I often thought I was about to marry a prosperous businessman, until his real wife arrived at the ceremony with three small children.
Youre mad, love! This is an exclusive gown; you cant just have it altered! the designer boomed, flinging his arms theatrically. It would be like asking Leonardo daVinci to give the Mona Lisa a moustache!
Im paying £400 for this dress and I expect it to fit perfectly, Emily said calmly, though a storm roiled inside her. You can see theres excess fabric that needs to be trimmed. Ive lost weight over the past month.
At the last fitting you weighed exactly the same! the designer retorted. Brides might gain or lose a few pounds, but not that quickly. This dress was cut to your exact measurements.
Mr Whitaker, Emily sighed, the wedding is in three days. I have no time for arguments. Please make the alterations Im asking for.
He gave her a displeased glance, then acquiesced. The dress indeed hung a little loosely. Emily had shed five kilos in the month of preparationnot through dieting, but through endless errands and nerves. Invitations, the venue, the photographer, the floristall fell on her shoulders. Oliver was too consumed by his construction firm to involve himself in such minutiae.
All right, Whitaker softened, pricking the fabric with pins. Well make a queen out of you. But dont lose any more weight, or I cant guarantee the result.
Emily nodded and smiled at her reflection. The white dress with its lace bodice and billowing skirt looked like something from a fairytale. She turned sideways, admiring the silhouette, wondering if in three days she would become the wife of Oliver Sampson, owner of a thriving building company and, by all accounts, the most charming man she had ever known.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Oliver: Running late at the meeting. See you tonight. Kiss.
Emily swallowed a sigh. The third time that week. Yet business demanded attention. After the wedding, she told herself, they would finally have more time for each other.
That evening, while waiting for Oliver at home, she sorted photographs for the wedding album. There was their first seaside trip, a ski holiday in the Lake District, and the restaurant where Oliver had proposed. Ten months wasnt a long courtship, but when youre sure someone is the one, why wait?
A knock announced Olivers return. He slipped his jacket onto a chair, smiled tiredly, and pulled Emily into a kiss.
Sorry for the delay. Investors from Birmingham needed my focus.
No problem, Emily replied, Are you hungry? Ill warm something up.
I grabbed a bite at the office, Oliver said, rubbing his eyes. Tell me how the fitting went.
Emily recounted the capricious designer; Oliver nodded distractedly, his gaze flickering to the phone in his hand.
Youre not listening, she chided.
Sorry, urgent call, he typed a quick reply. What were you saying?
Never mind, Emily stood. Im off to the shower. Its been a long day.
The water washed away fatigue, not the lingering unease. Lately Oliver seemed distantperhaps prewedding nerves, perhaps work pressures. She stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and heard a muffled conversation from the bedroom.
Yes, everythings fine. No, dont worry, Ive got it under control Yes, of course Ill
Emily froze in the hallway. Who was he speaking to so tenderly? She slipped toward the door.
Ill be home shortly, Olivers voice drifted from the phone as he hung up.
Home? But he already was. A sudden tightness clenched her chest. She opened the door.
Who were you talking to?
Oliver startled, turned, and blushed.
Victor, my deputy, he stammered. We were discussing tomorrows meeting.
You said youd be home soon.
What? Ah, I meant Id be back at the office soon. Misspoke. Im exhausted, Emily.
She wanted to argue, but he already closed the distance, pulling her into his arms. His cologne mixed faintly with a floral scent she recognized. She dismissed it as perhaps his secretarys perfume lingering from a meeting.
In three days, youll be Emily Sampson, he whispered, Sounds lovely, doesnt it?
She pressed herself against his chest, the doubts of the prewedding jitters momentarily silenced. What could possibly go wrong?
The next morning Emily visited her friend Kate to collect the beaded shoes she had asked Kate to embellish.
You look worried, Kate noted, pouring tea. Prewedding nerves?
I cant shake the feeling somethings off, Emily admitted, swirling her cup. Yesterday Oliver talked on the phone as if hed already been home, even though he was still at the house.
Maybe he just misspoke, Kate shrugged. He runs a company with a hundred staff, half of them women. Not surprising if he smells a bit of perfume.
Emily forced a smile, though anxiety lingered.
Are you both ready for married life? You havent even lived together.
Weve spent weekends together, taken holidays. Thats enough to know a person, Emily replied.
And his parents? Kate asked.
