The Marriage Dare

He doesn’t answer me. Not with words. He just reaches out, slipping a hand behind my neck and kissing me softly. But it doesn’t stay soft. It grows into an inferno. The kind of kiss that should never be done in front of others, but I don’t even care. And this time it’s not just him kissing me, I am kissing him back. Until we are engulfed in each other, his arms wrapped around me so tightly that I don’t want him to let go.

“Does that mean that you like it?” I ask.

“I love it,” he says. “You look like you.”

He’ll never know how perfect an answer that is.

“If you’re going to keep doing that,” Alex says, “at least let her get out of the dress so that we can take it to alter it.”

Daniel smiles. “Just one second, Alex.” He leans in, and I let him kiss me again, the assistants in the background giggling as Alex sighs.

9

Daniel

The marriage certificate in my hand is beautiful. It’s flashy in a way that only Las Vegas can achieve. But I don’t care, because it’s here. Barely twenty-four hours after we put through the paperwork and here it is. All we have to do is sign both of our names and we will be officially married. The question is, will Monica be willing to sign the paper before the actual wedding? I don’t want to wait, and I’ll give her whatever wedding she wants. But I want her to be my wife. And I want that moment to be sooner rather than later.

I can recognize that I’m falling down a spiral that I will never be able to come back from. I can’t pretend that I fully understand the need I feel to make her fall in love with me. I said it so that I can justify all the years that I wanted her, when I was young. But is that really it? Is it to make me feel powerful? All I really know is that what I said yesterday to her in my office was true. I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.

More than I want revenge. More than I want to expand my business. More than my own preservation. When I walked out into the living room and saw her wearing that dress, my stomach dropped through my shoes. Not because she was suddenly more beautiful— she is always beautiful— but because she was shining. She seemed vibrant in a way that I’ve never seen her, and I was just a moth to her brilliant flame.

We had dinner last night in the dining room. We had pleasant conversation, and for the first time it felt easy between us. A glimpse into what our life could actually be like. It was a struggle for me not to think about our experience at breakfast, but I managed.

And when it was time to say good night, I was proud. Monica asked for what she wanted. She asked me to come into her room with her and take her. And when I told her no, even though she seemed disappointed, she didn’t fight me. She let me kiss her, and I swear the way she went pliant against my body made pulling away from her the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I told her that I wouldn’t fuck her until she was my wife, and I intend on keeping that promise. But I swear, if we aren’t married soon, I might not be able to.

I slipped the marriage certificate back into the envelope it came in, and put in the inside pocket of my jacket. I’m taking Monica out to look for rings today. I want her to have an engagement ring even though it’s not technically an engagement.

I hear the door to her room open, and I meet her in the living room. She’s dressed in a simple blouse and trousers, so different from what I’m used to seeing her in. In high school she was always wearing sundresses or revealing crop tops and low-riding jeans. It didn’t occur to me until she asked how I wanted her to look that maybe she hadn’t chosen her image. It still makes me angry to think about, the idea that her parents would have used their teenage daughter for their own gain. But given what I’ve read about her father in the past day or so, it doesn’t seem like anything is beyond him.

The clothes she chose for herself suit her so much better. She would look stunning in literally anything, but there’s power in being able to choose your appearance. There’s a reason I enjoy wearing suits tailored for me. I like the satisfaction of knowing that I look powerful. I imagine that Monica has the same desire.