The Husband Game

“Hey.” He half-turns toward me, a shadow of a smile showing at the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry about Fi.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugs. “She has a point. We got into this to prove something.”

“But that’s not what I want to do anymore.”

“Do you mean that?” He turns to face me now fully, and I can see what’s really going on. The worry written all over his face. I know him well enough by now to be able to read that much, at least. “Lila, don’t get me wrong, I’m in. All in. But I need to know that you feel the same way. That this isn’t just some extension of the ‘marriage is doomed’ BS you started out wanting to prove.”

“It’s not.” I reach up to place my hands on his face, one on either side of his jawline. His stubble grazes my palms. “Charlie, I… I’ve never felt like this. Like I could really trust someone, be with them fully. Like I can be myself with you and I know you won’t ever up and leave.” I press my lips together to collect myself for a moment. He watches me the whole time, his eyes sharp, taking in every detail of my face, like he’s memorizing me. “I want to try to make this work. To make it real. To be with you.”

“What about the—”

“Fuck the articles,” I interrupt, before he can even finish his sentence, which makes him laugh. Then I’m laughing, too, both of us grinning at one another like idiots.

“Well, I don’t know.” Charlie turns my hand over, palm up, to kiss it softly. “I do have some things to thank those articles for… Pretty sure you never would have seen me again if you didn’t have to write them.”

I laugh and swat at his shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You didn’t even let me get your phone number that first night,” he points out, eyebrow arched.

“Okay, so maybe the articles prompted me to do something I already wanted to do. Maybe.” I raise an eyebrow, still defiant.

But that defiance melts away at the expression on Charlie’s face. He’s staring at me with pure, unadulterated love. “There we go.” He grins and leans in to kiss me. When we break apart, his face hovers directly in front of mine. “Lila… I love you.”

My heart flips in my chest. Electricity spools through my veins, and it takes me a moment to find my voice. To smile and whisper back. “I love you, Charlie.”

When he kisses me again, it tastes like a promise. Like the start of a real forever.

* * *

The week after our wedding passes in a blur. Family dinners, friends’ dinners, parties and even a whole second reception that Charlie’s hockey team sets up for him the next weekend. There’s a cake with our faces on it—a blown up photo of him proposing to me in the middle of the rink. We burst into laughter when we see it, still holding hands, and Anna rushes at us to give us both crushing hugs, her boyfriend Pat not far behind.

The whole team cheers us on. And when we clasp hands again, our rings knock against each other. Charlie gave me his grandmother’s wedding band, too, the one that matches the vintage diamond I was already wearing. As for me, I went new instead of traditional. I had a band specially made for him at a store in town, platinum with a frosted band. On the inside, against the underside of his finger, sits an inscription.

To writing our own story.

Because that’s what we’re doing now. We’re writing our own happy ending, to the love story I didn’t realize I’d been writing all along. A week ago, I told Fiona I wouldn’t write a break-up story. Then I sent her new articles—one about the wedding itself, and one about the aftermath. About how this process of rushing into a traditional marriage made both Charlie and me realize that’s something we want. We want the whole package: successful careers, yes, but also the white picket fence, the house in the suburbs and the 2.5 kids. Maybe some dogs, too.

We want a family and a career. Is that too much to ask for in this modern era?

Our readers don’t seem to think so. The following on the articles, far from dying off like Fiona kept telling me it would unless our relationship tanked, has exploded. More and more people are sharing our story, linking one another to it, pointing to it as a successful love story. More often than not, I see comments from people saying they want a love story like ours—or, even better, stories from other couples who married quickly and early on in their courtships, and how they’re doing better than ever now.

They share stories of the trials they went through, and their advice for getting through those trying times. They share stories of their love, too, of how it touches every aspect of their lives and enhances it. How they’re stronger together than apart.