Chapter 47 The Wedding II
Vivienne's POV
The words came out louder than I intended. Almost like I was trying to convince myself as much as everyone else.
The "I do" echoed in the grand room, bouncing off the high ceilings and ornate walls, making it sound even more final than it already was.
Raphael's whole face changed in an instant. The worry melted away and was replaced with the biggest smile I had ever seen on him. He looked genuinely happy, his eyes lighting up in a way I hadn't witnessed before.
Relief washed over his features like a wave, smoothing out the tension that had been there just moments ago. For a second, I almost forgot this was all an arrangement. Almost.
"Then by the power vested in me," the minister said, clearly pleased with how the ceremony had unfolded, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Kiss? Oh no. I hadn't thought about that part. How could I have been so stupid? Of course there would be a kiss. Every wedding had a kiss. My heart started racing, and I could feel heat creeping up my neck.
Raphael stepped closer to me, closing the small distance between us. He was still smiling, but there was a question in his eyes now.
Like he was asking permission, making sure I was okay with what was about to happen. Even at this moment, he was being considerate.
I gave a tiny nod, barely perceptible, but he saw it.
He leaned in slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away if I wanted to. But I didn't. Something kept me rooted to the spot.
I stayed right where I was, holding my breath.
His lips touched mine softly, gently. It was brief, just a few seconds, but it felt like everything stopped for that moment. The world went quiet.
I forgot about the people watching. I forgot about the contract we'd signed. I forgot about everything except the warmth of his mouth on mine. When he pulled back, he was still smiling, and there was something in his expression I couldn't quite read.
The small group of people around us started clapping enthusiastically. The housekeepers were wiping tears from their eyes, clearly moved by what they believed was a love story. The chef was grinning from ear to ear, his round face beaming with joy.
Even the bodyguards, usually so stoic and professional, looked pleased, with small smiles playing at the corners of their mouths.
It was done. I was married. To Raphael. A man I barely knew, yet had just promised to spend my life with, at least on paper.
Mrs. Vivienne Moreau. But on paper, that sounds really wild. So wild. The name felt foreign in my mind, like trying on clothes that didn't quite fit yet.
It was magical and thrilling at the same time. I don't even know what being a wife is, and now I'm someone else's fake wife, but I guess I'll just live each day as it comes. What else could I do? I'd made my choice. I'd said the words. There was no going back now.
"Hello Mrs. Moreau, let's take a picture," his words came with all smiles. I could see the genuine smiles plastered on his lips, reaching all the way to his eyes. He extended his hand toward me.
To the world it felt real, but to me? This is all fake being transitioned into real. Or maybe it was real being disguised as fake. I couldn't tell anymore. The lines were blurring faster than I'd expected.
"Oh? Yes!" I managed to say, taking his hand.
And so we smiled together for the camera, his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. The photographer moved around us, capturing different angles.
"Beautiful!" she kept saying. "So natural together!" If only she knew.
The sound of the camera shutter woke me up from a deep sleep. Oh! It was yet another dream. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding, my nightgown clinging to my skin.
Dreaming, waking up sweating, it's all I have been doing lately. The same scenes playing over and over in my mind like a movie stuck on repeat. No work to go to anymore, no business to take care of, no children yet to keep me busy. Just endless hours in this massive house, waiting for something to happen.
Oh? I forgot it's a fake wedding. But I'm allowed to spend his money, and maybe that's the sweetest part of the whole plan: gifts, money, vacations, hotel reservations, expensive lifestyle and smiles for the camera.
At least there were perks to this arrangement. I should focus on those instead of the confusing feelings that kept creeping up on me.
"Good morning Mrs. Moreau, there's a gift waiting for you on the dining table," the housekeeper, Marie, smiles when delivering this message. Her eyes sparkle with excitement, as if she's part of some wonderful secret.
And me? I didn't bother asking her who brought it. Who else? If not my darling husband. Since I said "Yes! I do," it's been from one gift to another non-stop. Yesterday it was diamond earrings. The day before, a limited edition handbag. I was starting to lose count.
But today, we're going to do something extra for the CEO. A surprise he never saw coming and it's going to be in his office. I've been planning it for days, and I can barely contain my excitement.
But first we've to look at the part of being a happy wife. I need to get ready, make myself presentable.
Just when I was about to enter the shower, a message popped up on my phone. Raphael's name lit up the screen.
"Wear something you love, maybe a simple white dress. Lucien will come pick you up by 6pm."
My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I typed back quickly.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked immediately, curiosity getting the better of me.
"It's a surprise, don't ruin it," came his response, followed by a winking emoji. He rarely used emojis, so this must be something special.
Midnight on a Thursday. The marina was empty, eerily quiet. Just dark water and boat lights reflecting off the surface like scattered diamonds. The air smelled of salt and seaweed.
Raphael's yacht was at the end of the dock, majestic and imposing. The Marguerite. Named after his grandmother, he'd told me once. A woman who'd raised him when his parents were too busy building their empire.
He was waiting for me at the gangway. Black suit, perfectly tailored to his frame. White shirt, crisp and unbuttoned at the collar. No tie. He looked nervous, which was unusual for him. Raphael was always so composed, so in control.
"You came," he said, his voice softer than usual, almost vulnerable.
"Of course I came," I said, stepping closer, the white dress he'd requested flowing around my legs in the gentle breeze.
"Did you think I wouldn't?"