Following a horrific betrayal, I took an impulsive choice that astounded me and everyone else. What began as a small-scale act of retaliation evolved into something I never anticipated.
After learning the truth about my fiancé, I did something completely foolish after being the “reasonable” one for 35 years. And to be honest, I have no regrets. Let me take a step back.
I had recently ended the most terrible relationship of my life. After four years of dating, Jonathan and I were engaged for one year. He was the type of man who always had the correct thing to say, even if it wasn’t always true.
I had spent months planning every aspect of our spring wedding, including the cake’s flavor and the old lace on my dress. I then caught him in our bed with my best friend Lisa, two weeks prior to the big day.
Their connection was a complete humiliation, not merely an affair.
I believe the air was drawn out of the room as soon as I opened the bedroom door. Lisa tried to cover herself with my bedsheet after gasping. No one offered an apology, and Jonathan simply appeared irritated.
Naturally, I responded negatively, which resulted in a tumultuous split from the man I had hoped to spend the rest of my life with. I left with just what I could carry, vowed never to be “convenient” for another man again, and turned away without turning around.
Suddenly, I began to worry that I was the woman who everyone was chatting about behind fake grins and cocktails.
I returned to my small flat located on the east side of the city. The heater was moody and the walls were thin, but it was quiet. For the first time since I started dating Jonathan, I ate by myself that evening.
But I simply lacked the strength to make something from scratch, so I decided to eat out.
I called a cab after a depressing meal at a bistro I used to adore. Not even an Uber was involved. I was looking for something impersonal that wouldn’t demand five stars. An older black sedan with a subtle coffee and leather scent was the vehicle that pulled up.
There was a male behind the wheel. I saw that he was tall, with black hair that was ruffled, a sloppy five o’clock shadow that fit him, and warm brown eyes that almost made me forget the catastrophe I had just left behind when he got out to open the door for me.
He smiled lazily and said, “Need a ride or just looking to escape something?”
I laughed. “Bit of both.”
At least his license listed his name as Adam.
At first, the small conversation was effortless. He had a low, smooth voice that sounded like a jazz radio DJ. I don’t know what hit me when he asked what I did for a living. I simply unloaded everything!
Lisa’s deception, Jonathan’s treachery, and the fact that I had a bridal gown hanging in my closet with nowhere to put it.
Adam looked at me in the rearview mirror at a red light. “So what’re you gonna do with the dress?”
I gave a sour laugh. Between the second and third red lights, we were. “Do you know what would irritate him? if I were to marry someone who was totally unexpected tomorrow.”
Half-smiling, he lifted an eyebrow at me in the rearview mirror. “You serious?”
Leaning forward, I looked into the mirror at him. “Why not? What’s preventing me from making a single, crazy choice for myself?
The light changed to green. He drove silently for a few blocks without saying anything at first. Then he parked and turned back to me as we approached my building and street.
I was crazy with want for vengeance at that moment.
“If you’re game,” I replied, “call me in the morning.”
I wrote my number on the back of my restaurant receipt and gave it to him, my pulse pounding from the ridiculousness of it all.
At precisely 8 a.m., he called!
We met outside a notary’s office that afternoon. I had my white dress with me. He arrived wearing a sharp navy suit that would have made him appear on the cover of a magazine. I had insisted that we sign a prenuptial agreement that essentially said that neither of us would touch the other’s assets or money.
Really, it was a joke; I thought he didn’t have any.
Basically, this was a phony marriage, and all I knew about my soon-to-be husband was the name that appeared on my phone when I dialed the cab.
Except for a couple squabbling about parking charges, everything was quiet when we got to city hall. Adam took my hand, gave it a light squeeze, and we exchanged our vows in front of a disinterested clerk who had glasses that kept falling down her nose.
Mia and Clara, two of my best friends, were present as witnesses. At least three times, Clara asked, “Are you sure?” but I continued to smile. Mia continued to take pictures.
Mia took this picture soon after the wedding, and I uploaded it to Instagram without a caption. It was only me and a man no one knew wearing the white dress I had planned to wear to Jonathan’s wedding.
That seemed to be the end of it. A well-lit stunt, a moment of pettiness directed at my ex. I assumed it would fade within a week.
However, I slept with an odd sensation in my chest that was part regret and half excitement.
