He called at 8 a.m. sharp!
That afternoon, we met outside a notary’s office. I brought my white dress. He showed up in a sleek navy suit that made him look like a movie star in a magazine spread. We signed a prenup I’d insisted on that basically said neither of us would touch a cent of the other’s money or assets.
It was a joke, really; I assumed he had none.
I mean, this was essentially a sham marriage, and I knew nothing about my soon-to-be husband except the name that had popped up on my phone screen when I called the taxi.
When we arrived at city hall, it was quiet, except for a couple arguing about parking tickets. Adam took my hand, squeezed it gently, and we said our short vows to a bored-looking clerk with glasses that kept sliding down her nose.
My two closest friends, Mia and Clara, stood as witnesses. Clara whispered, “Are you sure?” at least three times, but I smiled through it. Mia just kept snapping photos.
I immediately posted the image Mia took right after the ceremony to Instagram, but with no caption. Just me in the white dress I planned to marry Jonathan in, with a man no one recognized.
I thought that was the end of it. A stunt, a moment of pettiness at my ex, with good lighting. I thought it would fizzle out in a week.
But I went to bed with a strange feeling in my chest, half exhilaration, half regret.
