Page 6 of Be My Wife

I sit in the café across from Make It Marriage and sip a milkshake because I’m stressed. But happy-stressed.

This is good.

This is… good. Right?

I paid the fee.

I filled out the online questionnaire.

Today, I had my first consultation with Venus Miller—a stunning matchmaker with curly, reddish-brown hair and an engagement ring on her finger the size of Texas. She seemed friendly, professional and very capable.

She promised I’d hear from her soon.

Like by tomorrow soon.

This is…

I’m doing things.

Things are happening.

Right?

I take another nervous sip of my milkshake.

Okay, who am I kidding?

This is bad.

This is really bad.

I’m a stinking liar. I’m a freaking hoax.

The truth is, I made all that effort to sign up to a dating agency when I don’t really want to date.

I just want a date.

To my cousin’s wedding.

Cousin Novah.

The one who thinks a woman’s value is in her marital status and little else. A thought that’s, frankly, shared by the entirety of my close-knit Caribbean family.

But nobody rubs my ‘single and thirty’ status in my face quite like Novah. It’s not with the same good-natured teasing as the rest of the family either.

She hates me.

It’s residual resentment for me getting into business school when she didn’t.

Even if I understand where her hate is coming from, it still pisses me off. Under usual circumstances, I’d tell Novah to take that ring finger she’s always going off about and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

But… not this year.

This year, I’m bringing myself a shield.

Hopefully.

If this dating agency thing works out.

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