It was late Wednesday morning, I was already sat in my favorite coffee shop as usual, working on the project I was assigned to at work. The waitress who brought my coffee only just turned and left when I felt my phone vibrate against my thigh in my pants pocket.
"Mi cariño..." my mother's voice dragged out the moment my finger hit 'accept call'. I knew that voice, that's how she delivered news that she thought were good but then they always end up not to be.
That's what I thought but it was way worse this time around.
Two hours later, I was sitting in my lawyer's office, more like my mom's lawyer. "It's already been arranged, per the clause in your late grandfather's will. The marriage must take place before the end of this month." The lawyer, suited up in a clean navy suit confirmed.
I asked, just for double clarity. "And the lucky victim is...?"
He cleared his throat. "Your... close acquaintance, Miss Kimorah Reese."
My best friend.
"You've got to be kidding me." I muttered, staring at the lawyer that just confirmed my mother's words.
That's how it was, my mother always called the shots not minding if it harmed me or not.
The next week, the papers were signed. My mother got the right to my inheritance and I got forced into this marriage. With her.
I still couldn't bring myself to look Kimorah in the eye. She'd known about this whole thing all along. So did her parents, my now in-laws.
That evening, my mind was still muddled and my emotions were not in check yet. Not wanting to say anything out of anger, I exhaled and excused myself from the dinner table we were all sitting at.
"Marco...?" She called behind me. "Can you at least let me explain?" I stopped and slowly turned to face her. True, I'd been ignoring her since I found out she knew, but she was still my best friend at the end of the day. She couldn't have agreed to hurt me intentionally.
"I'm sorry," she uttered, fiddling with the hem of her shirt—a telltale sign of her genuine guilt.
"I only agreed to the marriage because I thought it would benefit you, I didn't know that...your mom would control your inheritance. I should've told you first but my parents made me keep it a secret," she said in one breath, glancing down at her shoes.
"There's not much left to say now, we're stuck in this together," I sighed and rested my defeated body against the hallway wall.
Kimorah chuckled softly, stepping closer. "Weren't we already stuck together either way?"
I rolled my eyes and looked down at her beside me, "Easy for you to say. You're my wife now, Kim. And I'm your husband. Don't you find that a little...weird?"
"A little," she admitted and playfully nudged me with her shoulder, smirking. "But it might not be that bad"
I know she was trying to lighten the mood but I couldn't tell if her awkwardness was comforting or infuriating.
The first week of 'married life' was... strange. Breakfasts were tense. Conversations often ended mid-sentence. Somehow, we were managing, though neither of us admitted that maybe it wasn't completely unbearable. I couldn't decide if being married to her was punishment or a strange kind of privilege.
Kimorah had always been the reckless, charming and infuriating one while I was the indifferent, sarcastic and blunt one. But after we started cohabiting, a couple things changed about her. She was suddenly more caring and shy around me, qualities I hated but somehow, I still found it cute.
I hated it because she was not usually like that, not with her previous boyfriends. I thought of the possibility of her having feelings for me but something adamant in me just didn't want to believe it nor was I prepared to ask.
A couple weeks passed, my mother called. I didn't plan on answering, considering she forgot about my existence after she got what she wanted. My expression turned sour as I declined the call, not ready to listen to her annoying and manipulative stories.
"You're not gonna pick that up?" Kimorah asked and sat beside me at my work desk, unnecessarily proximal.
"Why should I? She set us up," I scoffed and rolled my eyes back to my laptop.
"I wouldn't say I was set up. I fully agreed to this." She said quietly looking up at me. I could tell that her eyes were trying to say something to me, something I wasn't ready to confront.
"Kimo..." before I could say a sentence, she interrupted.
"Have you wondered the possibility that this might...work out? Marco?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper.
I tilted my head to look at her, "Yeah, because every healthy marriage starts with legal threats and a contract signed with a metaphorical gun to my head," I quipped.
I watched as she laughed awkwardly, her eyes flicking away like she was trying to hide something. The guilt hit me before I could shove it down.
I couldn't deny it anymore—not after the way she'd been looking at me for weeks. Kimorah was in love with me, and she had been for a while now. Her agreement to this marriage wasn't some blind compliance; it was her trying to grab a serendipity.
