Chasing the Arrogant Instructor

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Those are the words most women dream to hear. Sweet words, words that she wanted to replay again and again. In every pocketbook she read, that was often the happy ending—marriage.

But for her story, this was only the beginning, and there’s a little chance of happiness.

She once dreamed of wearing her own wedding gown, even sewing it herself. A perfect set-up full of flowers, a church wedding, or even better—a beach wedding during sunset. That was her dream.

But dreams are free. Reality is not.

She sighed. Sadly, it seemed her dream wedding would never come true. Maybe this was fate’s way of punishing her for being a sassy brat.

“Gian, kiss your bride,” Gian’s uncle repeated. He was the one officiating the ceremony, and even he looked displeased. Who wouldn’t be?

You, she whispered in her head.

Gian moved closer to her. His breathing was heavy, his eyes dark. She wanted to feel excited, but instead she felt fear and unease. Still, she forced herself to think: It’s my wedding. I should be happy.

This is it. He’s going to kiss me.

But then suddenly she froze. Wait—did I brush my teeth earlier? She shook her head. Of course I did… right?

It was funny. Gian was looking at her like he wanted to kill her, yet she was worried about the toothbrush.

She closed her eyes, ready and waiting for his kiss. But instead, his lips touched her forehead. She opened her eyes, really disappointed. She expected a kiss on the lips, but all she got was a grandmother’s kiss. So irritating!

“Gian Saldivar!” his uncle shouted. The old man looked like his veins were about to burst.

“Yes, Tito.”

“Kiss her in the—”

“Lips? No way!” Gian cut him off sharply. “Kissing her on the lips is disgusting.”

Disgusting? The word pierced her heart. She wanted to cry, to show him how much she was hurting. But what for? Her tears wouldn’t change anything.

“Gian, just this once,” her father whispered, begging.

No, Dad. Please don’t beg.

Gian let out a heavy sigh, glaring at her. “You win again, Vanessa. You always win.” Then he pressed his lips on hers.

Was that even a kiss? He only brushed his lips against hers. No movement, no passion. There’s nothing.

What did you expect, Van? A romantic kiss? You trapped him, remember?

The few witnesses clapped—her father, her cousin, her brother Jason, and Lloyd. Only a handful of people saw her foolish wedding. Maybe that was better.

But could this really be called a wedding? Why did it feel more like a funeral?

Yeah, right. I’m dead.

“GET in the car!” Gian’s voice snapped her back. He no longer sounded like the calm instructor she used to know.

Gian Saldivar—her instructor in Life and Works of Rizal. Everyone knew he was gay. Until now…

“Vanessa, don’t make me repeat myself,” he said firmly.

She looked away. Everything hurt—her eyes, her chest, her whole being.

“I’m not riding with you. I’ll go with Ate Sha—”

“Vanessa!” he yelled again.

She had no choice but to follow. Never had she thought he would treat her this way. All because of one mistake.

But I wasn’t wrong about him being a man, she told herself. If what I did was a mistake, then fine. But it would’ve been such a waste if his bloodline wasn’t used.

They drove in silence until they reached her cousin Sharon’s house—Sharon, whom Gian once used as his “cover.”

Hmm. Husband? I like the sound of that.

Gian told her that she could stay at his house, “As my maid.” He added.

Her brief happiness disappeared. Maid? Really? With my beauty?

She cursed under her breath.

Gian ignored her, parking the car, not even offering to help with her bags. She sniffed her breath. Still fresh.

He walked away without a smile, and she followed him into the house.

Correction: our house. He’s my husband. What’s his is mine.

But at the door, he stopped. “Take your things. You’ll sleep in the servant’s quarters. Ciao!” And he went upstairs.

Vanessa groaned, furious. “Damn it!” she shouted, throwing her bag.

What an irritating man! Good thing she was still kind—or else.

Dragging her own luggage inside, she collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. Why did he have to be gay? What a waste. At least he could donate sperm and make money out of it, she thought with a bitter laugh.

She leaned back, closing her eyes.

Lord, if this is the fate you’ve given me, thank you. But please, can you make Gian a little kinder? He’s giving me a headache.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Gian reappeared, fresh from the shower, wearing only a white V-neck shirt and blue shorts.

Her eyes traced his body—from his wet hair, to his strong chest, down to his abs, and—

She swallowed. Delicious.

“Eyes on my face, flirt,” Gian said in disgust. “You’re not getting any of this.”

She ignored his words. “What’s your problem now?”

Even in simple clothes, he looked so good. His shirt hugged his muscles perfectly. No way was this man really gay.

He pointed at a room near the kitchen. “That’s your room. Make your things fit. If not, just figure it out.”

“Why there? That used to be your maid’s room,” she said, frowning.

“Exactly. Because you’re my maid.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’ll do everything here. Nanang Delia only comes twice a week to do the laundry. The rest is your job.” With that, he walked away like a runway model.

“Excuse me? Did you forget I’m your wife, not your maid?”

“No. I only married you, but you’re not my wife. On paper, maybe. But in real life? No. I’m still single.” His voice was sharp. “You forced me into this marriage. You trapped me, you little bitched! You knew from the start I didn’t want you. So now, live with it.” He slammed the door.

Her tears finally fell. His words cut deep, stabbing her heart. She thought she could handle this. She thought he’d forgive her. She was wrong.

She had trapped him, taken his freedom, forced herself on him. No one would forgive that easily.

If only I hadn’t done it. If only I didn’t tempt him. If only we weren’t here.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

She sighed heavily, grabbing her luggage.

“Cheer up, Van,” she whispered to herself.