He took my hand and sat me down, serving me soup. His movements were careful, as though he feared the soup might burn me. He picked up a small spoon, feeding me bite by bite.
"Good girl," he said softly. "I know you’re on your period. I made this hot soup just for you. After breakfast, we’ll go try on wedding dresses."
He wore an apron, his sharp jawline and defined features adding to his charm. He looked at me with so much tenderness, it almost hurt.
Good man. Good husband. That’s what everyone thought of him.
---
Later, at the bridal shop, as the Maybach rolled to a stop, the clerks rushed to greet us.
"Miss Lila, you look stunning in this dress, like a fairy descending from the heavens. Mr. Rivers truly adores you—he spent one million to have our chief designer make this just for you."
"Yes, Mr. Rivers is handsome and wealthy. You two will be so happy together after the wedding."
They helped me into the wedding dress, their voices dripping with admiration.
I stared at myself in the mirror, the delicate fabric, the sparkling beads. But all I could feel was emptiness.
Ha.
Marcus Rivers—admired by everyone, loved by all—will soon become nothing more than a joke.