“Okay,” he said warmly. “Take whatever rest you need. We also have to prepare for Grandma’s birthday.”
I closed my eyes. We said goodbye, and I dropped the phone onto the bed, my hands trembling.
The next day, I stood in my wedding dress. I glanced at the man beside me—a stranger, someone I had known for less than a week—but a strange calm settled in my chest.
“I do,” I whispered, the words barely a breath.
He echoed them without hesitation.
The ceremony lasted barely fifteen minutes. No flowers, no family, no celebration—just a piece of paper binding me to a man who didn’t pretend to love me, didn’t use me, didn’t destroy me.
A clean slate, sealed with ink.
Days blurred together after that.
I moved through the house like nothing had changed. I smiled when spoken to. I laughed when expected. I joined breakfasts, dinners, and little conversations in between.
Maxon stayed mostly gentle and warm, checking on me like I was fragile glass. Lewis and Victoria floated around like a guilty secret trying too hard to seem innocent.
Then came Grandma Madeline’s birthday.
A day big enough. Formal enough. Public enough.
Perfect.
In the morning, I approached Maxon with a soft smile.