Three Years Wasted, I Married Mr·right Novels & Stories

However, I was no longer the person I was seven years ago. I no longer had to tread carefully around Joseph Larkin and obey his every command without a shred of dignity. I said, "There's no reason for me to lie to you, Joseph. I'm already married to someone else." Joseph cast a sidelong glance at me and said mockingly, "You're still going on about this, Wendy? I'm only here to inform you, not ask for your opinion. I'm marrying Mabel, no matter what you think."

The names on it, George Pearce and Myra Larson, were jarring. George… My hands trembled as I picked up the scattered photos one by one. From childhood to adulthood, from school to workplace, and from youth to maturity… The two of them running hand in hand to school, George taking a big bite out of Myra's ice cream, and the two of them leaning against each other in an amusement park at night, smiling brightly… They… had known each other for a long time… They had been married for five years… In an instant, my three-year marriage turned into a joke.

he said. We walked. The city around us, Christmas Eve doing its particular thing, the specific warmth of a night that understood it was significant. His hand in mine, the interlaced grip, the thing that had started in Eleanor's kitchen and had become so habitual that I didn't register it as a choice anymore — it was simply what happened when we were walking. "Next Christmas," I said. "Married," he said. "Properly. Chosen." "Married properly," I agreed. "With the record correct."

I answered fast and realized it, "No, I said this is about my friend." "Please, Miss. I know you. The answer to your champagne problem and rich people's dilemma is to accept the yacht and fuck him. You said it yourself, you're sexually attracted to him, and he's your husband, it's a fake marriage, but still, and one way or another you two will always fuck." "Harley, your mouth is too much." "Ms, Irina, with all due respect. You look like you're enjoying Dr. Waldorf. I'm sure my choice of scandalous words is nothing compared to the deed that you two had done." My eyes widened.

Disposing of it would only be a waste. When Jessie was done in the kitchen, she found her way to the room. When the wedding is over, she and Mark would be moving to a bigger place where they would raise their kids together. Never in her wildest dream had she ever thought she would be getting the things she had always wanted. A man that loves her and wants to build a family with her. She couldn't stop smiling as she opened her closet.

“It was. Still is.” For a second, neither of us spoke. I tried to make out what was wrong with him, then started forward, so he stopped by the last stair. “The day I signed the papers was when I tagged myself free of any stupid marriage.” His shoulders tensed at the words. “It wasn't stupid. It was —is— real.” “Real?” I huffed. “What the hell will you call those three years if not a waste of time.” He frowned. “You know it wasn't.”

The number hung in the air between us. "The marriage contract is for three years minimum," my father explained. "Play the role of Julian Blackwood's wife, attend the necessary events, maintain appearances. After three years, you can divorce him and walk away with three million dollars. Tax-free. Enough to start whatever life you want, anywhere in the world." I stared at the folder, my mind racing. Three million dollars. That was freedom. Real freedom, not the scraping, desperate kind I had been planning. With that money, I could go to graduate school, start a business, and never depend on anyone again.

So he'd delayed the wedding once, twice, and again, until I was pregnant and there was nowhere left to delay to. Until the noose he'd been weaving for himself strangled what we had. He kept talking, on and on, as if he were trying to vomit every guilt out at once. I watched him, cold and silent. His voice gradually dropped, until there was only the ragged crying left. Finally he looked up at me through wet eyes, his face full of humility and a careful, fragile hope. “Del, when you're discharged, let's get married, okay?” “This time it's real. We'll have a child again. We'll have a happy future.”

He backed my career, respected every choice I made. We traveled, cooked, binged old movies on the couch. That's when I realized—this is what marriage should feel like. One day, while out shopping, we ran into Margot—dressed as a janitor, aged twenty years in the face. Evan gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Let's go," he said quietly. I nodded. Didn't even look her way. Those people, those memories? Already let them go. Their lives had nothing to do with mine now.

"She's nothing! Even if she marries me like she wants to, I don't love her. Be good, Ash. We'll go and take wedding photos tomorrow. In my heart, you're my wife." The onlookers all let out wolf whistles when they heard him and began teasing Ashley and calling her "Mrs. Garner." Seth glanced triumphantly at me, as if he were waiting for my reaction. In the past, he had loved watching me get humiliated. However, I did not react at all. "Marry whoever you want. I don't care." Just as I was about to leave, Ashley blocked my path. "Luna, drop the act. The media released reports this afternoon about the marriage alliance between the Woods and the Garners.