3. Marriage of convenience

Denver didn’t sleep at all last night. He tossed and turned, his mind racing, replaying the moment he looked up and saw India’s eyes locked on his. He’d never seen that kind of intensity in anyone before. It was as if she was daring him to say no, daring him to jump with her into the unknown.

“I’m suggesting we get married.”

Her words echoed in his mind. Marriage. That word had always meant something sacred to him, not some kind of game, fake or real. His parents were the gold standard, together for almost 40 years and still holding hands at the movies.

But India wasn’t talking about love or forever. For her, this was about taking a stand in the only way she knew how: refusing to let Marcus win again, reclaiming dignity after months of feeling powerless. She wanted to show her family that, at twenty-six years old, she’s not some dumb kid, a reckless teenager, or a self-destructive young adult. It was time to be a woman. And she’d vowed to herself and her family that she would start making smart decisions. No more being pushed around or dismissed, now she would take control rather than be manipulated. Maybe she hoped becoming Mrs. Denver Kincaid would force them all, her parents, Marcus, everyone, to finally see her strength. And maybe, in some way, Denver would see it too.

He remembered the shock on his own face, the way he’d blurted, “What! Married!” and how India hadn’t even flinched. She’d just let the silence stretch between them, her gaze never faltering. He knew she was a savvy girl, but he hadn’t seen this side of her, or didn’t pay attention to it.

As Denver lay in bed, the shadows on the ceiling seemed to move, making fun of his indecision. Marcus’s betrayal ate at him. They had built their company from nothing, working late nights, eating cheap takeout, sharing wins and hiding failures. Denver always thought Marcus would support him, but then there was Vanessa. Marcus knew Denver liked her first. That wasn’t the first time Marcus had crossed a line, either. Back in college, Marcus took credit for an idea Denver pitched in a business competition and, for weeks, pretended it was a misunderstanding instead of an intentional move. He always had a way of spinning things to his advantage. So why lie? What else had Marcus hidden?

Denver was the one who always walked a tightrope, a straight line—holding everything together. India’s words lingered, twisting the knife. “What if I told you, I don't feel like Marcus is the only one betraying me?”

He’d watched her walk away, wondering what she meant. Was she accusing him? Was she warning him? Or was she just tired, lost, like he was?

By morning, Denver looked in the mirror as he shaved.  “I’m the CEO of a successful company.” He compartmentalized everything in his life. And thinking with his business brain, he had concluded.  “It’s time I got rid of all the dead weight.”

He barely slept, entering the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. The house was unnaturally quiet. He listened for the faintest sound from the guest room, but India was silent.

When she finally emerged, her hair pulled back, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, Denver was waiting. He stood in the kitchen, fingers drumming on the countertop, coffee untouched.

“India,” he said, voice steady but soft. She looked up, looking at his gaze. “Even though this is against my better judgment. I’ll do it. I’ll go along with your plan.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “You will?” Her eyes searched his face to see if he was joking. She continued, “But if we’re going to do this, it must look real. It can’t just be for show, Denver. It must convince your family, everyone, but especially Marcus.”

India’s expression changed. There was a hint of satisfaction mixed with something else, maybe vulnerability, gratitude, or fear.

“Yeah, I got it. We must make it look real,” he agreed.

“We must look like we’re in love, like we can’t live without each other. My family will see through anything less. So will Marcus. But most of all, I want him to feel it. I want him to regret everything and pay dearly for all his lies.”

Denver hesitated, searching for the right words. “Wouldn’t knowing we are in a relationship achieve that?”

She shook her head. “No. As you know, marriage is the final step. We can’t let anyone know this is a marriage of convenience. If they catch even a whiff that it's fake love, it’ll all fall apart, and we will look like fools. Is that what you want?"

"No."

"Then we have to sell this—fully.”

He nodded, the weight of it settling on his shoulders. “All right. Let’s make them believe it.”

The next twenty-four hours were important, but they went by in a blur. Denver focused on the act, practicing stories, trying out affectionate smiles in the mirror, and learning details about India’s life that he’d never cared about before, but that a man in love would know. And yet, beneath the rehearsed gestures and invented memories, confusion tangled his feelings. He could hardly look at himself or at her in a romantic way—most of the time.

Sometimes, when she laughed at one of his jokes or brushed a hand against his arm, he felt an unfamiliar spark inside him. Was it admiration, or the thrill of doing something forbidden? But the guilt always followed quickly, crawling over him like a shadow. In his mind, she was his best friend’s partner, a line he never thought he’d cross. Was any of this real, or was he already getting lost in the act? He wondered if he was protecting her, betraying Marcus, or betraying himself.

The true test began when he arrived at work that Friday morning, the day before the wedding. At work, Marcus was all jokes and bravado, as if nothing had happened. Denver forced a grin, joining the banter, fighting the urge to blurt out the truth. Every time Marcus mentioned Vanessa, every time he made another sly comment about India, Denver’s stomach twisted. He wondered if Marcus suspected anything, if he noticed the way Denver’s eyes lingered on India’s name in his phone, the way he now hesitated before answering questions about her.

That evening, India met Marcus for a pre-wedding dinner at the restaurant where they had all celebrated their first business deal. Denver watched her leave, noticing her check her reflection in the mirror and practice her smile. For just a moment, her eyes lingered on her own face, and he caught a flicker of uncertainty—her jaw tense, lips pressed tight before she forced them into a practiced curve. She was good at this, maybe too good.

Later, Marcus texted Denver. “India was weird tonight. She said she was out shopping with a coworker for wedding stuff and ended up staying over at their place. You know anything about that?”

Denver stared at the message, fingers hovering over the screen. He typed, “No idea, man. She’s probably had a lot of last-minute loose ends to tie up, you know how women get about that wedding stuff.”

He felt sick. Lying like this wasn’t who he was, and the lies kept piling up like dirty laundry.

The next day was bright and cold. The wedding was at three in the afternoon, held at the family chapel that Marcus and India attended. Denver arrived early, wearing a suit that felt like a costume, his heart pounding. He was supposed to be Marcus’s best man, give a toast, hand over the rings, and smile for the photos.

A knock on the groomsmen’s suite door took him away from his deep, dark thoughts. He opened it and found India standing there, her hands trembling, but determination written on her face.

“You ready?” she asked quietly, her eyes shining.

“Are you? India, are you sure you are going to be okay?”

She managed to make a shaky smile. For a moment, her composure almost cracked—her eyes glistened, and her breath hitched, as if she could barely keep the turmoil inside from spilling over.

"I think so, yes, we can't let him get away with this, Denver." Her voice trembled, and she pressed her hands together to quiet them.

For all her bravado, he could see the fear there, shadowed by a flash of hope and the faintest glimmer of desperation, as if this was her only chance to regain control of her life. She straightened, trying to gather herself.

"I'm going to finish getting dressed. See you at show time."

An hour later, the chapel filled with guests: India’s and Marcus’s families, Marcus’s friends, colleagues, and people Denver hadn’t seen in years. He played his part, walking down the aisle with Marcus as his best man, laughing at old stories, hugging relatives, and standing by Marcus’s side as they waited for the ceremony to start.

The officiant asked everyone to stand. Denver handed Marcus the ring, his breath shallow. The music started as the bridal party entered. Denver nervously counted each couple, waiting for the bride. Then, there she was. India stood at the end of the aisle, radiant in white, her eyes never leaving his.

It was showtime.