**A Marriage Without Love**
Jonathan married Emily out of spite, a feeble attempt to prove his beloved wrong. He had spent nearly three years with Sophie—madly, recklessly in love, willing to lay the world at her feet just to see her smile. He dreamed of marriage, but Sophie always cooled his ardor. “Why rush?” she’d say. “I haven’t finished uni yet, and your business is barely scraping by. No proper home, no decent car—living with your sister in a cramped flat? No thanks. I won’t share a kitchen with Lucy, even if she is my friend.”
Her words stung, but Jonathan couldn’t deny the truth. He and Lucy were crammed into their parents’ old flat in Manchester, and the family business—inherited after their parents’ death—was a constant struggle. He’d dropped out of university to keep it afloat. They’d sold their countryside cottage together, prioritising the business over comfort. The money settled debts, restocked the shop, and left just enough to breathe. But Sophie lived for the moment, unwilling to wait. Her parents cushioned her life, while Jonathan, suddenly the head of his family, saw the future differently. He believed things would improve—a home, a car, stability.
Then, disaster struck. He waited for Sophie outside the cinema, as agreed. She’d insisted he not pick her up, odd given her hatred for buses. When she finally arrived, it was in a sleek, expensive SUV. “Sorry, we’re done. I’m getting married,” she said, shoving a book into his hands before speeding off. He stood frozen. What had changed in the two days he’d been away?
Lucy took one look at him and knew. “You found out?” He just nodded. “She landed some rich bloke. Wedding’s on the twenty-eighth. Asked me to be bridesmaid—I said no. Vile, the way she strung you along.” She burst into tears, furious on his behalf. “Don’t,” Jonathan muttered, hugging her. “Let her have it all. We’ll do better.”
He locked himself in his room all day. Lucy knocked. “At least eat. I made pancakes.” By evening, he emerged, eyes burning. “Get dressed.”—”What’s your plan?”—”I’m marrying the first woman who says yes.” Lucy tried to reason with him. “You can’t—you’ll ruin more lives than just yours!” But he was adamant. “Come or don’t. I’m going.”
The city park was crowded. One woman laughed at his proposal, another recoiled, but the third—after meeting his gaze—said, “Alright.”—”What’s your name, love?”—”Emily,” she replied. Jonathan dragged her and Lucy to a café to “celebrate” their sudden engagement. The table was thick with tension. Lucy stayed silent, Jonathan stewed in revenge. His wedding would be on the same day as Sophie’s.
“Is there a reason you proposed to a stranger?” Emily asked quietly. “If it’s just a whim, I’ll walk away now.”—”No. You gave your word. Tomorrow, we file the paperwork, then visit your parents,” he said, forcing a wink. “And let’s drop the formalities—call me Jon.”
The month before the wedding, they met daily, learning each other. “Explain why,” Emily pressed once. “Everyone’s got secrets,” he deflected. “Then why did you say yes?”—”Felt like a princess handed off to the first passerby. In fairy tales, that ends well. Thought I’d test it.”
Truth was harder. Emily had loved and lost, her heart and savings both gutted. It taught her to read people. Flattery earned instant dismissal. She wasn’t hunting for “the one,” but she wanted someone sharp, decisive. Jonathan had that steel. Had he been with mates instead of his sister, she’d have walked on.
“What kind of princess? Sleeping Beauty or Guinevere?” Jonathan mused. “Kiss me and find out,” she teased. But there were no kisses. Jonathan arranged everything—the venue, the dress, insisting, “You’ll be the most beautiful.”
At the registry office, they bumped into Sophie and her fiancé. Jonathan forced a grin. “Congratulations,” he said, pecking her cheek. “Be happy with your tycoon.”—”Don’t make a scene,” Sophie snapped. Her eyes flicked over Emily—tall, striking, regal. Sophie felt small, jealousy gnawing at her. Happiness slipped through her fingers like a bad bet.
“It’s fine,” Jonathan lied to Emily. “You can still back out,” she whispered. “No. We finish this,” he said. But standing there, seeing the sadness in his new wife’s eyes, guilt twisted in his gut. “I’ll make you happy,” he vowed, almost believing it.
Domestic life settled in. Lucy and Emily became close, leaning on each other. Fiery Lucy learned patience; Emily, with her knack for numbers, streamlined the business. Within a year, they opened a second shop, then branched into renovations. Profits tripled. Emily had a gift—softly guiding ideas, letting Jonathan think they were his own. By all accounts, life was good. Yet Jonathan ached. The fire he’d had with Sophie was gone. Everything was steady, predictable. “Just routine,” he told himself. “I don’t love her. That’s all.”
Emily pushed the business further—custom home builds. Their first project was their own mansion. The more success they tasted, the more Jonathan dwelled on Sophie. “She couldn’t wait. Look at my car, my house now!” The thought “what if…” nagged him. Emily noticed his distance. She tried harder, but love can’t be forced. “Not all fairy tales are real,” she thought bitterly. Still, she refused to quit—her name demanded better.
Lucy saw it too. “You’ll lose more than you gain,” she snapped, catching him on Sophie’s social media. “Piss off!” he growled. “Idiot! Emily loves you, truly, and you’re playing games!” Lucy shouted. Jonathan fumed. “Who’s the child here?” But the pull toward Sophie grew. He messaged her.
Sophie was a wreck. Her husband had tossed her out. She’d dropped out of uni, jobless, renting a dismal room in Birmingham. Jonathan wavered—should he go? Emily was away visiting her ill aunt in the countryside. Temptation won. He arranged to meet.
Flying to Birmingham, he was giddy, picturing their reunion. Reality hit like a punch. “Handsome!” Sophie flung herself at him. The stench of unwashed skin and cheap perfume turned his stomach. Vulgar makeup, a tacky skirt—she was a ghost of the girl he’d loved. “People are staring,” he muttered, pushing her off. “Who cares!” She cackled, swigging beer. “Loan me some cash. I’ll make it worth your while,” she winked. He scrambled for an exit. “Work calls,” he lied, standing. “Will I see you again?” she whined. “Doubt it.” He paid the tab, tossing her enough for a “night out.”
Driving home, he cursed himself. “Twit. Lucy was right. Why did I go?” But one realisation soothed him: “I’ve never called her Emmy. She’s my closest friend.” Braking hard, he replayed their marriage. Emily’s face filled his mind—her green eyes, warm smile, fingers threading through his hair. “I promised her happiness,” he whispered.
He turned the car around, racing toward her aunt’s village. “A week without you was too long. I barely lasted two days,” he confessed as Emily ran to meet him. “Madman,” she laughed through tears. “Emmy, love,” he murmured, and their hearts beat as one, full at last.
*Sometimes, the love we chase is the one we’ve already found.*
