A Contract for Love
Today, I found myself at the dining room table again, surrounded by a veritable avalanche of bridal magazines. Flicking through page after gleaming page, I examined every photograph with the hungry eye of someone building dreams out of lace and chiffon. My heart would skip a beat at the sight of the delicate detailsornate embroidery, sashes in whisper-thin silk, fairylike veils. Whenever my gaze lingered on the snowy gowns, Id catch myself daydreamingwalking down the aisle, all eyes on me, the nervous, eager faces of my family watching as I stepped into my new life.
Lovely I murmured, my voice barely a whisper, eyes caught by a dress with a grand, billowing skirt and impossibly thin straps. It looked straight out of a fairytale: airy, shimmering satin glinting beneath studio lights.
But almost as soon as the vision took hold, it faltered. My smile faded and I let the magazine fall from my hands. Restless, I rose from the table and wandered to the tall mirror in its ornate frame. I studied my reflection, turned sideways, cocked my head, trying to see from someone elses point of view. That fairytale image might never fit me, not in reality.
Pity. Itd never suit me, I said, more firmly this time, as if determination could soften the blow. Wrong shape entirely.
I spun in front of the mirror, picturing how that huge skirt and tight bodice would look on me. I imagined myself swamped in layers of tulle, corsetry digging in, and grimaced at the thought.
No, something simplers needed, I reasoned aloud, staging a consultation with my imaginary stylist. Full skirts are out of the questiontheyll make me look twice my size. But I dont want plain, either! I mean, one doesnt marry every day, do they?
I raked a hand through my hair. Anxiety started to claw its way up inside meso many options, so many dazzling ideas, and not one truly right. My eyes swept over the disordered piles of magazines littering the table, hoping the next page would finally offer an epiphany. But exhaustion settled in their place, a dull ache of confusion.
I must speak to someone before I lose my head completing this, I mumbled, dropping into a chair again with a sigh. Im getting nowhere by myself.
A clang of the front door shattered the stillness, jolting me from my daze. My heart leapt, breath catching in my throat. Who on earth could that be, at this hour? Only two people had keysDad, or Henry, my fiancé. Dad was supposed to be caught up in some vital meeting, and Henry had a work function planned for the evening; hed told me just that morning.
I froze, straining my ears, icy what-ifs chasing round my mind. What if someone was breaking in? At this time, I was usually at my little salon and the flat would sit empty. A chill ran across my shoulders.
Moving as quietly as possible, I crept toward the stairs to the ground floor. The living room offered the perfect vantage: a wide archway giving me a clear line of sight to the front hall and door. I pressed myself behind the wall, taking care not to be seen.
And then all the tension ebbed away. There was Henry, familiar as ever, fussing with his shoes, humming something tunelessly as he dumped them on the rack.
Henry? I whispered, more to myself than the universe. Why is he here? He should be at the office
Curiosity held me rooted, half-hidden, as I tried to work out what was going on. Was he planning a surprise? Orwho was he talking to?
Darling, just a little longer, I heard his voice, softer than Id ever known. My bones turned to ice. Hes never spoken to me that way. “Ill hold up my end of the bargain, and then well be together.
I clenched my hands so tightly my nails left red marks on my palms, stifling any sound. Bargain? Who was this darling?
How long do you have to wait? Exactly six months, Henrys voice was business-like now. Yes, the weddings in a month. Then a few months of marriagejust as agreed Here, his voice quivered in distaste, like a child forced to swallow medicine.
Our weddingjust a part of some contract? My whole body shook as I realised. And Dad was somehow in on this. A bargain, compensation, a six-month plan. The words slotted into a sharp, ugly picture I wanted to scream at, but my voice caught in my throat.
But however painful it felt, I steeled myself to listen longermaybe Id hear something else, some thread to untangle all this.
Henry dropped himself into an armchair, legs stretched, still talkingunaware that I stood just metres away, hearing every word.
Oh, dont worry so much, he said, shaking his head gently. Youre the only one I care about. I only agreed to all of this for you. Wouldnt you like a flat in the city? Nice clothes, a bit of luxury? He paused, as though waiting for her answer, then with a wry chuckle added, There we are! How else could I afford that as an ordinary assistant? Six months, and well be together. I promise.
No, youll be together sooner than that, I said, my voice, to my surprise, clear though my legs felt weak as water. I started down the stairs, step by step, as if pushing through invisible resistance. Each stride was a victory over myself.
Henry spun round, his face crumblinghis smile vanishing, eyes wide with fear. He never finished whatever hed been about to say; his phone clattered to the floor.
Lily? he breathed, lurching to his feet, the confusion and panic in his voice. “What are you talking about, love?
