CHAPTER 3

THE CEREMONY

And the chapel on the Blackwood estate was nothing like the reception hall Aria had dreamed of as a small child: no flowers lined the aisle, no music playing as she entered, and so in lieu of friends and family there were cold-eyed lawyers and a justice of the peace who seemed to be on a routine basis engaged in such transactional proceedings.

The white dress she’d worn had just been delivered to her hotel room that morning—a designer dress, beautifully constructed, making her wonder how Alexander had determined her measurements. It was modest, refined—not the princess gown she’d hoped for, but something that a woman of refined taste would choose to enter a very private ceremony in. It didn’t seem to matter much in her defense—looking the part of a blushing bride as she went into the most defiant situation possible.

Alexander stood in the doorway of the chapel; his dark gray suit bespoke to him made him look more substantial than ever before, and when he saw her, his eyes widened slightly; the only sign to him that her beauty had affected his demeanor.

Walking down the aisle felt like it would go on forever. I was thinking every step down the aisle why Aria was doing this, her father, now in a comfortable room at the nation's top treatment facility, beginning therapy that would save his life. The huge medical bill that was going to go away with this. The future security that would come after three years of debt.

As she moved up beside Alexander, she noticed he smelled of expensive cologne and some sort of man-against-man perfume she refused to identify as pleasant.

"You look good, " he said grimly, the closest she'd hoped to hear of a compliment.

"As do you," she returned, keeping her voice even.

The ceremony was so short, and simple, that it was wonderful. They exchanged gold rings, sung the obligatory vows barefaced, and signed their marriage certificates with a group of people who looked disinterested in being there. There wasn't even a kiss to sign the contract-Alexander just nodded at her when the judge said they were husband and wife as though they had just completed an acceptable business meeting.

“The press release has to be sent out at noon, ” he said as they left the chapel, “and now from this moment forward you are Aria Blackwood, my lusty new wife. ”

There was a black limousine waiting outside, and as Aria and Jacques got into the leather seats, the question that had been burning within her was finally asked.

“ Why the rush? Why couldn’t we let people know we’re engaged and have our wedding later? ”

Alexander had a cool opinion of her, " said Alexander, "because I'm preparing to embark on negotiations on a Phillips merger next week.

" What has our marriage got to do with a corporate merger? "

He studied her again for a moment and then decided what to tell her. “The Phillips family is old money and very traditional. They don’t think the bachelors in positions of power are reliable. They think all bachelors are weak and unpredictable. This deal is worth billions and I need every advantage I can get.

"So I'm just... what? A prop to make you seem stable? " It got more weight in her head because she didn't want it to.

"You're an investment in perception, " he corrected, "and perception is reality in business.

The limo carried Aria through the gate and the estate really opened up for her, for the first time in a good while, to see what home she would have for the next three years. There was the Blackwood mansion set high on a cultivated lawn, a modern take on a classical house, glass and stone being arranged with elegance, and harmony.

"It's... enormous," she breathed.

“The west wing will be yours, ” Alexander confirmed abruptly. “You will have your suite, sitting room and study. We have informed the staff of our arrangement and they are very much under a strict NDA. ”

" They know it's fake? " In a way this annoyed her - strangers who knew about her humiliation.

"They know it's a marriage of convenience, " he corrected. "The legal details are up to us, Reed, and the lawyers. "

As the car alighted at the main entrance Alexander turned to her. "One more thing. We can feel isolated in private rooms of the house, but we'll have to show up with a kind of resemblance to reality in every place where people will think we're out having fun. "

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we address each other affectionately. We stand close. We touch appropriately. We present as a couple deeply in love."

She twisted her stomach at the thought of pretending to be intimate with this cold, calculating man "and when we're alone? "

Something flickered in his grey eyes -- perhaps, you could say, amusement. "When we are really alone, Mrs. Blackwood, you may go, but know that the walls of this house have ears. We're acting now.

As if to demonstrate, he pulled out the car, turned and walked around to open her door, holding out a hand with practiced elegance "Hello darling".

He uttered the words in a way that was strange, harsh and contrived, but Aria forced her cheek in agreement with his hand and what she was supposed to play.

"Thank you... dear, " she answered, the word almost boiling in her throat.

A line of staff waited in the lobby at the front door—a distinguished old man she assumed was the butler, several maids who wore modern uniform dresses, a chef in white and various employees whose jobs she could not immediately tell what they were doing, all wearing carefully observed neutral expressions which showed nothing of what they might know or suspect.

"Mrs Blackwood, welcome, " the butler said under a bow of formality, "I'm Harrison. And we're here to serve you.

Alexander's hand settled at the bottom of her back. A possessive deed, she feared, sent a faint chill up her spine. 'Harrison will lead you to your quarters. I have some calls to make about the press release. We would have dinner together at seven. 

With that he pressed a barely audible kiss to her temple (his lips cutting no contact) and trailed off, leaving Aria alone among guests in a house that felt more like a museum than a house.

Harrison led her through a maze of rooms and hallways, each more formidable than the last, and when they finally reached the west wing it was pale blues and muted grays, modern and elegant but somehow sickly.

“Mr. Blackwood had the suite renovated last week, ” said Harrison, opening double doors to reveal a sitting room bigger than her apartment. “He thought that might suit you. ”

Aria wondered how he could conceivably know what colors would look better on her, since he only met Aria two times before today? " It 's... lovely. ''

"This has been done on the dressing room floor. Your belongings have been unpacked. " Harrison said, gazing over an additional set of doors. "There is a staff schedule and house rules and security protocol on the desk. Mr Blackwood is very strict about security. "

“I am sure he is, ” Aria whispered, overwhelmed by the grandeur and strangeness of her situation.

Harrison stopped at the door. "Will you then require anything more Mrs Blackwood? "

Title was still strange. " No thanks, I just want some time to... settle in.

Once alone in her new world Aria stepped out into the living room, leading into a room with a king-sized bed, dressed in fine linens. It led into a marble and glass bathroom whose soaking tub was large enough for three people. There was a dressing room containing her poor wardrobe, which was obviously pathetically inadequate in a space that was designed for a collection ten times larger than it.

A note on the vanity caught her attention - in a distinctly male handwriting, that is.

*a stylist will come tomorrow to be with you in your wardrobe and we’ve got your measurements. We don’t have any formal events lined up for this coming week but I’m seeing what you want us to show up to, and 3 days from now the charity gala. You know what I expect from you.

I think they used " welcome home " or " hope you 'll be comfortable " not " how to get home ".

Aria slumped down onto the tufted bench in front of the vanity, staring at her reflection. The woman who watched her back was wearing a designer wedding dress and a rotten face of amazement. Twenty four hours ago she'd been Aria Collins, the victim of debt and despair. Now she was Aria Blackwood, trophy wife to a man who thought her nothing more than a business expense.

At the very speed at which a tear came down her cheek before she could stop it, she furiously wet the spot, because she'd agreed, with open eyes, to this arrangement, and self-pity will not do much good. For three years she would play the part. For three years she'd be Mrs. Alexander Blackwood.

But she would never, never make the mistake of neglecting that for him she was just another asset to be tended.