Someone knocked on my door early the following morning. Adam was standing there with two coffees and a picture when I opened it.
“Morning,” he said. “Thought you should see this.”
He gave the photo to me. It was shiny, obviously antique, and transported on a small island-sized yacht. Adam was standing next to a man I knew right away—one of the wealthiest businesspeople in the nation. Gregory leads a multinational logistics conglomerate as its CEO.
Adam’s hair was longer and he appeared younger, but he was still clearly Adam.
My stomach flipped so violently that I almost dropped the cup, and my mouth went dry. “What does this mean?” With a trembling voice, I demanded.
Calmly he took a sip of his coffee and said, “Can I come in?” He slid inside and gave me an explanation when I nodded.
“That work as a cab driver? It’s how I occasionally escape and maintain relationships with actual people. I am the son of Gregory. Three years ago, once things became… problematic, I left the company. However, I am the heir to his business and never actually left.”
I merely gazed. “So… you’re a billionaire?”
He gave a shrug. “Yes, technically. However, none of that matters to me.”
With the picture still in my hand, I settled onto the armrest of my couch. “Then why marry me?”
Instead of sitting, he stood close to the window and saw the sunlight slinking across the floor.
“I was engaged to someone two years ago,” he stated. When I found out she was cheating, she left me. I also learned that she was more interested in the title than the man. Since then, I’ve been avoiding people. But you—” he looked at me then, really looked—”you recognized me as the person I was behind the wheel. You didn’t care about the status or the money. All you needed was a lift.
“You restored my sense of normalcy. And I believed my money was secure because of that prenuptial agreement. Why not make the leap, then?
I couldn’t contain my laughter. “So what now?”
He smiled. “If you’re game, we’ll step it up now. I’ve thought of something that will truly make your ex go crazy. This weekend, join me on the yacht. We’ll sip champagne and enjoy the sun. You are free to share those pictures.
Without giving it any thought, I nodded. “I’m in!”
The weekend arrived sooner than I had anticipated. Adam insisted that we drive there ourselves even though his yacht was docked two hours to the south. We paused for refreshments at the petrol station and listened to ’90s hit tunes on the radio as if we had been friends for years!
It was a huge yacht! Elegant, yet not gaudy. It was the sort of environment where everything was golden and warm. Clara joined us and snapped pictures of Adam wearing a linen shirt and beach trunks, me wearing huge sunglasses, and us clinking champagne glasses outside.
You know, the pictures where you have a little mischievous smirk and wind in your hair.
I uploaded three pictures without a description.
My phone quickly became overflowing with messages.
Jonathan sent out a barrage of messages.
“Are you serious right now?”
“You think parading around with some guy will make me jealous?”
“Emily, hurry up. Be honest. This is foolish. This is not who you are.
However, I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The pictures were sufficient.
Despite my quiet, Jonathan continued to send me irate, desperate texts, saying that he had expected me to “come crawling back” after “cooling down.” He was obviously going crazy when he saw me happy with someone else.
Which was precisely the purpose, of course.
However, Adam and I continued to come up with reasons to see each other throughout the course of the following several weeks. Lunch became dinner. He ended up staying over after dinner. I found out that he like bad action flicks and grilled cheese sandwiches. He discovered that I detested folding laundry and talked while I slept.
I found out about Adam’s knee scar from a botched soccer match as a kid, and he discovered how I drank my coffee while cooking for me. My wrath toward my ex subsided, but it was replaced by something unexpected.
After two months, I reached for my ring and casually spun it around my finger when I realized I no longer wanted to take it off.
“Do you still think this was just a stunt?” I asked Adam one evening after we had seen a lot of movies.
He gave me a prolonged gaze. “No,” he replied. “I think this might be the realest thing I’ve ever done.”
We ceased discussing dissolving our marriage altogether or implying that it was only temporary.
Two years later, we produce a daughter named Ava, who shares my obstinate chin and his large brown eyes. I’ve stored the dress I nearly burned in a treasure box. And occasionally, we share with others how her parents’ marriage, which transformed everything, was arranged on a dare in the back of a taxi.
Adam whispered, “Reckless decisions aren’t so bad after all,” as we tucked Ava in last night.
I grinned. “Only the ones that end like this.”
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