He moved towards me, hand outstretched to comfort, just as hed done a hundred times before. But I backed away, lifting my chin. All the trust, the affection in my gaze had gone, replaced by something cool and unyielding.
Lily I repeated, barely louder than a whisper, letting the pain seep through. Really? Do you think Im deaf? Do you think I didnt hear a thing?
Standing face to face, I looked for even a flicker of remorse. But I found only confusion, frantic calculations behind his eyes.
Darling Do I know her? Is this the same friend you once claimed was your sister? My tone was steady, but each syllable was sharp as ice.
Henry blanched. Desperate, he picked up his phone, almost as if that would offer him a route of escape. His fingers shook. He was thinking of excuses, of damage limitation, of money yet to come.
Youre mistaken, he managed at last, forcing calm. Whos darling? Ive no idea what you mean.
He took another step towards me, reaching for my hand, but I jerked away. That movement solidified my resolve.
You know exactly what I mean, I said bitterly, and saw how my scorn made him turn his gaze away. I heard your syrupy voice with hermade my skin crawl, it was so fake!
I swallowed, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. I wasnt going to let him see the depth of the hurt. All the dreams, every tender momentthey now felt like a cheap performance, with me as the fool.
Henry was silent. He could see it was pointless to denythe facts stood before him, exposed only because hed grown careless, assuming no one was home. Yet he hadnt the courage yet to admit it outright.
Therell be no wedding, I said, every word firm, ringing with finality that left his face ashen. But before I throw you out of my home, I want the truth. All of it. No lies, no sweet talking.
Inside, pain was screaming, but I crossed my arms to protect myself, refusing to weep. There were no tears left in me, just a burning determination to know exactly how deep the deception ran.
The truth? he echoed, sneering, mask dropped entirely. He didnt even try to drape his words in the rags of romance anymore. Fine, you want the truth. I would never have noticed you if your father hadnt come to me with a deal, Henry said, matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather. He asked me to take you out, make you feel special, keep up the charade, and in return Id get a cozy job and a decent sum. So yes, Im here for the salary. Or, should I say, both my salaries.
He sounded detached, as though giving a quarterly report, but every word carved something away from my self-respect.
All for money? My voice was a whisper, so cold I barely recognised it as my own, but I forced myself to hold his gaze.
“Did you really think anyone could fall for you? Have you looked in the mirror lately? Henry laughed, no warmth, not a drop of Henry I thought I knew. Go and have a proper look, will you?
Those words hurt worse than any slap. I felt a lump rising in my throat, my eyes stinging, but I clenched my fists, willing strength into myself so he wouldnt see me break.
For a moment I looked straight at him, letting the silence stretch, trying to make sense of what Id heard. The world seemed to darken, all colour draining away. Every conversation, first date, kind wordall of it, all a calculated act. Id never been a partner, only a means to an end.
Get out, I said, my voice steady and hard despite the storm inside. Your things will be sent to you. Just go.
He looked at me one last time, slow and deliberate, as if to brand this image into his memory: me, lost and trembling, eyes shining with unshed tears. But there was nothing in him but cold satisfaction at being able to drop the mask at last. He turned, took his coat, moving with infuriating languor, as though untouched by guilt or fear. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the house echoing with silence.
***
The moment the sound of the door faded, Henrys own anxiety surged. No doubt his mind was already on how to explain himself to my father. He well knew: my father was not a man to cross. For me, the anger would turn into action. “Stupid plan,” he told himself, but the moneyalready resting comfortably in his accountwas a balm. At least hed earned it, if nothing else.
Not for nothing, all this bother, he muttered stepping into the evening air. Lets hope they dont ask for it back. Ive earned every penny!
Back in the flat, fingers trembling, I dialled my fathers number. My hands shook so badly I misdialed twice before finally connecting.
Dad! My voice broke as soon as I heard him pick up. How could you do this? How could you do something like this to me?
I didnt wait for a reply. The words tumbled outmessy, angry, hot with a pain it was impossible to contain:
You constructed this! You paid himyou forced him to play my fiancé! You never even asked what I wanted. You just assumed you knew best!
I could barely stop my voice from shaking, but I let it all spill out:
I trusted you! I truly believed he loved me! Youve turned my whole life into a performance!
He tried to say something, but I wasnt having it. I shouted everything Id held inside for monthsdisappointments, betrayals, and all the wounds hed never seen.
Never again! Never meddle in my life again! Do you understand? Never!
I hung up with a shudder, threw my phone onto the sofa, and finally gave in to the tears. They came hot and fast, shoulders shaking, as I buried my face in my hands. For a moment I was just a little girlbetrayed and abandoned, alone with my hurt.
