The Marriage Contract (7 page)

              I glared. “Stop swaying the topic! Tell me what’s going on!”

              He shuffled his feet against the black, tiled floor, before taking out a piece of scrap from his pocket. Unfolding the piece of paper, he looked over the contents, staring blankly at it, before rolling it up and throwing it at me.

              The paper ball landed on my lap, and without question, I unwrapped it over my knees. My eyes widened as I read the contents, tracing my eyes over the words I did not want to believe
.

              Rosefield Shelter for the Needy.

              Stationed to close next month.

              Sign the petition to stop the closing!

              Log on to ‘saveRosefieldShelter.com’             

              Support our cause, and come by next week

           For a “Save Rosefield’ rally! We have sandwiches!

         Fight for the homeless! Fight for justice!

         For more information,

        Please contact Carla Sinclair: 212-541-5512

              The paper dropped to the ground, as I stared at James, my eyes beginning to water. It felt as though a boulder was pressed against my chest, as the words from the poster flashed through my mind like a slide show.

              I stood, my hands shivering beside my thighs- suddenly feeling cold. Rubbing my arm, I tapped my foot against the ground, feeling terribly fidgety. The contents of the poster repeated in my mind, making me feel helpless.

              Then, I realized something.

              Glancing up at James, I tilted my head to the side, my eyes widening.

              “You’ve been following me,” I stated quietly. “Or else…or else how would you know I volunteer at that specific shelter? You’re…you’re a stalker.”

              I took a step back, gaping at him.

              He yawned, shrugging his shoulders as though what I had said made no difference to him.

              “Relax, Princess,” he said. “You’re not exactly my type, so stalking is far what I was doing—“

              “Then what is it?” I demanded, my voice quivering.

              He placed a hand against the top of the wooden bench, his long thin fingers, tapping lightly over the brown material.

              “I had an expert do some research on you,” he said. “Now, wait, don’t cut me off. You want to know what all this is about right? Then let me talk. You have plenty of time to shout and scream and throw a big, fit. For now, let me explain—”

              I scoffed. “Go on. Talk.”

              His brows raised- a light smile played by his lips, and I so wished I could wipe it off with a smack to his cheek.

              He cleared his throat. “Right. Where was I? Oh, yes. I had some investigation done on you. Nothing intense. I just found out what you do, where you go, who your friends are, and what’s most important to you. After all, I should know some things about my bride to be. Bride to be…I like the sound of that, don’t you, Dorothy? See, my investigator gathered some rather unfortunate information about that shelter. It’s broke. The city won’t pay for it anymore, and no matter how many petitions you get people to sign, the sad thing is…no one cares. No one cares enough to save that place you love so much. So, I used this superior brain of mine, to come up with an idea, and what a brilliant idea it is, if I do say so myself. I’m sure you remember how I told you to give me an answer yesterday regarding this…engagement. But then, just this morning, I realized that I didn’t need your permission. I just needed your cooperation, because honestly sweetheart, you need me. You need me just as much as I need you, so let’s help each other. I called Richard in the morning, and asked him to repay that favor I’d been saving for a very long time, but let’s not dwell on that. Let me cut to the chase, here, little Dorothy…Your beloved shelter needs two million bucks to get back on track, and guess what…I have more than enough to spare. I’d love to give all that money away to a poor, adorable Princess such as yourself, but you see, I’m not really into giving without getting. So, in return…I think asking for your hand in marriage isn’t too much of a task. It’ll last a year, one full year, and not a second more. I’ll have what I want and you’ll have what you want, and it’ll be so easy…so, so easy. I want to laugh at how easy this all this. I just need your cooperation. Do you understand?”

              Everything inside me felt numb, as though my body were being held within a block of ice- trapped.

              James sat on the arm of the bench, staring casually around the room, as if he hadn’t just given me a life changing proposition.

              I thought about his words, as memories of Rosefield shelter passed through my mind like a movie reel.

              I saw my twenty year old self getting kicked out of my first apartment from inability to pay the rent, and being dragged into a bar by a drunk man, who promised to give me a good night.

              I was from a small town, and New York City was a cave of nightmares at the time.

              If Carla hadn’t stepped in that night, outside a strange bar in the city, who knows what would have happened to me. She had honest, maternal eyes, and with a fierce strength, had pushed that guy off of me. She was a middle aged woman, whose skin resembled caramel, and hair was as dark as the night sky. She was in charge of the shelter and had let me stay there, watching over me, and helping me get a job at Bellevue hotel as well. It was not only her I’d grown attached too, but everyone one at the shelter had become a bit of a family I never had. After I met April, and moved into our current Apartment, I promised to volunteer at Rosefield every Saturday, and I had kept that promise for two years and counting. But now, after the closing notice, everything would change. Where would Carla go, and what would happen to everyone at the shelter? Would they have a meal to eat? Would they have a bed to sleep in?

              My heart clenched just thinking about them having nowhere else to go.

              “I’ll marry you.” The words came out my mouth like a quiet push, as I raised my eyes to meet his.

              Though my legs were weak, I forced myself to stand before him. My hands shook by my sides, as I clenched them against the soft fabric of the dress, not knowing what I was getting myself into.