They live up north, elderly, cant travel, but theyll attend the wedding, Emily repeated, echoing Olivers words.
Strange they havent visited in ten months, Kate remarked.
Hes swamped with work. You know, the construction business, the office in the city centre, trips abroad Kate listed, then frowned. Why wont any of his business partners attend the wedding?
Victor will, and a few others, Emily answered.
Just a handful? No friends? Kate pressed.
He doesnt like noisy gatherings, Emily said, recalling his preference.
Kates skeptical glance lingered; she had never trusted Oliver fully. Yet not every man is an open book.
That night Emily decided to confront Oliver. He was scrolling through a tablet in the kitchen while she stirred a sauce.
Oliver, I need to ask are we really ready for marriage? she began, voice trembling.
He looked up, surprised.
What do you mean?
We barely know each others families. Ive never been to his home, Ive barely met his friends.
Emily, weve talked about this a hundred times, Oliver set the tablet aside. Ive spent most of my time at your flat while my own house is being renovated. Youll meet my parents at the wedding. As for friends I dont have many. Im a workaholic, you know that.
She nodded, feeling a pang of uncertainty.
And the wedding rings? Have you collected them from the jeweller?
Oliver paused.
Not yet. Ill pick them up tomorrow.
Maybe Ill go myself. I need them in the same area.
No! Thats my responsibility. Ill handle everything.
That night sleep evaded her. Oliver breathed beside her, but her mind raced. She loved him, trusted him, yet a part of her screamed danger.
The following morning Oliver left early, saying he had to settle some business before the wedding. Emily was alone, and she made a decision. She searched her contacts for Victor, Olivers deputy, and dialed.
Hello? a male voice answered.
Good afternoon, this is Emily, Oliver Sampsons fiancée, she introduced herself. I need some details about tomorrows event.
Excuse me? Victor sounded puzzled. What event?
Our wedding, Emily replied, feeling a cold knot tighten. Youre invited, arent you?
Silence stretched.
I dont know any Oliver Sampson, Victor finally said. Perhaps youve got the wrong number.
But youre his deputy at the construction firm
Im an accountant at a travel agency, never worked in construction, the man corrected.
Emily sank onto a chair, her legs numb. She thanked Victor and hung up, staring at the empty wall. Who was the man she was about to marry?
She opened her laptop, typed the company name Oliver claimed to own, and found several firms with similar titlesnone listed a director named Oliver Sampson. Social media yielded no trace of his projects. She rummaged through a box of his papers; there was a passport, a drivers licence, a business card. The licence looked genuine, but the number on the card led to a dead line.
The front door clicked; Oliver returned.
What are you up to? he asked, planting a kiss on her cheek.
Looking at our photos, Emily replied, forcing a smile. Tomorrows the big day.
Indeed, he grinned. Ive got the rings. Want to see?
He produced a velvet box; two gold bands gleamed.
Beautiful, Emily whispered, a lump forming in her throat.
Try them on? he offered, pulling out the smaller band.
No, she shrank back. Bad omen. Youll wear them tomorrow.
He chuckled.
A superstitious bride, eh? Lets keep it a surprise then.
He smelled of expensive aftershave, faintly laced with something floral. She dismissed it as a lingering hint from a colleague.
Im heading to Kates for the night, Emily announced. Remember the traditiongrooms dont see brides before the ceremony.
Of course, Oliver agreed. Ill stay with a friend. See you tomorrow, love.
He kissed her lingeringly, as if it were their last. A tear slipped down her cheek.
At Kates flat, Emily spilled every detailthe strange call to Victor, the missing company records, the perfume scent.
Im scared youre not who you say you are, Kate said, wiping Emilys tears.
Lets verify his full name.
Oliver Ian Sampson.
Date of birth?
15 May 1979.
Kate typed furiously, brows furrowing.
Nothing. No news articles, no profiles. Usually a man of his stature appears somewhere.
Maybe hes private?
Or a fraud. That fake Victor Emily, youre being duped. Why?
Money? Emily guessed. But I have none. Im just a schoolteacher.
A house? A car?
My parents own a cottage. I have no car.
Could he be a con man, marrying to loot?
That happens, yes.
Ive read about it. They target affluent families, not individuals like you.
Emily spent a sleepless night wrestling with the truth. By dawn, a strange calm settled over her. She would attend the ceremony, face the man who had lied for ten months, and demand answers.
