Page 74 of Stolen Vows

I nod in agreement with myself. “Right? I mean, I’m gettingmarriedtoday. That’s a big deal.”

Silence.

I sigh. “You’re supposed to say something reassuring.”

Romeo lets out another slow blink before rolling onto his side, unimpressed with my existential crisis.

“Great. Thanks for that, buddy.” I push off the dresser, rubbing a hand down my face. “We should go over the checklist one more time.”

Romeo stares at me with those soulful cartoon eyes of his, and I take that as an agreement.

I grab my phone from the bed, opening the notes app where I started my last-minute to-do list. My wedding preparation is embarrassingly short compared to what it should be. No seating charts or floral arrangements, no cake tastings or venue walk-throughs.

Just a few simple things.

Dress, check. I found the most perfect dress two months ago at a little boutique a few blocks away. The moment I saw it, I knew it was the one.

Shoes, check. If this was a real wedding, the ceremony would be outside, and I’d go barefoot. So I’m opting for sneakers instead. Beige and white checkered Vans that I’ve had for years.

Rings, check. Graham’s brother has both rings. We went to the jewelry store the week after the agreement and picked out our wedding bands. He chose a dark brushed platinum band, and I picked a double diamond stacking gold band with ten diamonds total.

So I might’ve splurged a little, but my trust is going to unlock in a year, and then I’ll have more money than I know what to do with.

Marriage license, check. Graham is taking care of all the paperwork. Legally.

Do not panic, seriously, don’t panic.

I tap the last item with my thumb. “Well, at least we’re mostly following through on that one.”

Romeo huffs, stretching his legs before flopping back down with a dramatic little groan.

I shake my head, smirking. “I knew you’d get it. That’s why we’re best friends forever.”

As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone buzzes in my hand. The screen lights up with a name that has my stomach dipping. I hesitate before swiping the message open. My phone vibrates again and again as a barrage of texts from my sister fill my screen.

Florence: It’s been almost six months now, Frankie.

Florence: Mom’s getting a little impatient. Gio too. Are you really going to make them take it all away from you?

Florence: I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be better to come home now? You and Gio will get married, and we’ll all be able to forget your little trip to the middle of nowhere.

Florence: We can still laugh it all off, say you’re on a solo backpacking trip in Europe or something. No one will know you’ve been stringing Gio along for a decade.

I exhale slowly, pressing my lips together and willing my heart rate to slow down. My phone vibrates again.

Florence: You could do worse than Gio, Frankie.

My grip tightens on the phone, pulse spiking. She’s not wrong, but she’s not right either.

Because this afternoon, I’m going to do so much better than Gio.

There’s a little part of me that wishes I could see the looks on their faces when they realize I’m no longer beholden to them. That I got married to someone who wasn’t a Baldini.

I inhale deeply and stare at the phone screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I could tell her. I could inform my family that in just a few short hours, I’ll be a married woman. That I’ve found a way to keep Fiction & Folklore, to secure my future on my own terms.

But I don’t. Because as much as part of me craves their shock, their disbelief, a bigger part of me knows it would only make things worse. They wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. To them, marriage is a business deal, a way to consolidate power and wealth.

To them, love and happiness are secondary to status and control. They would never see this marriage to Graham for what it truly is: my choice, my freedom.

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