Replacing my entire Target-Gap-J. Crew-style wardrobe with designer pieces.
Convincing me to swap out my perfectly good Honda Accord for a BMW 3-series, which he was more than happy to pay for.
The man upgraded more things than I can begin to remember. Little things, like the kind of watches I wore to the brand of moisturizers I used.
I can’t remember the last time I vacationed in Myrtle Beach with my friends—any time I had vacation days to burn, he hijacked my plans and whisked me off to exotic and exclusive locations I’d have never been able to afford on my dental hygienist salary.
At the time, I thought I was living in a fairy tale. Only I wasn’t the princess who needed saving. I was Jane-nobody and he was this charming and dapper gentleman who wooed me with his dimpled smile, stimulating conversation, and the promise of showing me the world.
It was exciting. And fresh. And an escape from my Groundhog Day existence at the time.
I got swept up.
I fell in love.
And then I said yes when he asked me to marry him.
All that time, he wanted me.
But he wanted his version of me.
I’m not sure how I didn’t realize it until now—at zero hour.
“Oh my God,” I say. “I can’t marry him.”
“Then don’t.”
“But I have to.”
He looks around. “I don’t see anyone holding a gun to your head, do you?”
“You don’t understand. Our engagement announcement was in the New York Times. We’ve been interviewed by Hamptons magazine. Us Weekly would have a field day with this. Six months ago they deemed me the American Meghan Markle, and the rest of the tabloids followed suit and now all these people who’d never heard of me in their life are hungry for the littlest bit of gossip they can use to tear me apart on their blogs and newsfeeds and … don’t even get me started on my family. My honest, hard-working family who saved every penny and used their precious vacation time so they could drive eight hours, stay in some overpriced hotel, and watch me get married. I couldn’t do that to them.”
“All right. Then marry him.” Gabriel takes a drink before digging into his wallet and retrieving a small pewter case filled with ivory business cards. He slides one to me.
Gabriel Alexander, Esq.
Family Law
42 Clairmont Street
Bedford, New York
(914) 555-9927
“You’re a divorce lawyer,” I say.
“Amongst other things.”
“You think I’m making a mistake.”
He shrugs. “I think the fact that you’re sitting in a bar the night before your wedding, drinking alone and seriously questioning whether or not you should do this, is indicative of more than a case of cold feet.”
“Yeah.” I rest my elbows against the bar, sighing. Can’t argue with that.
“Make a list,” he says, “of all the things you love about him.”
Standing, he reaches over the bar and grabs a stack of napkins and a ball point pen, handing them over.
“It’s a technique that counselors do when people are having marital problems. They make them focus on what they like about each other rather than what they don’t like. Shifts your mind a bit, forces you to focus on the positives.”
I click the pen and press it against the white napkin. Drawing a number one, I write the first thing: he’s thoughtful. And then another: he’s family-oriented. And another: he’s intelligent. And then: he makes me laugh. I jot down three more reasons before my mind whirs to a stop and I get stuck.
Sliding the napkin toward him, I ask, “Is this enough to sustain a marriage?”
He reads over my list. “Are you describing your fiancé or a Golden Retriever? Playful? Funny? Intelligent?”
Again, the man has a point.
My phone buzzes in my pocket before I have a chance to respond, and I slide it out, only to find that my fiancé is requesting to FaceTime with me.
I accept the call.
“Hey,” I say.
“Where are you?” he asks, squinting like he’s trying to see past me. “I went to your room to tell you goodnight and you didn’t answer. Got worried for a second.”
He laughs, dimples flashing.
I bite my lip. “I needed a drink.”
“You needed a drink? Babe, are you okay?” he asks. “You know if there’s anything you want to talk about, any doubts or fears, you can tell me. Tomorrow’s going to be one of the biggest days of our lives.”
One of the …
That’s the other thing—Dorian wants children. Five of them. And he wants them yesterday.
Me on the other hand? I’d be fine with one … ten years from now.
We compromised on two, maybe three and waiting five years.
“Talk to me,” he says, his ocean gaze sympathetic. It’s moments like these I’m reminded of how amazing he is. Despite growing up accustomed to the finer things and having access to everything this world has to offer, he’s a kind, compassionate soul who always puts others before himself.