Sean Maurice.
Ivory and Arman's wedding is a week and two days away. Her bridal shower is in three days, and everyone is already here.
Arman's large Arab family, who migrated to the United Kingdom sometime around the World War II, arrived just yesterday. Fatima took it upon herself to introduce me to all her single, also fashionably good-looking bachelor cousins and family friends. I hated it and liked it at the same time; it was nice to speak to most of them. Their accents were swoon-worthy.
Ivory's family has always been here. A typical New York family, who weren't afraid to throw a large Arab wedding where everything is fun and makes absolute sense.
My mother is here too; she arrived late last night and has been clinging to me like the countless golden retrievers owned by Arman's billionaire parents.
I don't hate it very much, but my mother can be a little overwhelming at times.
One might wonder how Arman and Ivory got together. The answer? College. We all met during a fraternity party in our first year. Ivory was a history geek who wouldn't stop ranting about how unfair Americans had been globally over the years, even at a platonically social debauchery where no one simply gave a fuck, and Arman? well, he was a political science major with round glasses, flawless tanned skin, and a good sense of humor— it was an instant electric pull for the two.
Now, for the twist:
We're in the hospital right now because Ivory fainted in the middle of a chess game last night. The doctors say she's pregnant.
Arman's parents are furious. Something about traditions.
My mom is chugging and reveling in every drop of gossip, and she's filling me in on all the obvious points.
"Excuse me," I say, standing up from the mixed group of family members sitting in the VIP waiting room. I don't need a tangible reason to leave; I just need to get out of here. It's suffocating.
My mother runs a comforting hand down my arm, I appreciate that as I walk along the path leading to a turn for a smaller, empty lounge room with a standing fridge... everything I need to keep me sane for the first time since last night.
The doctors say Ivory still needs time to rest. With all the wedding stress, she's been oblivious to the weight she's carrying in her uterus. As a result, her blood level has dropped drastically, and she's lucky she fainted; otherwise it could've resulted in an instant hypovolemic shock.
I feel a wave tide of emotions wash over me as I settle onto one of the sofas with a bottled water in hand, a sad sigh rolling off my lips. I miss her already. Ivory is the best of all bests for me, and I'm not so sure I can survive this long without her endless rants.
I'm only able to settle with both peace and dread for a minute, tops, before another body joins me, disrupting the calm air drifting around the wide space.
"I didn't get your name last time ." I turn back to see who— he's leaning casually against the door. The same deep black curls, grayish-green eyes, and a sharp jawline that I now recall. And oh, that unbelievable height and physique. I recognize him as the last cousin Fatima introduced me to. The one whose smile reached his eyes, and made them sparkle without any need for light.
"Rayan, is it?" I say.
He nods proudly as he walks in, stopping only when he's close to me.
"Do you mind?" He nods, implying on the spot next to me.
"Not at all." I reply. I'm unsure of why he's here. I'm not against it, though;. I'm not even sure what works for me right now.
He sits quietly, unmoving, unbothered. That's something I find really thoughtful rather than uncomfortable. His hands rest on his knees, flexed perfectly to support his height. he's neither smiling nor frowning... just a calm, peaceful look which makes his eyes shine even more. I can't help but notice his full eye brows, they are... almost perfectly arched. The faded scar on the left one is pretty much bad-ass.
He pretends to be unbothered if he knows that I'm staring— maybe a little inappropriately.
"There's water in the fridge if you want some." I say, pointing towards the standing fridge.
"I was hoping you'd tell me your name instead." He replies, looking at me with a neutral expression.
"I thought Fatima already ran that by you?"
"She didn't. Said I'd have to ask you myself."
I nod, that little bitch! My gaze inadvertently falls on his Adam's apple as it bobs pensively. Oops! I swallow hard. I won't deny that he's hot. Can't deny that he's like a distraction walking right for me. But I steady myself, pull my composure lid back on... I'm better than that.
"Sean." I say, practically ready to extend my hand, but I hold myself back. I better stop treating everything like a business contract.
"Lovely to meet you again, Sean."
"You too." I respond. Now he's the one staring into me. dissecting every feature. I can't complain; it's only fair that I let him. Besides, I have nothing to be insecure about. Nothing serious going on here.
"But— aren't you the cousin who's engaged to be married this fall?" I ask.
He chuckles, "Yes, that's me. But it's been called off. Apparently, ex fiancé didn't like that I'm bisexual."
