I have a theory about why Zoe, Damian, Ian, and I took the enormous risks we did, including gambling with our lives, to end up filthy rich. Growing up dirt poor does that to a person. It teaches you that in our circles, only the strong and wealthy survive. I’ve earned my riches by putting my life on the line—more than once. However, the gigs were Ian’s initiative. I’ve yet to make my mark in life and to prove my worth, which I would’ve done this very week if Violet hadn’t ruined my plans.
Inspecting my reflection in the mirror, I ponder what I’m about to do. I feel no guilt or regret, only satisfaction. The white linen shirt and beige suit are suitable for the occasion. The ensemble doesn’t require a tie. I brush my damp hair back with my fingers. Scruff darkens my jaw. I suppose I should’ve shaved, but gentlemanly courtesies aren’t on the agenda. After splashing on aftershave, I return to the room.
By some miracle, Violet is ready, wearing the matte-gold dress and a pair of high-heeled golden sandals. Her dark hair is piled on her head in the usual messy bun. She’s not wearing a stitch of make-up, not that she needs it. With her golden complexion, dark lashes, and pink lips, she’s a natural beauty.
On my way to the door, I snatch the box with the rings from my nightstand. The simple bands are eighteen carat gold, but they’re a cheaper brand from a wholesale jewelry chain store, hardly worth locking away in a safe. I bought them yesterday on my way to Violet’s childhood house like stopping for a loaf of bread on your way home from work. Cheap rings for cheap vows. The symbolism remains though. The rings may be thin, but our vows will be binding.
Violet follows wordlessly, keeping her side of the bargain. What choice does she have? If she did have a say, I don’t doubt for a second she would’ve run as far away from me as she could, all the way to Europe maybe. Or the end of the world.
I lock up, set the alarm, and bundle her into my car. In five minutes, we’re on the highway, heading toward our new future. It may not be a happy future, but I’d rather destroy myself than let her slip through my fingers. If the price of having her is discord and a never-ending war, I’ll pay it gladly. I’ll rather take her hatred than not taking her at all.
Gus’s car is already parked in the lot of the Department of Home Affairs when we arrive. Gus and Gia wait outside the main entrance, Gus wearing a dark suit paired with a silver tie and Gia a pastel-blue dress with an ostrich feather trimming. She holds a posy of white roses in her hands. At least Gia thought about flowers. When she hands them to her daughter, I can’t help but think how very unlike Violet roses are.
Violet smiles like a happy bride, no doubt for the benefit of her mother, and Gus shakes my hand before we enter, confirming to everyone what lies ahead is already a done deal.
The rest goes shockingly fast. Uneventfully. We wait in line with other couples outside the marriage official’s office and are called in within ten minutes. Not even two minutes later, we’re done, the certificate with Gia and Gus’s signatures as witnesses in my pocket.
The aftermath is an anti-climax. The four of us stand on the pavement, Violet and me accepting her mother and stepfather’s congratulations before Gus checks his watch and announces he has to get back to work. Violet offers her mother the flowers, seeing that there’s no bridesmaid to catch the bouquet, and kisses her cheek with a promise to visit soon.
And then we’re alone, just the two of us, walking in the harsh, unromantic heat of the sun to my car without the safety net of love to carry us through the hardships ahead.
For better or for worse, here we come.
The drive home is tense. Violet plays with the ring on her finger, twisting it around and around. When I park in front of my house, I already know I’m going to be a coward. At least it’s better than being a bastard.
“I have to catch up with work,” I lie, helping her from the car.
“Okay,” she says, not looking at me.
Cupping her nape, I kiss her hard. “See you tonight, darling.”
She tries to blink away the hurt reflecting in her stunning eyes, not quite succeeding.
Before I have time to change my mind, I put the set of keys I had made for her on her palm and fold her fingers around it.
She’s still staring at the keys in her hand when I peel out of the driveway with screeching tires.
I don’t go to the office. Gus gave me the day off.
I drive to a dive bar and order a beer.