"You may now kiss the bride," the priest announced.
Eleanor and Malcolm stood face to face—two unwilling participants in a hall neither wanted to be in, bound by a situation they never asked for.
Eleanor's life flashed before her eyes. Two weeks ago, this was supposed to be Adelaide's problem, not hers. Two weeks ago, she'd sat at the dining table, glaring daggers at the man across from her and thanking every saint in heaven she wasn't the one stuck with him.
Then Adelaide had run away.
The morning of the wedding, her sister had vanished, leaving behind a note that read, I'd rather die than give my freedom away'. Eleanor had been certain their mother would find a clever way to fix things—she always did. Her father was the one to panic and run; as he was doing down in the living room. While Her mother stayed calm and solved problems. Eleanor had admired that about her.
What she didn't expect however, was for her mother to grab the dress and toss it at her. She looked between the dress and her mother, dread prickling her spine, " Mother? What is this?" She asked quietly.
Mrs Paterson gave her a hard look, "Eleanora, our family's reputation is at stake—"
"Mom I can't—"
Her mother grabbed her hands tightly, and Eleanor could feel them trembling. "This is our only option right now, Eleanor," the older woman had said and gave her a silent pleading look—something her mother had never done before.
She had no option.
Now standing at the altar, under the heavy gaze of the guests, Eleanor glanced toward her mother, who sat in the front row with an expression that said, Just do it.
Malcolm's gloved fingers tilted her chin up. He lifted the veil with deliberate slowness, his handsome face unreadable. His sharp grey eyes locked on hers, and she saw something swirl within them.
Leaning in, he murmured, "Bear with me, m'lady," before brushing his lips against hers.
Eleanor should have felt sparks kissing this beautiful man, but all she had was the urge to kick him in the shin, but held back. Pulling back quickly, she was met with a faint, cool smile—not mocking so much as quietly assessing. The crowd below them erupted in cheers and applause.
Malcolm proceeded to wrap an arm around her waist and whispered quietly, "Smile." She wanted to scream bloody murder and push him down the altar stairs, but instead she pulled on her professional smile, facing the crowd of greedy an.
The reception was worse. Less a celebration, more a parade of wealth and calculated alliances. Mr and Mrs Paterson abandoned Eleanor and went around to talk with other people.
Eleanor's feet throbbed in shoes a size too small, the gown digging into her ribs. She wanted nothing more than a quiet corner to rest…or maybe cry.
She really wanted to cry.
Surprisingly, her in-laws were more accepting than she'd expected. They even laughed and traded jokes with her parents during picture time at the church, as if nothing unusual had happened. Mrs. Wright seemed just as excited about their union as she had been for Adelaide—which Eleanor found unsettling.
Mrs. Wright guided her through the reception hall, introducing her to faces Eleanor knew well from galas, charity auctions, and champagne-soaked summer parties. She knew their type—perfect smiles, practiced charm, and eyes that sized you up while pretending not to.
Nothing fazes rich people, Eleanor thought. Or maybe they'd just perfected the art of looking unbothered.
In their world, a scandal wasn't something you hid from—it was something you dressed up and sold. And today's little twist? A last-minute bride swap. The kind of story guests would whisper about for months. The paparazzi were probably already on it.
Malcolm followed a few steps behind, poised and polished. His eyes scanned the room in the same way a predator might watch a herd, calculating. When his gaze finally met hers, it was sharp and cold enough to make her breath hitch. She looked away quickly, furious at herself.
Badum…'Eh? What the hell do you think you're doing?!' Eleanor thought when her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't believe her stupid heart would skip because of this…this asshole!
A gentle hand touched her shoulder, " Eleanor dear, are you alright?" Mrs Wright asked with a worried look on her beautifully ageing face, ' Malcolm's beauty was clearly inherited. "I'm fine," she replied. "Just a bit tired."
"Oh, I didn't realize—I didn't mean to drag you around. I only wanted to show you off."
Eleanor felt a flicker of guilt. Should've kept my mouth shut.
She was about to reassure her when Malcolm's voice slid in, low and even. "Of course she's tired. She was dragged into a marriage that wasn't hers to begin with, and now she's expected to play hostess."
Eleanor's head snapped toward him. Did he just—?
Mrs. Wright scowled. "This rude boy. Instead of running your mouth, take her somewhere to rest."
"Why?" His gaze flicked to Eleanor, cool and unbothered. "She's capable of walking."
"You're leaving your poor wife to limp away in pain? Very gentlemanly," Eleanor shot back even though she didn't want his help.
One corner of his mouth lifted—not warm, but as if he'd just confirmed something about her. "Fine. You won't have to walk."
Before she could respond, he swept her into his arms.
Her hands gripped his shoulders automatically. "What are you doing?!" she hissed, trying to shield her face from curious onlookers.
"I'm solving the problem," he said smoothly, voice devoid of mockery but laced with something worse—amusement at her discomfort.
She kept her head down until they were out of the hall and in his hotel room. He set her on the bed, crouched, and removed her shoes with clinical precision. "Better?"
Her embarrassment flared into anger. "You… you bastard!"
"You asked for help. I gave it," he replied lightly, as if speaking to a stranger. "Ungrateful."
She hurled a pillow at him. "Get out!"
He stepped aside effortlessly, leaving with a quiet smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.
As he returned to the reception, Malcolm thought, 'This might prove entertaining after all.'