track of the hour. I realized I hadn't seen Riad all day, and I told her so.

"Don't worry," she said. "He's coming."
As if he wouldn't.

I was kept sequestered after that - God forbid anyone should see THE DRESS - but Zara wouldn't stop offering to get me things. Water? Champagne? Food? Juice? More food? I hated to keep saying no to her, but I really felt if I ate something I might throw up.

When I heard the music start playing, my stomach actually lurched. Zara rushed in.

"Okay, we've got about ten minutes until go-time. How're you feeling?"

"Sick," I said, truthfully, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I tried to arrange my face into something that looked a little more like happiness, like I was marrying the man I loved. I vaguely succeeded.