“You’re emotional,” he said. “Go somewhere, calm down, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
For four years, I had rearranged my life around him. Even after humiliating me, he expected me to return once I became reasonable again.
I picked up my suitcase.
“There’s nothing left to discuss.”
I moved into a small furnished apartment above a bakery on the east side of the city. The heater rattled, the bathroom door barely closed, and bread ovens woke me before sunrise.
Still, it was mine.
That first evening, I could not bear to eat alone, so I went to a nearby bistro. I ordered pasta, drank two glasses of wine, and spent the entire meal wondering whether everyone could somehow tell I was the woman whose fiancé had chosen her best friend.
When I left, it was raining.
I called a local taxi company. An older black sedan stopped at the curb, and the driver stepped out to open my door.
He was tall, with tousled dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a faint shadow along his jaw.
“Camille?” he asked.
I nodded.
He looked at my untouched takeout box. “Do you need a ride, or are you escaping from something?”
Despite myself, I laughed.
“A little of both.”
His name was Reid Mercer.
As he drove, he asked whether I had been on a bad date.
“Cancelled wedding,” I said.
“That sounds worse.”
Maybe it was the wine, the rain, or the fact that he was a stranger I never expected to see again, but I told him everything.
Blake. Natalie. The wedding. The dress hanging uselessly at my sister’s house.
Reid listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he shook his head. “They deserve each other.”
“I hope they spend years disappointing each other.”
He laughed.
At a red light, he asked, “What will you do with the dress?”
“Sell it. Donate it. Burn it in a field.”
“The fire department may object.”
I leaned back against the seat.
“You know what would really make Blake lose his mind?”
“I suspect several things would.”
“If I wore it and married someone else.”
Reid glanced at me in the mirror.
“Someone completely unexpected,” I continued. “Before Blake has time to assume I’ll come crawling back.”
“You’re joking.”
“Mostly.”
He drove several blocks in silence.
When we reached my building, he turned toward me.
“Would it make you feel better?”
“For approximately twenty minutes.”
“That isn’t a good reason to get married.”
“Neither is believing a man because he knows how to apologize without changing.”
Reid smiled slightly.
I wrote my number on the back of my receipt and handed it to him.
“If you’re serious, call tomorrow.”
“And if you wake up regretting this conversation?”
“I won’t answer.”
He called at eight the next morning.
We met for breakfast, both sober and fully aware that the idea was insane.
I told him I was an interior designer. He said he owned the taxi company and managed several private investments. He had bought the cab business because his grandfather had once driven for it.
We exchanged identification, employment records, medical histories, and emergency contacts. We ran background checks on each other while sitting across the table.
Neither of us had a criminal record, secret spouse, or alarming collection of aliases.
Reid explained that his father had spent years trying to control his career and personal life. Recently, he had been pressuring Reid to return to the family business and pursue a relationship with a woman from another influential family.
“I’m tired of every decision becoming a negotiation,” Reid said. “Marrying you would be irrational, but at least it would be my decision.”
His honesty made the idea feel slightly less absurd.
We agreed to remain married for ninety days. We would keep our homes and finances separate. Neither of us would borrow money from the other. At the end of the arrangement, either person could request an uncontested divorce without argument.
We also consulted separate attorneys.
Reid disclosed that he owned the taxi company, several properties, and a substantial investment portfolio. He was clearly wealthy, but nothing suggested that he belonged to one of the country’s most powerful families.
Our premarital agreement protected everything we had owned before the marriage and kept any future inheritance separate.
Two days after meeting, we obtained a marriage license and went to city hall.
I wore the lace dress intended for Blake. Reid arrived in a tailored navy suit.
When he saw me, he stopped at the bottom of the courthouse steps.
“You look beautiful.”
The sincerity in his voice made me nervous in a way revenge never had.
My friends Jocelyn and Priya served as witnesses. Jocelyn asked three times whether I had lost my mind. Priya took photographs and said she would turn the whole disaster into a documentary.
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