I thought I'd seen Kimorah at her best before, but watching her walk down the stairs in that red strappy gown unlocked a feeling I didn't know I was capable of—let alone toward her.
The gala was meant to announce our union to family, friends, and my mother's business partners. No surprise there; she'd used the assets in my name to back a project she'd been working on, and tonight was the launch. Of course, the whole thing was disguised as a celebration of our marriage.
And of course, the room was packed with prying eyes, while a swarm of reporters waited outside. Which meant we had to act like a real couple-stolen glances, "accidental" hand brushes... and probably more than I was ready to deal with.
Maybe Kimorah was better at handling stress than me, or just better at hiding it—but she carried the whole escapade with effortless grace. Every time she caught my nerves, she'd give me that steady, reassuring look and squeeze my hand like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Women were always said to have better control over their emotions, but Kimorah... she made it look natural. Too natural. Part of me wondered if she'd use tonight as an excuse to spark something between us—and part of me wanted her to. Wanted to see what would happen if she did.
Maybe I'm not entirely not into her.
Admiring Kimorah in peace was apparently too much to ask-my mother spotted us and started over, flanked by a few business associates.
"You two look so in love," one of the women said, catching us mid-scene as Kimorah fixed the brooch in my lapel, her hair still caught on it from earlier. Apparently, the staged closeness was convincing.
"Not even a wedding," another added with a warm, knowing smile. "Young people really know how to keep things under wraps."
"I hope both of you wouldn't mind giving us a little spectacle," the first woman said, clearly hinting at a kiss. "It's the least you could do since we didn't get a wedding."
My smile tightened. My hand slid more firmly around Kim's waist as a fresh wave of nerves hit. My mother's eyes narrowed just enough to say 'don't ruin this for me.'
Old women and their antics.
I exhaled, turned to Kim, and my gaze dropped to her lips. She leaned in at the same time—her aim for my cheek meeting mine for her mouth. Heat rushed to my face, but she only smiled before it happened.
The moment our lips touched, the noise of the gala faded to a hum. It wasn't deep, just a brush, but it left the ground feeling less steady. I'd kissed plenty before, but never with the unsettling sense that I was discovering something I shouldn't. Her perfume and the faint taste of champagne lingered, and for a moment, I forgot the crowd, my mother, and the deal that trapped us. I was just...thinking about her. And it didn't feel wrong.
She pulled back first, smiling like she'd gotten away with something. "Guess that'll keep them happy," she murmured, but her eyes lingered on mine a moment too long.
I looked away timidly, but that didn't keep my arm off her waist. I suddenly felt like it needed to be there.
Weeks passed, the gala was already a memory, and we were...fine. Better than fine, we were closer. The kiss got filed away in the back of my mind–at least, that's what I told myself. But at least married life had stopped feeling like a sentence and started feeling more like a weird inside joke only we were both in on.
One night, we were sprawled on the couch, she was leaning on my chest and I was playing with strands of her hair, half-watching some trashy reality show when she said, without looking away from the screen,
"Still thinking about the gala?"
I pouted, not wanting to remember the awkwardness and the beautiful feeling that came with it. "Not really."
She glanced at me with that knowing little smile. "Right..."
"So you're not thinking about the kiss?" she asked and my ears felt warm
Her grin deepened as she watched me slowly losing my composure. She didn't have to.
"I'm...not," I pretended to focus on the show.
"But you didn't exactly pull back," she teased.
"I didn't?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
She sat up and leaned closer, "I could remind you," she offered and without waiting for permission or missing a beat she leaned in and kissed me.
It was slower and better than the night at the gala, like she was taking her time just to prove a point. But somewhere between the warmth of her lips and the way her hand lingered at my jaw, the teasing stopped feeling like a game. I didn't want it to end, and when she finally pulled back, it felt like the room had lost some of its heat.
You could see my ears burn under the TV lights after she proved her point, "Do you feel reminded now?" She smirked.
I'd always thought of Kimorah as the kind of girl who could charm her way out of a parking ticket. But with her lips on mine, I realized she might've been charming her way into my chest long before I noticed.
And in that subtle moment, I realized I wasn't fighting the idea anymore. We were married. And, to my own surprise, I didn't hate it. Not that I'd ever tell that to her