The Husband Game

Just as we’ll be here for one another now.

We sign the marriage license, and I lean into Charlie’s side, whispering to him under the hubbub of the room. “I didn’t know this would all be actually legally binding. If you’re worried…”

“No, Lila.” He stops me with a hand on my chin, another soft kiss to my parted lips. “I’m not worried.” His eyes search mine. “Because I’m falling for you, too. And I want to do this. For real.”

“You mean…” I can barely breathe.

“Fuck those articles.” Charlie grins. Holds my gaze. “I want you. If you want me too, then we’ll make this marriage what it should be. Exactly what we just promised.”

“Okay,” I whisper. My smile explodes then, so wide it makes my face hurt. “Okay. Let’s do it.” He kisses me again, then, and that feels like the moment. The exchange of our real wedding vows, the truth.

We both really want to give this a go. So fuck the rules. We will.

* * *

Four hours into our reception, it still shows no signs of slowing down. A restaurant in town begged us to hold the event there, so we could write about the food in the article. And I plan to give them the best damn review they’ve ever had, because it is amazing food. Even if I barely get a chance to eat.

I’m too busy being swung out onto the dance floor. First by Charlie, then his father and brother, then my brother Adam, who showed up at the last minute without warning, laughing and telling me I didn’t really think he’d miss my wedding, did he?

Then Mom needs a turn, and before I know it, I’ve danced all the way through the room and back again. Not to mention toasted over and over again with champagne, to our health, to our marriage, to our newly united families.

I’m having so much fun, I almost forget about the news I’ll need to break to Fiona at some point. About how I won’t be able to complete the article series. But maybe that will be all right. Maybe we can find a way to spin the final stories, to talk about how I was so sure a traditional marriage would fail, but that this article will actually be about how love can triumph over all of your expectations.

I’m still thinking through pitches when I catch a glimpse of Fiona’s telltale dark hair, over in the corner. I start toward her and notice that she’s already talking to someone. Charlie, in fact. They lean against the wall, deep in conversation. I head their way, but just as I do, I notice Charlie shove off the wall and say something, his forehead scrunched tight, his fists balled.

He looks… angry. And Fiona just looks bewildered.

Before I can take another step, Charlie storms off. I watch him go, around the corner toward the men’s room. Then I look back at Fiona, who’s already leaning against the wall and casually sipping at a flute of champagne as if nothing just happened.

“What was that all about?” I ask when I reach her, pausing to snatch a flute of champagne for myself off a nearby table. I’ve barely had a glass all night, what with how people keep whisking me off to dance. It feels nice to just relax for a moment, here in a quiet corner.

“What?” Fiona blinks at me, the very picture of innocence. Then she glances over my shoulder. “Oh, Charlie?” She shakes her head. “Damned if I know. All I asked was if he would do an interview with me after the break-up, so I could get his side of why marriages like this are doomed to failure.”

My face flushes with heat. Maybe it’s the champagne, or maybe it’s just the fact that all night, I’ve felt more loved and appreciated than ever before in my life. And here comes Fiona wanting to crush that.

“What would you know about it?” I snap. Not like Fi has ever dated anyone for longer than a month or two at most. She always says she has no time for relationships, that she’s married to her career, and love is a waste of time.

I always admired that in her, before. But now I wonder if she doesn’t seem a little bitter, too. It’s fine if she doesn’t want to date, but why shit on someone who does want that in their life?

“Excuse me?” Fiona’s eyebrows rise, but I just shake my head and follow after Charlie.

It’s my wedding day. I don’t need to listen to her. It’s like my mother told me. Do what makes you happy. Well, I know who makes me happy. I know who I need to follow right now, and it’s not Fiona.

15

I find Charlie outside the bathrooms, sitting on a step that leads down to a side door of the restaurant. “Hey.” After a moment of hesitation, I slide down onto the step beside him, and lean my shoulder against his.