marriage

I was the quintessential Upper East Side princess, engaged to the reckless heir of the Thornton empire, Julian. I twisted myself into a pretzel to fit into his world. He loved racing? I learned to drive like a demon. He loved to drink, so I learned to blow the bottle.. Julian caused trouble? I cleaned it up. He raged? I soothed with a smile. I became the model fiancée. Everyone thought I was head over heels for him.

Julian thought so too. Until the night of his welcome-home party for his childhood sweetheart. I gently peeled his fingers from my wrist and said, “Let’s end the engagement, Julian.”

That night, they said Julian lost it.

1.

Julian’s birthday present arrived – a men’s watch, hand-delivered by the brand manager herself. The silver-gray face and matching hands echoed the cool tones of his favorite sports car. He'd mentioned the watch offhandedly ages ago, but getting it had cost me considerable time and effort.

The manager caught my gaze lingering on the watch. "Chelsea, you're so wonderful to Julian. You're the most devoted fiancée I've ever seen."

She wasn't wrong. Everyone thought so. No one expected a Thornton daughter to fall for Julian, Manhattan's most notorious bad boy. I traded my cello for a steering wheel and a bottle of whiskey for my usual sparkling water.

It was hard to imagine someone as quiet and composed as me becoming so…obsessed. My devotion to Julian was legendary. Even his posse of entitled friends respectfully called me “Mrs. T-to-be.” The gossip blogs called me the "genuine rose" among a sea of transactional marriages.

"Chelsea," the manager gushed, "it seems the rumors are true. Wedding bells soon?"

I tore my eyes away from the watch and gave a shy smile, just like any girl anticipating her big day. "I hope so."

But turning away, I caught my reflection in the window. I wasn't happy. Not at all.

2.

Julian usually spent the eve of his birthday carousing with his friends. My texts went unanswered, as expected. But then I received a video. It was from Julian’s phone, but clearly not sent by him.

The video showed a noisy club scene. Julian leaned back on a sofa, eyes closed. A girl nestled beside him, lightly kissing his lips – right where a small mole sat on his neck. She not only filmed it, she knew his phone’s password. She sent it to me, a blatant territorial display.

A short voice note accompanied the video. "Julian says he's never kissed you," the girl’s voice chirped. "Is it true? Do you really think he’s ever loved you?"

I believed her. Why wouldn't I?

I knew Julian had a beloved, yet resented, childhood sweetheart named Savannah. She'd lived with the Thorntons for a while, practically family. Everyone treated her like a younger sister. She’d moved abroad a couple of years ago. Now she was back. The video was from her welcome-home party.

Complete with a welcome-home kiss.

The manager watched as the smile drained from my face. She looked anxious. I pressed my lips together, forcing a smile back...