CHAPTER 5: CONGRATULATE YOUR AUNT

For a moment, nobody in the café moved.

I could feel Damien's hand on my shoulder. It was warm, even through the thick gray sweater. It did not squeeze. It did not pull. It just rested there, calm and heavy, like a stone that was not going anywhere.

My heart was jumping like a silly child. I told myself it was nothing. It was for show. He said it himself, on paper only. But my body had not read the paper.

Ryan was still turned , staring up at his uncle. His mouth was a little open. The smirk had slid off his face so fast it looked like someone wiped it away with a cloth.

"Uncle?" His voice came out small. "What are you doing here?"

"Buying groceries." Damien nodded at the bag on the table. "Rice. Eggs. Tomatoes."

Ryan looked at the bag. Then at the ring on my finger. Then at his uncle's hand on my shoulder. Then back at me. I watched him put it together, one piece at a time. It was like watching a man walk slowly into a wall.

"No," he said. "No. This is a joke. She's lying. She's trying to make me jealous."

"I do not joke," Damien said.

"She only met you last night!"

"And last night she became my wife." Damien's voice stayed flat. "Grant is waiting in the car with the certificate. You may read it, if you wish."

Ryan stood up so fast his chair hit the floor.

Heads turned. At the next table, two girls stopped talking. A man near the counter lifted his phone, and I felt my stomach drop. Of course. Everyone had a phone.

"You did this on purpose," Ryan said, and now his voice was shaking. "You did this to shame me."

"I did not think of you at all."

I saw that one hit. It went straight in, like a needle. Ryan's face went white, then red. He turned to me, and for the first time since I had known him, he looked like a boy who had lost something and did not know where to find it.

"How could you?" he whispered. "With my own uncle?"

How could I.

I almost laughed. Three years, and I never once heard him ask that question about himself.

"You said nobody would accept me," I said. My voice was quiet, but it did not shake. "Somebody did."

"Lila..."

"Congratulate your aunt, Ryan," Damien said.

It was the coldest thing I ever heard. And somehow, it was also the best.

Ryan opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He looked at us, at the people watching, at the phone raised near the counter. Then he turned and walked away, fast, knocking his shoulder against a chair. The little paper bag slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.

A thin gold necklace slid out and landed near my foot. A gift for Sabrina. It lay there, shining, and neither of us picked it up.

I waited to feel happy. I thought this would be the best moment of my life. The man who broke me, walking away in shame.

But all I felt was tired. And a little bit sad, in a way I could not explain. Because once, a long time ago, I had loved that boy. And watching him leave like that felt like watching the last page of a book I used to read every night.

"Finish your tea," Damien said.

"I can't."

"Then we are leaving."

He lifted his hand from my shoulder. I felt the loss of it right away, and I hated myself for that. He picked up my shopping bags in one hand and the groceries in the other, and walked out of the café like a man leaving a business meeting. I followed.

In the car, Grant said nothing. He just started the engine and drove.

I made it about two minutes.

Then it all came out. My hands began to shake, so hard I had to sit on them. My breath went fast and shallow. I laughed once, a weird broken sound. Then the tears came, hot and sudden, and I covered my face.

"I'm sorry," I choked. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying."

A handkerchief appeared in front of me. White, folded, with two small letters stitched in the corner. *D.A.* Damien did not look at me when he gave it. He kept his eyes on the window.

I took it. It smelled like cedar.

"I'm sorry," I said again, pressing it to my eyes. "It's just that, in three years, he never once took my side in front of anyone. Not once. And you did it in one day. You don't even know me."

"I did not do it for you."

I stopped.

"A man who insults my wife insults me," Damien said. "That is all."

"Your wife on paper."

He was quiet. Then: "Yes."

It was only one small word. But it sat in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold, and I did not know why it hurt so much. I had agreed to this. I knew what it was. A contract. He never promised me anything else.

So why did I feel like crying again?

I wiped my face and sat up straight. I would not cry in front of this man again. I had cried enough for one lifetime.

The phone in his pocket buzzed.

He took it out. I saw the name on the screen before he answered. *Celia.* Ryan's mother.

"Yes," Damien said.

I could hear her voice through the phone, high and sharp, like a knife on glass. I could not catch every word, but I caught enough. *Disgrace. Family. Tonight. Bring her.*

"She will come," Damien said. "Eight o'clock."

He ended the call.

My mouth went dry. "Tonight?"

"At the family house. They want to see the woman who married me."

"They'll tear me apart."

"Then do not let them."

He said it like it was easy. Like I was not a girl who spent twenty-five years saying sorry for taking up space.

I looked out the window. The city moved past in gray and gold. Somewhere in that city, Ryan was running to Sabrina, crying about what happened. His mother was already planning how to ruin me. My own mother had left me forty-seven messages. And in a few hours, I would walk into a room full of people who hated me, and I would do it holding the arm of a man who did not love me.

I needed to know what I had signed.

"Where's the folder?" I asked.

Damien glanced at Grant, who passed a thin black folder over his shoulder without a word.

"I told you to read it tonight," Damien said.

"It's almost tonight."

For the first time, I saw something move at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Just the shadow of one. "Then read it."

I opened the folder.

It was only a few pages. Long, formal words. *Party A. Party B. Duration. Conduct.* I read quickly, my eyes sliding over the first clauses. Nothing too strange. Nothing too scary. Living arrangements. Public behavior. Privacy. I started to relax.

Then I reached the ninth clause.

I stopped.

I read it once. My hand went cold.

I read it again, slowly, word by word, like a child learning to read. It was only a single line. Just one. But it made the whole car feel like it was shrinking around me.

I read it a third time.

Then I raised my eyes and looked at the man sitting beside me. The man who gave me his jacket, and his name, and a ring that cost more than my father's house.

And for the first time since I said yes, I was truly afraid of him.