Love me, baby

January 2014

MORGANA FOSTER

A girl walked out of the room, and there was no smile on her face. This meant there was still a small chance of salvation for me and my father. That I could leave here married and "happy."

What a bad joke!

With two jobs and accumulated college tuition, plus my father undergoing chemotherapy, I was exhausted. Not only were the college expenses piling up, but the hospital bill was also growing larger, and my father's health had significantly worsened in recent months. That's why, and only why, I decided to show up for this interview for a sham marriage.

Yes, this is at least stupid. Who still needs something like this in the 21st century?

He could be a man too shy to find a wife. He could be a very busy executive who didn’t want to bother with finding a real wife. Or simply an ugly man. A million things crossed my mind while I waited for my name to be called and prayed that the other girl hadn't done so much better than I would now.

The mere idea of a sham marriage to solve my financial problems and save my father's life was almost ridiculous, but in the face of adversity, it was the only solution I could see. With no romantic expectations or personal interests, everything boiled down to survival. The idea of a union out of obligation, just to keep my father alive, echoed in my mind like a necessary mantra.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Truly, whoever my suitor was, he had to be someone with a lot of money and influence because even this hotel was too expensive and luxurious for an ordinary person.

I was so deep in debt that my only options were to enter into this contract marriage or become a prostitute. Not that there was much difference between the two, though I was trying to convince myself there was.

Neither option seemed like a good one. But of the two evils, the lesser, right? This was my lifeline.

The idea of selling my commitment or my dignity for financial necessity crushed my pride and suffocated me. However, the feeling of helplessness and the urgency to help my father led me to consider any alternative, no matter how inhumane it seemed.

I entered the dark and empty room, the few beams of light coming through the thin curtains contrasting with the rich environment. I sat in one of the chairs, nervously waiting. The door opened, and an elderly man entered the room.

"Good afternoon, Miss..." He began, his eyes assessing me carefully while I tried not to appear too out of place.

"Morgana. Morgana Melissa Foster," I replied, trying to control the tremor in my voice.

The man sat down, looking at me with a thoughtful expression. "I understand you are here out of a pressing need, Miss Foster." I raised an eyebrow at him. "You don’t think I investigated each candidate before this selection, do you?"

I shook my head, and the elderly man chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "There are several clauses you will have to comply with if you accept the final proposal. However, the marriage we are considering is not a trivial decision. My grandson, Ryan, is going through challenging circumstances. He is not looking for a wife just for formality but for specific needs."

I swallowed the lump in my throat before responding. "I understand, sir. I am aware of the difficulties on both sides. I am here because I see no other way out of my family's financial troubles, especially my father's health. That is the most important thing to me right now."

"I understand your situation, but we need to ensure that if this proceeds, it will be a solution that benefits both parties. This is not an ordinary contract; it is an agreement that will require mutual understanding and respect."

We talked for a while longer, detailing mutual expectations and needs. At the end of the conversation, Mr. Burke looked at me with a grave expression, his blue eyes taking on that dark tone that made my spine shiver. "If this goes forward, remember, Miss Foster, that everything we do here will have consequences. Seek wisdom beyond necessity, and perhaps, who knows, something more than just a contract of convenience might emerge."

“Does this mean I passed?” I shook my head, dazed. “I mean...”

“Just sign, child,” Mr. Burke replied.

I signed the paper so quickly that before I knew it, I was at the courthouse wearing a blue dress with simple embroidery on the bodice and a fitted waist, not too short. It was the only thing that would do for the occasion. My soon-to-be husband entered the small anteroom where the wedding would take place, furious enough to knock over the side table with a lamp next to him. He hadn’t noticed my presence, so I just shrank back at his arrival.

“My grandfather must be out of his mind!” he shouted, pacing back and forth. The loud yells echoing in my ears made me tremble. “How dare he trick me into marrying a...”

He froze mid-sentence when he noticed my presence and stared at me for the first time. I shrank my body into the corner of the room, feeling tiny under the weight of his contemptuous gaze.

The awkward silence lingered for a moment as I tried not to seem so fragile and vulnerable in this situation. The tension hung heavy in the air, as if our fates had been ripped from our hands and forced into a situation neither of us truly wanted.

“I’m sorry... I...” I murmured, trying to break the discomfort between us. “I’m Morgana Foster.”

He stared at me, his eyes reflecting a mix of incredulity and irritation. There were no words to calm the whirlwind of emotions that seemed to consume us at that moment. I could barely breathe. He glanced at my hand, which was suspended in the air, and ignored it completely, making me feel foolish.

“Let's just get this over with,” he growled, looking away while the tension between us was palpable.

The officiant entered the room, drawing our attention to the beginning of what was being forced into a marriage. His words were a mere murmur, lost amid the emotional chaos surrounding us. As he spoke about union, love, and commitment, it felt like each phrase was another blow to the wound that was already open.

After the ceremony, I was introduced to Ryan's entire family, and then we went home. There was no party or celebration, just a few fake smiles under the flash.

We arrived at the house his grandfather gave us as a wedding present, and silence hung in the air for a moment in the room.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Ryan said, breaking the silence with an indifferent tone. “Now that the formalities are over, we need to be clear about how this will work. I don’t want any interference in my life, and you shouldn’t expect me to be involved in yours either.”

I nodded, accepting the coldness in his words. It was obvious that neither of us was willing to turn this marriage of convenience into anything more than a practical agreement.

“Agreed. Each of us lives our own life, no questions, no expectations,” I replied, trying to sound as firm as he did.

“Great. Here are the basic rules.” Ryan pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and began listing the conditions of our agreement. “No emotional involvement. No questions about each other’s personal lives. This is a business deal, and we need to keep it clear.”

The coldness of his words was like a confirmation that this marriage would be anything but conventional. It was a pragmatic arrangement, a contract to help us get through our individual difficulties.

“Of course, I understand,” I murmured, memorizing the rules while trying to digest the surreal nature of the situation.

“If you need anything financially, use this,” he said, extending a black card toward me. “I hope not to have any problems with you.”

I stared at the handsome man with the cold expression in front of me, took the card in my fingers, and watched him leave. Despite being married on paper, our lives remained separate.