Page 4 of Owen

Lincoln folds his arms across his body and stands wide. “I know you said it’s what you wanted, and we support you. We really do, but it all seems so archaic. Who the fuck marries out of convenience these days? It’s barbaric, Owen. They shouldn’t be making you do this.”

And yet, they are.

Usually the one to be told to shut up, today I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know how to respond.

“Well, at least I don’t look like pink blancmange,” I joke, taking the piss out of their equally dreadful outfits, ignoring the fact my blood is rushing through my veins at supersonic speed, making my heart race even faster.

“I’d like to think of us as two oversized pink cotton candies. We look cute,” Lincoln replies sarcastically.

“You look like a pair of dildos,” I mutter, deadpan.

Jacob looks down at his outfit, then Lincoln’s. “We fucking do. But neither of us is getting fucked up the ass. You, on the other hand, are getting fucked up the ass by this farce of a marriage. So, is this it? Live unhappily with the ice queen forever?” The timbre in his voice takes on a serious tone.

On more than several occasions, Jacob and Lincoln have tried to talk me out of marrying Evangeline.

I know they are only trying to protect me because they love me, but they don’t understand the implications if I don’t marry her.

I remember how my stomach turned when my mother made the terms of our marriage more than clear. I’ll lose my inheritance, my home, my car, my job… everything.

As if reading my thoughts, Lincoln says, “It’s all materialistic shit. You know that, right? Cars and houses are replaceable. Love and happiness, no amount of money can buy those. You only get one life and you’re choosing to live yours in a miserable, loveless marriage.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“It’s not too late to pull out of this, Owen.” Lincoln plonks himself down in the wooden chair behind him. “You’re braver than I am. I couldn’t do what you’re doing.”

I don’t feel the least bit brave, Lincoln.

“Do you have savings? Stashed away somewhere your parents can’t find it?” Jacob questions.

I nod my head slowly. I have the trust money I received when I turned twenty-one, so I have millions in savings. I made sure I put that somewhere my mother and father would never find it… in an overseas account.

“So what the fuck are you doing here, then?”

Not wanting to reply, I shake my head.

“Owen?” Jacob pushes me for an answer.

I pace back and forth as my friends finally ask the questions that need to be answered.

“Because I’ve never been good enough,” I blurt out. “In the eyes of my family, I am not worthy of anyone’s time. I’m the fool. The spoiled boy who gets what he wants, regardless.” I poke myself in the chest. “All I ever wanted to do was to make my mother happy. But not even the first-class degree I got, the contracts I win at work, or that I work longer hours than anyone else at my father’s business wins her affection. For once, I thought, just maybe, this”—I point to the door, referencing the wedding ceremony about to take place and the hundreds of guests waiting, all seated in the wooden pews of the giant church—“would make her love me. Do what she asks of me. Help to strengthen the business. Maybe then I’ll be worthy of her love. Just maybe if… if… if I do this… carry on the Brodie empire, do as I’m told…” I pant, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.

My friends look at me like I’ve grown two heads, then Lincoln says, “Owen, believe me when I say this, and I know this from experience. No matter what I did in my past, or do in my future, it will never change the way my mother feels about me. She abandoned me when I was a baby, and there was nothing me or my father could have done to change that. Instead, I learned to accept her decision, knowing her issues are not a reflection of me. I feel so much better for it.” Lincoln pulls himself to his feet and steps in my direction. “You can’t do this just because you think this will make her love you. Her shit is her shit. Let her deal with that.”

Fuck, I might cry, and I never cry.

“Lincoln’s right. Your mother married your father as part of an agreement. You told us they’re miserable together, Owen. Soare your sister and her husband. Is that what you want? To be unhappy, stuck in a loveless marriage?”

As I go to reply, the wooden door flies open, creaking as it does, and a chirpy, smiling wedding organizer informs us it’s time to make our way to the altar.

Ignoring my friends, I storm past them, hoping they get the message to follow.

I can’t face this conversation. It’s too late to walk away now, anyway.

It’s time to seal my future.

Face to face, I stare at my future wife.

Her stern, almost impassive features show no emotion.

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