Wedded

Nathan

I push my wheelchair away from eavesdroppers when my phone rings.

“Brian?”

“Good morning, Sir.”

“Again, cut the Sir. You will slip up,” I say with a hushed voice. “Any idea who did it?”

“Nothing yet, Sir.”

I shake my head. Brian is excellent at everything but so daft with this.

“Sorry, no Sir,” he realizes his mistake. “Whoever tampered with your brakes is a professional. The parking lot and the whole block cameras went off an hour before that.”

“Anything else?”

“UNLFA Co is rising. Everyone is eagerly waiting to meet the CEO.”

“They can wait. Anything else?”

He lets out a sigh.

“Your wedding is in an hour’s time. My contact informs me that your fiancée has backed off.”

I am not surprised by this. I have not seen my so-called fiancée since the day my mansion was repossessed, and my company liquidated. She does not even answer my calls.

“The Browns can’t back off that agreement. They will have to give me half of their company if they do.”

The weird part of all this is they came up with this agreement when they desperately wanted an alliance with me. Part of it was Ella being insecure after I was named as the country’s illegible bachelor by BEAT magazine.

“The agreement does not specify which Brown you will wed, Sss...Sorry, no sir, got it.”

“I see. So, who will be my bride?” I can’t mask my dejected voice. I am irritated with myself for not seeing her true colors earlier. Ella has been living like a spoiled pampered princess her whole life. She found anyone poor unworthy of her time. I must have been blind and a fool to oversee all of that before.

“Miss Amari Brown.”

“The cousin, of course.”

I can’t say that I am surprised that the Ella is using her late uncle’s daughter as her substitute. I am surprised that she agreed to marry the homeless poor cripple I am now known as.

“Any idea why she agreed to marry me?” I ask because I know that girl. She is not the type to jump into something like this. Brian fills me in on everything and I am disgusted by my former business partners.

“I am sorry.”

“Its fine, Brian. At least I know who my friends are now.”

It’s more like I know that I never had friends. They all cut ties with me the day I officially became poor.

“Can I pick you up so you can have a bath before the wedding?”

“No need. I like this homeless look.”

“I will see you at the wedding then.”

“You can’t attend the wedding.”

“Sir?”

“No Sir. This is exactly why you can’t come. You can’t be the UNLFA Co CEO’s PA and be seen with me.” I say firmly because I know how he is. He is too loyal. He gets too emotional about all this despite knowing the truth.

“Okay, but I don’t like this.”

Long, unkempt hair and beard, worn-out jeans, and a dirty faded shirt. Add the plastic bag with my dirty blanket and change of clothes, I rock this homeless look. I am ready to get hitched.

An hour later, I push my squeaking rusted wheelchair into the church and ignore the whispers and cameras flashing my way.

I can’t help noticing that it is only the Browns and the media in attendance. My parties used to be attended by multitudes. I had over twenty close friends who often competed for my attention and vowed their undying loyalty. The businessmen and women all showed up in their numbers. Not even one of them is here today. I don’t even have a best man. Like Ella, I have not seen nor heard from Michael, my best friend since I officially became poor and homeless.

I push my wheelchair forward and stop next to Ella, who makes a face and covers her nose, her way of telling me that I stink.

She gags and hushes me away.

“Please move away from me. Amari is marrying you,” she says with disgust evident in her voice.

“Amari? Babe, we had an agreement,” I remind her acting all hurt. Now looking at her, I am grateful to the bastard who tried to kill me. I would have never gotten to know her true colors and the people around me.

“The agreement was a Brown to wed you, it did not specify which. Amari is a Brown and disgusting like you. You can be a happily disgusting family,” she sneers while her parents avoid making any eye contact with me.

“Babe, we love each other, and I miss you,” I press on and hope the recorder in my pocket is doing a good job because I can bet on my life that the wheels will turn very soon.

“Eew! Have you looked at yourself?” she says loudly for everyone in attendance to hear. What did I ever see in this woman?

“Ella, Babe, please,” I act like the pathetic human she thinks I am and beg while reaching out to touch her.

She literary jumps on her feet and moves away to avoid my hand like I have an infectious illness.

“Ella?”

“Don’t call me. Don’t come near me. You make me sick!”

I let out a sigh and turn to her father.

“Amari will marry you. Our agreement is fulfilled,” he says right when Amari walks in.

Five-five tall, perfectly round face and oval almond eyes. She is exactly how I remember her back at school. Even her modest short-sleeved floral dress that end just below her knees is exactly how she always wore. She never wore reveling outfit that every girl wore at school, but somehow, guys still found her attractive. The irony is that Ella never wanted me close to her, yet she is now her substitute.

I notice the with dark circles around her eyes and my heart breaks for her. Brian informed me about everything she has gone through. I feel accomplice to her suffering because I supported the people who took everything from her.

“Good morning, Mr Lord. I am Amari, your bride,” she greets and speaks with a voice devoid of any emotions.

I nod my head, not knowing how to respond to her. This is not completely my reality, but it is hers.

“The priest is here. Can we get this over with?” Thomas, Ella’s father says. He is so eager to marry off his late brother’s daughter to a worthless man.

“Yes, please. Thirty minutes is what we paid for,” his wife adds with her nose up.

I nod my head and push my wheelchair forward.

The wedding is bland and worse than a funeral. No flowers, no music, or anything resembles a wedding really. Just the priest, us in front of him, the browns on the first aisle and the media.

The vows are quick, and our priest and everyone is soon gone. We are left awkwardly standing at the aisle.

“I guess we go home now,” my wife says with the same emotionless voice she used during our vows.

I flash her a weak smile. “I am afraid I don’t have a home.”

She nods and pushes my wheelchair out.

We are at the door when a stout nurse probably in her late forties run to us. She pants and bends down to breathe.

“Nurse Smith?” Amari asks. The panic in her voice is unmistakable.

“I have trying to call you.”

The nurse’s expression and tone is enough to sink my heart…