"The misconception, I see,"
He hums in agreement. "It wasn't entirely a big deal to me. It was an arranged marriage anyway; I wasn't exactly in love with her yet."
"Did you think you'd eventually grow to love her?" I push myself into a recline. My neck and back hurt. I haven't had any sleep since last night.
"I'd hoped so. We were like two diverse universes suddenly about to collide; nothing made sense with us. I guess I just wanted to go through with it and see what came afterwards."
"At what risk?"
"What?"
"Every arrangement, official or not, comes with potential risks and benefits. I assume it must have been some sort of mutual business beneficial arrangement, but at what risk were you diving headfirst into something that required both life and soul?"
He pauses, just watching me. This time with a smile.
"We would get a calm, amicable divorce if things didn't work out."
"And what about the kids?"
"We agreed not to have kids. Not until we were sure of what we truly wanted out of the marriage."
It isn't until he asks, "Are you okay?" His brows drawn and his smile fading, that I realize i've suddenly gone down my dark path again.
"Yes," I mutter, rubbing my damp palms against my jeans and slapping on a worn smile.
He's wearing a black shirt that's clinging onto his muscles like it were tailored just for him. I find myself thinking about my hands running down his chest, only stopping at his equally black pants. Maybe I need the distraction, maybe I need to let off some heat, and recuperate myself with myself.
Maybe I should stop thinking about sex with a stranger.
"Good for you," I say, tearing my eyes away from him. Flushed.
He clicks his tongue lightly, "What about you?"
"What about me?" I ask, confused.
"Do you have anyone waiting very patiently to husband you already?"
That's an absurd way to put it, but I think he meant for it, so I chuckle lightly.
"No one that special. I have a very controversial opinion about marriage."
"Care to share?"
"Not really. It's nothing serious. Just some personal experiences that have influenced my thoughts over the years."
He nods understandably, Though I'm not sure how much he truly grasps..
"Hopefully, there's room for change in that."
I curve my lips into a smirk. He's flirting. Of course, he's been flirting all along. I can be such a dimwit about these things..
"We'll see about that. But I must warn you— it's utterly difficult to change my mind. Almost impossible."
"Well then, maybe some of us came prepared."
The buzz is killed when a familiar presence is made, approaching us. It's Jeremiah, looking all... Jeremiah, and nothing too flamboyant.
That makes me smile proudly; I don't know why.
"Hey there," I say, waving him over.
His steps are evenly thrusted, deliberate, as though he's taking his time with each step. "Hey handsome."
I huff playfully. "I guess it's over to that now that we're officially plus-ones."
He reaches us, and does his gentlemanly thing— taking my hand and kissing it. It warms me up, simply warms me up. Nothing special.
"Sorry about Ivory. Took the next train down to New York as soon as I heard." He'd heard from me; we'd been texting since our last date. For some reason, he hadn't mentioned he would be on his way right away.
"Did you see her already?" I ask.
"Not yet. I came straight to you." He nods to the door, where I see Fatima grinning foolishly, "she said you were on emergency break-down."
I dart a look at Fatima, who quickly scurries off like a prey targeted by a predator. That's about to become real if she doesn't back off and quit playing fucking matchmaker.
"I'm fine." I say, rubbing my tired eyes, "I just need to rest."
"I'll drive you back—"
"I'll drive you—"
Jeremiah and Rayan's voice clash. Rayan is up on his feet, towering over me, but not as much on Jeremiah. Jeremiah is also tall, not the kind that makes me feel small, but he's definitely as large as Rayan.
Rayan clears his throat. I'm caught in between them, feeling like a fly about to be crushed by two large palms. I'm not even short, and that's the annoying part.
"Rayan, this is Jeremiah Colchester, my plus-one for the wedding." A proud smirk quickly seizes Jeremiah's features.
"Jeremiah, meet Rayan, Arman's cousin. The nice guy who's been keeping me mostly sane." I watch that smile transform into a frown in a blink. I'm confused. Do they have a history, or is this about something else?
Rayan maintains a steady expression, but tension builds during their handshake.
It lingers.
The glares, the flexing of muscles, everything.
Like some sort of silent duel.
I don't want to be any part of whateverit is, so Fatima drives me back to my hotel after a couple of minutes spent with ivory, who seems to be doing better than I had imagined.
I regret that. Fatima. She made sure I didn't get a single moment of sleep.