The dot.com priest married us in the wine cellar at 8:17AM…two hours before I was supposed to walk down the aisle to Preston Astor in front of five international cameras, a Pope and twenty three local news stations.
His name was Rico. He was a small man with a mustache and a passion for chugging wine for breakfast. His breath stunk like something really bad, possibly a fish or a raccoon died in his stomach.
He stood on top of a crate of my father's '82 Bordeaux and talked for a few minutes about how much he loved wine and every five seconds, he likened it to Carson's and I nonexistent love story.
Maybe trusting our dishwasher's drunk cousin to officiate the wedding wasn't really a good call but so is hiring a stranger to be my husband...so, here we go.
"Love, ah… love is like a fine Cabernet!" he declares, sweat running down his brow. "Bold! Complex! Occasionally giving you heartburn!" He belched.
It was just easier to tuned him out. He wasn't making much sense anyway.
My hand trembled in Carson's hand. He sensed it because he squeezed it reassuringly, his palm rough against my manicured skin. I've changed into a server's black button-down shirt, the fabric scratching my thighs but it was better than the bottoms and wet baggy T-shirt that reeked of Preston's aftershave.
This isn't happening. This is a plot twist from one of my novels. Wake up. Wake up!
"You know, it's not too late to change your mind," Carson's voice jolted me out of my head. "If we give Rico here enough wine, he will wake up tomorrow morning and think this is just a bad dream"
His thumb brushed my knuckles and the world snapped back into focus.
"I am not a mannequin, you know" I told him.
"I know, you are not" He nodded.
"And I am quite capable of moaning, Carson Gibbs, I'm good at it. I perfected the craft but there's so much fake moaning a woman can give before it becomes tedious…work" My face twisted in anger as I tried to explain myself to my soon to be husband.
"You don't have to explain yourself to—"
"You have no idea how much work it really takes. I have to constantly remind myself to pretend to like it. To say things like 'give it to me baby' or 'go deeper'" I grabbed Carson's hand and pulled him closer to me, my irritation increasing ten fold. "Deeper doesn't mean Faster, Preston! Faster just annoys me because now, not only did I not orgasm, I have to listen to your laborious breathing in my ear for two minutes it usually takes you to finish!"
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves and get myself to calm down.
"Are you alright?" Carson asked when I became too quiet for too long.
"I'm just saying, I can moan. I just stopped. It became too much work but it didn't mean he had to fuck his cousin, right? This is not my fault, right? Sure I'm bad at sex but come on! She was his cousin!"
I looked to Carson Gibbs to say something. He didn't at first. He didn't make a move to take off his face mask either. And I didn't urge him to. Maybe I needed him to remain faceless…it made everything easier.
He made me face him and he rubbed my shoulder briefly.
"Take a deep breath, Ms. Emilia. All these stress can't be good for you"
"I will pay you 100 bucks to tell me that Preston Astor is wrong! And a 100 more every time you take my side, Carson Gibbs!"
"I am on your side, Ms. Emilia"
My eyes glittered with pain and unshed tears. Carson looking at me like I was something he needed to hug wasn't helping matter. I hated being pitied.
"I just caught my future husband fucking his cousin in the bathroom near the reception. And when I told my grandmother, she said suck it up because the pope and the media can't wait for a Vanderbilt to marry an Astor…he was fucking his Cousin, Carson Gibbs. Can we both agree that this is not the Spartacus movie and it's…weird. Right?"
"Yes. It is"
"Thank you!" I screamed startling Rico "Sorry" I murmured to Rico, so he could continue his rant and I could go back to talking about how weird it was that I caught Preston and Clara together with my future husband whom I just met twenty minutes ago.
Rico clears his throat. "Vows?"
Carson looks at me. "Last warning, Ms Emilia?" He told me.
"I can't marry Preston Astor." I lean in to whisper
"Who wants to go first?" Rico asked.
"Vows anybody. I am getting hungry"
"Give us a minute, Rico. Here, drink more wine" Carson, pressed a bottle of my father's Campari into his hand before turning his attention to me.
"Ms. Emilia…"
"She's going to make me marry him, I know it" I told him. "She's going to make me wear that ridiculously tight wedding dress and stand at that altar, and pledge my life to a man who…" I couldn't find the words.
"...who fucked his cousin?" Carson Gibbs volunteered.
"Yes. That!" I said and almost poked his chest in relief at having found the words. "The only justification she would have is that I am a Vanderbilt and I can't have…" I couldn't bring myself to talk about my baby. "Grandmother insists on a wedding today. Well, I am giving her one. So, man up, Carson Gibbs, and say your fucking vows to drunk Rico, here"
We turned to look at Rico who was almost halfway through the bottle of wine.