But the tears werent just for Henry. They were for all those years of insecurity, of self-doubt. I had always been self-conscious about how I looked. I would stand in front of the mirror, picking at every flaw. If only I had a tiny waist If my figure was just a bit more striking The thoughts spun in circles. All those perfect women in glossy spreads and adverts haunted me. I even toyed with the idea of surgery, of remaking myself. But always, something held me backespecially after watching what happened to Mum.
Mumor Isabelle, as she always insisted on being called, even in casual settings. To her, the name was like a song, a constant reminder of the elegance and mystery she longed for. In her youth, she really was a beautyflawless features, lush hair, the sort of carriage that turned heads.
That changed the day she trusted a remarkably talented specialist her girlfriends raved about. She wanted just a slight tweak to her nosebarely noticeable. But the surgeon botched it; there was no going back, not entirely. Her face changed, and not for the better.
Isabelle fought back at firstconsulting countless clinics, spending a fortune on corrections. Every time, she hoped: this time itll all be fixed, Ill get myself back. Instead, it only worsened
Bit by bit, she retreated. First her confidence left her, then her desire to be seen. She stopped looking in mirrors, hid behind oversized hats and sunglasses. Depression settled over her. Days blurred together: mornings spent glaring at the mirror in defeat, afternoons in the gloom of drawn curtains, evenings lost to regrets.
And thenshe simply vanished. She left no explanation, no real goodbye. Only a brief note to Dad: I cant go on. Im sorry. Then nothing. No calls, no lettersshe dissolved into absence, leaving me in his care.
Growing up, I clung to photos of Mum the way shed once been: radiant, smiling, full of caressing love. But the gap between that image and the final years before her disappearance widened every year.
I compared myself with my mother from early on. The comparisons hurt. Mum had such lovely cheekbones. My face is just round. “Her hair floated like silk. Mines always frizzy. Every feature: the nose too big, lips too thin, waist too thick. Even when friends said I was pretty, I never believed it. I always felt like a pale imitation of Isabelles former glory.
This self-doubt coloured everything. At school, I kept to myself, afraid Id draw attention for the wrong reasons. At university, I hated speaking in front of a crowdsomeone might notice what I saw as faults. Dating was even harder. No one ever seemed to stick around for long, and it always felt like it was because of my looks.
If only I were prettier, things would be different, I thought, again and again, not realising that my lack of confidence was half the problem to begin with.
Then came Henry. He swooped into my life like sunlight after months of rain. He noticed me, looked at me like there was nobody else. His compliments were never genericthey had specifics: my smile, my laughter, the way I listened. He took me to quaint cafes, brought flowers for no reason, remembered throw-away mentions. For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself feel beautifulnot perfect, like Mum had been, but enough. Attractive. Worthy of love. I opened up. I learned to believe I could belong, could be happy. As our days together grew, I let myself believe it was real.
And now, all that was ashes. Henry didnt love me at allnot even a little bit. It had all been for show. And worst of all, my father stood behind it.
***
Now, standing in the bridal boutiques fitting room before a full-length mirror, I felt something strange and unfamiliarno giddy anticipation, but a quiet, calm certainty. The dress hugged my shape, falling gently over my hips and legs, with just a whisper of lace around the arms catching the light.
I studied my reflection, not hunting for flaws, not picking myself apart the way I always had. Something was different at last. Today, I finally accepted myselffor everything I am.
An hour later, I walked down the aisle between rows of watching guests, head high, back straight, steps even. There was no misty-eyed haze, just a clear, determined light in my eyes. People smiled as I passed; some whispered in surprise. This wasnt the usual weeping bride.
I nodded back, but my thoughts were far from the ceremony. I remembered a conversation with Dad, weeks ago.
Dad, Ive decided to say yes to Andrew, Id told him, meeting his eyes. He froze with his teacup halfway to his lips, clearly caught off guard.
Are you sure? Marriage is a big step.
Im sure, Id replied evenly. Im done waiting for some grand passion that may never come. Im choosing stability, respecta proper family. Andrew can give me that.
But love Dad started, but I cut him off.
Love is wonderful, but Im tired of waiting for a miracle. I want a life I shape myself.
Now, reaching the altar, I found myself repeating those words. Andrew was waiting, nervously, but steady. In his eyes, there was no wild passion, but there was kindness and genuine respectwhich, right now, mattered more to me than anything fairy tales could offer.
As the registrar began her traditional speech, I realised: there was no regret in my heart. This wasnt a love story for the ages, but it was my choicemeasured, mature, adult.
Maybe Andrew will never be desperately in love with me, I thought, glancing up at him. But hell respect me. And perhaps, in time who knows what we might find?
That thought gave me a quiet strength. I smiled at Andrewnot for the photographer, not for the guests, but genuinely. For the first time in ages, I felt I was taking the right step. Love comes in many forms, after all. Maybe ours was just beginningnot with a blaze, but with something solid, something we could build a real future upon.