The wedding was arranged at a modest country inn outside London. Emily arrived an hour early to change and ready herself. Guests gatheredher parents, friends, colleagues. No sign of Oliver yet.
In the bridal suite, friends fussed over her dress and hair. The gown fit perfectly, but it felt like a second skin she could not quite inhabit.
Olivers here, a friend announced, peeking in. He looks dashing in his suit!
Emilys heart hammered. Would she finally see the truth?
Fifteen minutes remained before the ceremony. She stood by the window, watching the last cars pull up. A silver minivan halted, and a welldressed woman stepped out, three children in tow. The woman looked anxious, clutching the kids as they shuffled toward the entrance.
A chill ran down Emilys spine; a sixth sense whispered that this was no coincidence. She slipped from the suite and entered the main hall, where guests were beginning to murmur. Oliver stood near the register, back to the doorway. The woman entered, and the room fell silent. Oliver turned slowly, his face paling.
Peter? the woman whispered, voice trembling. Whats happening?
Emily moved closer, still unsure of what she was witnessing.
Alice, Oliverno, Petersaid finally. What are you doing here?
What am I doing? the woman replied, her voice breaking. Your mother called me, said you were about to marry! Peter, we have three children!
The guests gasped. Emily felt the floor give way beneath her, clinging to the nearest chair.
Oliver? she called out, voice shaking. Who is this woman?
There is no Oliver, the woman shouted. Hes Peter Dmitriyevich Kline. Hes my husband, the father of my children. He works in a car dealership.
Emily glanced at the childrentwo boys and a girl, ages about ten, eight, and four. The oldest looked at Peter, bewildered.
Dad? the boy asked, voice small. Why are you in a suit? Is this a wedding?
Quiet, Kirill, Alice hissed, Father will explain later.
Peterno, the manfinally found his voice.
Everyone, step outside. Ill explain.
No, Alice crossed her arms. Im not leaving until I know whats going on.
Emily stepped forward, eyes locked on the man she had loved.
Who are you, really? she asked, barely above a whisper.
He bowed his head.
Peter Kline.
And youre married?
Yes.
These are your children?
Yes.
The revelation cracked something inside Emily; months of affection, future plans, whispered promiseseverything crumbled.
Why? she managed, voice hoarse. Why deceive me?
Peter remained silent. Alice seized his sleeve.
Its been two years, isnt it? Your trips, the delays, the secret calls!
Alice, not now, Peter pleaded.
Now! she shouted. I tolerated your absences, believed every word you said! And you
Emily interjected, Why pretend to be a businessman? Why lie about your work, your parents, the proposal?
The hall was so quiet one could hear a moth flutter. All eyes were fixed on the unfolding drama.
I didnt plan this, Peter began, voice trembling. It just got out of hand.
Out of hand? Emily repeated. Ten months of courting, a proposal, a weddingout of hand?
I met you by chance, Peter continued. You were beautiful, clever. I wanted to impress you, so I said I owned a company. Then I couldnt stop.
Why marry me? Alice asked.
Peter fell silent, eyes lowered.
I thought I could disappear after the wedding, take the gifts, the money, and vanish, Kate, who had stepped forward, said. Is that it, Peter?
No! he protested. I could never do that to Emily.
But you have deceived her. And your wife. Kate added, shaking her head. How long have you juggled two families?
Peter said nothing; his silence spoke louder than any excuse. Alice turned to Emily.
Did you know he was married? she asked.
No, Emily shook her head. I only learned yesterday that hes lying.
Disgusting? Horrifying? Alice prompted. Exactly.
She faced her children.
Lets go home. We have no business here.
The children obeyed, trailing after their mother. Alice lingered a moment, then said,
Ill take the kids and stay with my mother. You can go, Peter, but dont come back.
She left, head held high.
Peter stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by judging stares. Emily looked at him, barely recognizing the man she had loved.
You should leave, she said softly.
Emily, please, I can explain
Theres nothing to explain, she replied, shaking her head. Just go.
He lingered a heartbeat, then turned and walked out, unnoticed.
Emily remained in the white dress, amid the hushed crowd. A strange mix of emptiness and relief washed over her. Kate moved close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Shall we leave? Kate asked. The banquets already paid for, the guests are here. Lets just enjoy whats left.
What are we celebrating? Emily asked, a faint smile forming. She raised her glass, toasted to newfound strength, and danced alone beneath the glittering chandeliers, feeling the promise of future horizons spark within her heart.