"I'm not sure what to promise you, Ms Emilia. What vows do I make?"
I exhaled, my mind traveling back to the nineteen year old who fell in love for the very first time. To the romance novelist who spent most of her time creating happily ever after she knows she can never have for fictional characters. To the girl who liked roses and surprises and romantic gestures…that girl wanted to ask for the moon and back but practical, pregnant out of wedlock Emilia Vanderbilt needed to be sensible.
"Promise to never ever comment on my weight. You won't criticize my food and most importantly, you will never ever shame me for my inability to enjoy sex. And you will leave when I tell you to, Carson Gibbs. Can you promise me that?"
"Yes, Ma'am" He nodded.
Carson goes first in front of Rico.
1. "I'll never comment on your weight."
2. "I'll make sure you eat."
3. "I'll leave when you say."
Each vow lands like a stone in still water. No poetry. No lies. Except he completely omitted the most important one. But nevertheless, it was a fake marriage, sex wasn't really on the table.
And then it was my turn. And I was blank.
"You good?" Carson murmured, his voice low enough that only I caught it.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I was suddenly tired.
Good wasn't the word. Numb was closer. Numb, and furious, and so damn tired.
"Ms. Vanderbilt…it's your turn. I'm hungry again" Rico reminded me.
The napkin trembled in my grip as I played with it. "Don't… don't fall in love with me. And don't try to make me fall in love with you. If you do, the deal is off. No car. No money. Nothing"
It was a line from my own novels. The kind my readers swooned over, the brooding hero's warning before he inevitably did fall. But here, in this dark cellar, it sounded like a plea. But this ain't no romance novel, if it was, Carson Gibbs wouldn't have said
"Deal."
The dishwasher and my lawyers, our makeshift witnesses, shifted awkwardly as we said our vows.
We signed the prenup on a barrel still sticky with red wine. My lawyer, Anisa, whom I summoned in bunny slippers, kept side-eyeing Carson.
"You're insane for giving up a tesla" she hissed as Carson scrawled his name on the marriage certificate.
"Nah," Carson said, capping the pen. "Just practical."
**
There was no aisle to walk, no bouquet to toss. Just Carson's old truck idling at the curb as we walked outside together, me clutching the wedding certificate like it was made of gold. Like it was a shield fashioned against grandmothers who could put Nazis to shame and Carson, still with his face covered.
Carson tossed his duffel in the trunk, the contents clanking—wrenches, probably. Or whiskey. Maybe I married a drunk.
"You're shaking," he said, shrugging off his flannel.
"Adrenaline crash." I forced a laugh. "Happens when you marry strangers you met in kitchens. Can we get out of here? I'm not ready to face my family just yet"
He draped the flannel over my shoulders. The fabric was warm, smelled like woodsmoke. "We'll stop every hour. You need to eat."
"I'm fine—"
"Not a request." He opened the passenger door. "You're malnourished. The baby needs protein."
I froze. "How do you know about the baby?"
His gaze dropped to my stomach, then back to my face. "You keep touching it like it's a grenade."
The honesty should've stung. Instead, it felt like stepping into sunlight after years of shadows.
Carson drove in silence and I leaned my head on the car window, trying to rest.
"Aren't you going to take off your face mask?" I asked him. "What are you hiding? A scar. It doesn't really matter to me if you are hideous. Many consider me fat. Fat and hideous will make a good match, don't you think?"
I looked at me, his eyes glancing over me like he was checking out facts.
"Then many need prescription glasses, Ms. Emilia. Because my wife is not fat. She's beautiful. And my mask keeps you safe from the flu I'm fighting off"
I didn't mean to but I smiled. It doesn't matter anyway. The mask can stay on.
I dozed off somewhere in Jersey, my head against the window. When I woke, dawn was cracking the sky open, and Carson was humming. Not a pop song. A hymn.
"Shall We Gather at the River."
My mother had sung it to me on those real occasions where we visited my maternal grandparents ranch, her voice trembling over the grass. It brought back memories.
"You're religious?" I asked him
"Was." His grip tightened on the wheel. I didn't fail to notice that. "Wife died. Pastor said it was 'God's plan.' Personally, I didn't care for the plan."
The words hung there. He wasn't looking for pity. He was just stating a fact.
"The money I offered…?" I asked softly.
"Clears her hospital debts." His jaw flexed. "Let's her rest ease" He quickly changed the subject." So, what do you want to do? Drive around some more?"
I took a deep breath. "I guess, I can't run forever. Take me home. Time to face the wrath of the Almighty Marcy Vanderbilt"