The Sick Wife, Lost Loretta [top 10 motivational books .TXT] 📗

wedding dresses with a few crystals sprinkled in the bodice. “How about these?” she asks.

“Stunning!” Veronica says.

“Sure, I’ll try them,” I answer.

The wedding will be a simple affair in a local church, with not many people in attendance. Mostly our coworkers who have all been vaccinated. Some of Mike’s family. I’ll only have Veronica. I try on one of the dresses, struggling to get into it before walking out for Ronnie’s approval.

“Oh, Milla,” she says with a happy sigh, her face transforming with awe. She looks like a little girl on Christmas, and I am happy about this ridiculous charade just to experience this moment with her.

“You look like a Disney Princess,” she says.

“Thank you. It’s too bad Sleeping Beauty took back her prince.”

Chapter 24

Have you ever gotten married mostly because you kinda wanted to see if someone else cared enough to stop the wedding? No? Drink.

Ideally, let’s drink something bubbly because I just got married, and I guess we should celebrate. Gabriel doesn’t care. He didn’t call, or text, or send an angry DM like I was hoping. I even sent him an e-vite so he would know the location, and I didn’t realize how much I was praying he would show up and burst through the doors of the church to object in a dramatic fashion, like in the movies.

Stop the wedding! You can’t marry her! I love her! Yes, wouldn’t that be nice. But real life doesn’t work that way. Huge thanks to romantic comedies for ruining my concept of reality, by the way. I thought that marrying Mike would be some kind of catalyst to make Gabriel act. I literally stared at the church entrance the whole time we were repeating our vows. But nothing happened. It’s just over and I’m just married.

Bollocks.

Maybe it’s for the best. Mike and I got gorgeous wedding photos. We look quite good together when we’re not wearing scrubs and covered in blood. This is probably the kind of boring man I’m supposed to marry, instead of chasing after rainbows. Why did I let myself get so attached to a complicated philosophy-professor-writer with a history of being a womanizer, in France, who believes that love is dead? What was I thinking?

Gabe was an unattainable fantasy. Mike has become my reality.

I have to make my peace with that now. I already walked down the aisle.

Everything kind of passes in a blur after that, and I just find myself fighting against small attacks of sadness. I try to put one foot in front of the other and get through this day, and do what I have to do.

It’s my wedding night, and I can’t even force myself to care. Mike is being all gallant and insists on carrying me over the threshold, as we move into his gorgeous mansion. It’s cheesy, but sweet. This is my new home, and my new husband, and I feel so out of place. I feel disconnected from my body, like I left my heart somewhere in France. I let Mike kiss me, and touch me, and do whatever he wants to do. I try my best to respond, and act normal.

I excuse myself to freshen up. I try to go through the motions of getting pretty, at least I can muster enough energy to do the basics. Like… I washed my armpits. I think that’s standard for a honeymoon, right? I put on some nice wedding lingerie Veronica encouraged me to buy, a cute white babydoll. But I feel so strange and uncomfortable.

I think I look good. Maybe. Yvette’s voice enters my head. Your pussy looks disgusting. I flinch at the memory. Well… that event definitely didn’t help my self-confidence. But straight men are usually less picky, if I remember correctly. It’s been so long, I am sure I will screw it up. But I think that having some real sex with a real man, instead of via phone or texting will be healthy for me.

When I exit the bathroom, Mike hands me a glass of red wine. There is candlelight and soft music playing. Of course.

“Mrs. Camilla Masterson. You look so beautiful,” he says, clinking his own glass against mine.

“Thank you,” I say, and we drink. I appreciate that he actually tried to make this romantic. He is very caring and thoughtful. “I’m a bit nervous,” I admit to him.

“Don’t be,” he assures me. “If the first time is awkward, we can always try again and again until we get it right.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” I tell him, taking a large gulp of the wine.

We talk and drink for a bit, sitting by the cozy fireplace in his bedroom. His master suite is stunning, by the way. The bathroom is lovely, and the bedroom is even better. It looks like there are speakers built into the walls, filling the atmosphere with surround sound. It’s definitely an upgrade from my tiny apartment. As far as marriages of convenience go, Mike and his house are very convenient. I just wish I could calm down and enjoy it more, but I’m not in the best state of mind.

I’m gripped by anxiety and nerves and… drowsiness.

I guess many brides don’t sleep before their wedding. I was way too restless. Plus, it was my first night sleeping alone in a little while—Mike decided to do that traditional thing about not seeing each other before the wedding. I know it wouldn’t make the most romantic night if I just fell asleep in the armchair in front of the fireplace, so I try to suppress my yawns.

As soon as I finish my wine, and lower the glass, Mike moves over to me and begins kissing me. He pulls me up out of the chair, and guides me over to the bed.

“You don’t have to worry about anything at all,” he tells me, as he lifts my body onto the mattress. “Just lie back and let me pleasure you.”

That sounds like a great idea, mostly because I’m too exhausted to do