              He laughed a quiet laugh- the highs and lows of his voice bouncing like a melody. I watched as he walked down the aisle, standing at the front of the cathedral, clapping his hands twice.

              I observed warily, as a door at the back of the room opened, and out came a short, stout, priest, walking towards James and standing before him. The priest held a stern gaze, as though annoyed to be here, his eyes pinned on James. A book rested in the priest’s hands, as he opened it, his hands flipping through the pages.

              My pulse quickened as I realized that the young priest was holding a—

              “Will the bride come down the aisle?” the priest asked, snapping me out of my trance.

              James turned his head in my direction, and for a moment, I thought he was going to walk towards me. But instead, he strode towards the window against the wall, opening it. Sunlight streamed through the floor, creating a glow over his long physique. The warm light fell over his cheeks, as he tilted his head, sending me a small smile.

              “Come on, Dorothy,” said James. “I’m ready when you are.”

              A small voice within my mind, roared, warning me that I was about to make a grave mistake. The voice told me that James was a liar, and a user. He would deceive me, my mind said.              

              As I walked down the aisle, I ignored the group of photographers that had swarmed the window, snapping pictures. A bell rang within my head, and all was quiet, for at end of the aisle, I imagined Rosefield Shelter, instead of James. I imagined Carla smiling at me, standing beside the priest- giving me a cheerful thumbs up. I did not see James, for I saw only the hope for those at the shelter- those that called Rosefield, their home.

              “Beautiful!” the paparazzi’s shouted. “This is going to be front page! Man, this is like a TV soap opera. James, my man, look at the camera! Tell us who the lucky bride is!”

              When I was a little girl, I had imagined that my father would walk me down the aisle, his earnest arm linked in mine. His shining eyes would hold my gaze for a moment too long, before giving me away to a man I’d call my forever.

              But as I grew older, life had taught me that some things just don’t work out the way we wanted them too.

              As I stood before James- my mind still screaming at me that this was a bad idea, I decided to do the only thing that would make all the noise stop. That would make the paparazzi’s stop shouting through the window, and the priest announcing vows I couldn’t promise.

              I closed my eyes.

              “You may kiss the bride.”

              Kiss?

              My eyes snapped open, as the flash of cameras shook my senses. James’s gaze dropped to my mouth, and before I could stop what he was planning to do, his lips crashed onto mine.

              You fool, my mind shouted. You just lost your first kiss…to
him
.             

Chapter Six

              His lips were hot against my ear, as his arm wrapped over my back- pressing me so tight against his chest- I could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.

              “Don’t over react,” he whispered, staring intently at me. “Just smile. The paparazzi are under the fallacy that we’ve eloped, so we’ve got to keep up our act, sweetheart. Understand? So smile a pretty smile, because for the next twelve months, you’re Mrs. Bellevue.”

              My arms lay limp at my sides, as a cold chill swept down my neck, causing me to shiver. James’s honey brown eyes sparkled against the ceiling light, as he lifted his brows, waiting for my next move. A bitter taste lingered in my tongue, like that of old prunes, as I swallowed a breath, flashing him a stiff smile.

              We broke apart, as he took a step back, turning his head towards the crowd of paparazzi that were snapping pictures from the open square window.

              “Hey James, look this way!” a dark skinned man shouted, shoving a photographer to the side. “Does your father know about this marriage?”

              “Yeah, tell us!” yelled another paparazzi, whose double chin shook as he spoke. “Why her?”

              I shielded a hand over my brows, for the flash of light from their cameras stung my eyes. James gave the paparazzi another winning smile, walking towards me, and placing his hand in mind.

              “Because she cares about me,” he told them. “Not my money. A girl like that is hard to find these days. And besides, I need someone who can put up with me.”             

              The paparazzi laughed like a chorus of clowns, continuing to flash their cameras at us as though we were movie stars.

              But as James walked us to a nearby table, towards our marriage certificate, I felt more like a prostitute than a star. Though I was only marrying him to save the shelter, I couldn’t help but feel that I was selling myself away.

              I glanced to the side, searching for the Priest, because I needed someone, anyone, to talk to. To tell me that I shouldn’t sign that piece of paper, because it would mean that I was making a joke of my life. But the Priest had disappeared, and an image of Rosefield shelter being bulldozed to the ground flashed over my mind, reminding me why I was marrying him.

              “Don’t over think,” James whispered- his face an inch away from mine. “Just sign it.”

              I leaned an arm over the wooden table, my palms beginning to burn from how tightly I was clenching the wood, as I stared at the marriage certificate.

              Picking up the pen beside the white paper, I tried to still my hand from quivering, as I signed my name at the bottom of the sheet.

              “Perfect,” said James. “See how easy that was?”

              I didn’t reply, but as his hand reached towards mine to take out the pen that I was clutching in my palm, I could feel his body stiffen.

              A tear drop had fallen from my cheek, to his fore hand, soaking like a puddle against his porcelain skin. The clock on the wall must have stopped turning, for time felt immobile, as his warm palm squeezed over mine. In that moment, we turned our head, staring at each other, as though giving a kind of silent comfort. The shouts of the paparazzi had become a light buzzing noise, and the only sound that resonated between us, was the rush of light wind passing through.