Entwined With You

“Do you, Eric Keaton, take Mayari Cruz to be your lawful wedded wife and live together forever in the estate of holy matrimony? Do you promise to love, comfort, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or for worse, as long as you both shall live?” the priest’s voice echoed through the sunlit chapel, solemn and warm.

Beep—beep… beep—beep… beep—beep.

Eric turned to her with a small smile. “Do you have your phone with you or something?” he asked, ignoring the priest entirely.

Maya blinked. Sneak her smartphone into her beautiful, sleeveless, heart-shaped lace gown? What would she even need it for?

The alarm blared again, shrill and insistent, yanking her from the dream. The chapel dissolved. Eric’s smile vanished. All that remained was the relentless beeping echoing in her bedroom.

“Eric! Eric!” she screamed, desperation rising in her chest, fingers twitching as though she could grasp him through the remnants of the dream. But he wasn’t there. The wedding was gone. 

Only the quiet hum of her apartment remained. She slapped the alarm off, groaning as dawn light spilled across her sheets. The dream faded, leaving a hollow mix of longing and warmth.

Still heavy with sleep, Maya pushed the covers aside and lowered her legs to the floor. The chill of the morning air brushed against her skin, but she barely noticed it. She stretched, arms lifting above her head until her muscles loosened, then slipped her feet into her waiting slippers. 

Her body moved on instinct, guided by routine more than thought, as she crossed the room and flicked on the bathroom light. A soft glow flooded the space. She stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind her, sealing herself off from the rest of the world.

She followed the familiar rhythm of her mornings—brushing her teeth, bathing, letting the warm water wash away the last traces of sleep. It was mechanical, automatic, something she could do without thinking. And yet, she was thinking. She always was on Mondays.

She had always hated Mondays.

Even now, years later, the day still carried the faint, bitter taste of loss. Mondays reminded her of the morning Joel had been taken away from her. That Monday had carved something out of her chest and left behind a hollow she had never fully managed to fill. 

It had been sudden. Final. One moment he was there, her constant, her promise, and the next he was gone—claimed by strangers who had decided he belonged somewhere else.

The wound from that day ran deeper than the abandonment of the woman who had given birth to her. That woman had left without hesitation, without even the courtesy of a goodbye. 

But Joel had been different. Joel had been hers in the only way that had ever mattered. He had promised he would never leave. He had promised. Promises, she had learned, meant nothing.

It was why she had refused to let anyone get close to her for so long. Through high school and most of college, she had turned down every confession, every hopeful smile, every invitation. It had been easier that way. Safer. If she never gave her heart, no one could take it from her.

Then Eric had walked into her life at a time when loneliness had begun to feel heavier than fear. She hadn’t been looking for anything serious—just conversation, maybe distraction—but the connection had been immediate. 

Effortless. Like something inevitable. She hadn’t even realized how much she had been starving for warmth until she felt it. And now, for the first time in years, Monday didn’t feel like a day of mourning.

It felt like the beginning of something.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, her lips curving faintly at the thought. In a few days, she would be moving into Eric’s condo. After two years of dating, two years of slow trust and cautious hope, they were finally stepping into the future together. Forever. 

The word both thrilled and frightened her. It was probably why she had dreamed of her wedding only minutes ago—the image still clinging to her mind like a fading echo. The vows. The promise. The certainty.

Eric Keaton.

Even thinking his name made something warm unfurl inside her chest.

He had once been a rising professional basketball star, his future mapped out in stadium lights and roaring crowds, until a single injury had taken it all away. Just like that. She remembered the first time he told her about it, the quiet acceptance in his voice. 

He hadn’t let it destroy him. He had gone back to school, finished his degree in business management, and rebuilt himself piece by piece. Now he works at Atlas Corporation, the most powerful company in the country, owned by the elusive and influential Guidotti family. 

Everyone wanted a place there. Everyone wanted a piece of that world. Eric had made it in.

He was the kind of man people noticed without trying—tall, broad-shouldered, with blond hair that fell carelessly over his forehead and striking green eyes that seemed permanently lit with warmth. 

And his smile… that easy, disarming smile had a way of breaking through her defenses before she even realized she had lowered them. Sometimes, she still wondered why he had chosen her.

Not because she thought herself unworthy. She knew what she looked like. She saw the way people stared, the way heads turned when she entered a room. She carried herself with quiet confidence, aware of her own presence. 

But Eric had options—endless ones. Women who would have thrown themselves at him without hesitation. Yet he had chosen her. The memory of his voice softened her expression as she reached into her closet.

“Your beauty is the kind that lingers long after you leave the room.”

He had said it so casually, as though it were simply the truth. And for days afterward, she had carried those words with her like something fragile and precious, turning them over in her mind whenever doubt tried to creep in.

She smiled faintly now, her chest light. For the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something to fear. Her best friend had always been honest, brutally so sometimes, and today’s memory was no exception. 

“I’d do anything to look like you,” Maddie had said countless times, a wistful sigh tucked between words. 

Men noticed Maya. Men stared. Men stopped in their tracks. And Maddie? She was often treated as if she were invisible. Maya hated that Maddie felt that way, hated that she couldn’t fix it, hated that it all traced back to the woman who had brought her into this world only to abandon her. 

There was no thanks. No justice. Nothing to make it right.

Her reflection in the full-length mirror pulled her back to the present. She studied herself with quiet satisfaction. Tan skin, Jet-black hair falling perfectly over her shoulders, amber eyes sharp and alive, lips full and sculpted—the mirror didn’t lie.

Makeup flawless, confidence intact. She couldn’t control Maddie’s feelings, nor the past, but she could control this moment. She grabbed her phone, slipped on her shoes, slung her handbag over her shoulder, and strode toward the kitchen.

Breakfast was a brief affair—efficient, like everything else in her mornings—and soon she was out the door, waiting at the bus stop with the faint hum of traffic around her. 

Her phone vibrated in her hand, and her chest lifted instantly when she saw Eric’s name. Early morning calls from him were rare, which made this one unexpectedly precious. 

She answered, voice bright, almost chirping. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey.” Eric’s voice was off, unusual, and it prickled at her nerves immediately.

Maya frowned, her internal alarm bells ringing. Something’s wrong. “Babe, are you okay?” she asked.

There was a pause, the weight of tiredness pressing through the phone. “I’m feeling a bit tired. Can I take a rain check on the date?”

Her heart sank slightly, but she masked it. “Oh. Of course,” she said, though the words tasted flat. “I’ll come check on you after work. I’ll bring…”

“No, there’s no need for you to come,” Eric cut her off sharply. “I don’t want you to fall sick too.”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m hardly ever sick,” she reminded him, irritation creeping in.

“Well, you never know,” he said, voice softening slightly but still distant.

Maya exhaled, frustrated but unwilling to let him face the day alone. "Fine. I can at least drop off food. I won’t go up, I promise." She said, careful to balance concern with boundaries.

“Okay. Thanks, babe.”

“Take care. I love you,” she said, the words spilling out naturally, a balm to her own uneasy chest.

“Ditto,” he replied, and the line went dead.

Ditto. That word, casual and convenient, gnawed at her. It meant agreement, acknowledgment—but it wasn’t he loves me back. 

How hard could it be, she wondered, for him to simply say the words she longed to hear? Her hand tightened around her phone as she slipped it into her bag. 

The morning sunlight hit her hair just right, and for a moment, she reminded herself she was still in control of her own world. But the emptiness in Eric’s voice lingered, a shadow that stretched across the beginning of her day.