Fake Wedding

Chapter 1: Tiara

My mind is blank. Normally, two or three article ideas are simmering in the back of my mind, and when I sit down to write, all I have to do is pick one. Presto! I sketch out an outline, do some research or an interview, write a few drafts, and send it to proofreading. Done.

But today, none of my ideas seem right for the upcoming wedding issue of A La Mode, where I’m editor-in-chief, and nothing in my idea files is inspiring. And I’ve been scanning web sites all morning with no luck. No inspiration.

I toss my pen on my desk and close my laptop. Bryan. How could he do this to me? I grab the copy of You Heard It Here from a desk drawer. It’s one of those trashy gossip rags that thrives on sensationalism and outright lies, and they often feature “get even” stories based on hearsay or a phone call. 

I was flipping through it at my hairstylist’s salon, and I almost went into shock when a photo of me and Bryan arguing at a local restaurant popped up. Bryan’s face was deadpan. Mine was livid. The headline: “Editor’s Workaholism Destroys Relationship with High Society Bachelor.” Bryan was obviously the informant; there’s no way anyone else could know some of the details.

 The anger flares once again as I glance at the photos and reread a few awful sections I highlighted. I’ve considered a defamation lawsuit, but I’ll never win. He’s too well known and knows too many lawyers. And I’d probably lose my job over it, besides.

Why can’t I just meet someone and live happily ever after? What am I doing wrong?

According to the article, I’m a workaholic. Sure, I’m ambitious and I work long hours. I’m good at what I do, and everyone knows it. But I take time off for fun, friends, laughter, and life—and the man in my life. I learned the hard way early on, just out of college. I practically burnt myself out on my first job, and I wasn’t much better at my second. But I made changes. I couldn’t keep up the pace.

He couldn’t handle being with a successful, influential woman as smart as he is. That was the problem. I throw it in the trash and call an intern to take it out so I’m not temped to look again. I have to start this article.

I go back to browsing for ideas. It has to be something wedding related. Granted, the topic is depressing given my history of failed relationships, but I don’t have a choice. The upcoming issue is all about weddings and marriage, end of story, and I have to make the best of it.

I flip between the search results page and the articles I find. Everyone writes the same old thing about weddings: how to reduce stress, reduce expenses, reduce your guest list, reduce conflict, reduce your weight. Newlywed articles are about the same, but they’re more about resolving rather than reducing: resolve differences, resolve arguments—well, one is about reducing household chores.

I scroll down. Plenty on sex, of course, as well in-laws and kids from prior relationships. And I’m finding a lot of the “deeper stuff” like cheating, when to seek a relationship counselor, and when to end it. But weddings are supposed to be happy, hopeful events. I don’t want to remind anyone of the potential problems—I’ve seen too much of that already.

I want something light yet thoughtful. Theoretical or fact-based but not academic. Probing, provocative, fresh, fun.

I stroll over to the window and stare down at the street. It’s almost noon, and the sidewalks are getting crowded with the usual mix of business people and local residents out for lunch. A popular restaurant’s outdoor seating is nearly full; everyone’s out to enjoy the sunshine and the warm spring weather. 

A young man and a woman holding hands read the daily menu on the A-frame sidewalk sign. They stand close, almost leaning on each other, and they look like a match made in heaven. The same happy smiles, the same worry-free faces, and the same carefree stances—they’re utterly comfortable with one another. They gaze in each other’s eyes and kiss like nothing else matters but that moment before heading, hand in hand, toward a table.

I’m too far away to be sure, but a sparkle on her left hand suggests an engagement ring. Possibly a wedding band, as well. A twinge of jealousy throbs through me, but I watch for a few more minutes.

Is any relationship ever perfect? Of course, there’s nothing that’s ever completely perfect. But there must be some couples who are so well matched they hardly ever have an argument. Or when they do, they know how to work it out and compromise somehow. Maybe tempers flare a little sometimes, but they never let it get out of hand. Instead, they keep each other’s happiness in mind and resolve their differences peacefully.

I roll my eyes and think of Bryan. Right. We couldn’t even talk about differences without him getting pissed off and insulting or giving me the silent treatment. And every other boyfriend I’ve ever had wasn’t much different. They just don’t know how to talk about anything, And something always comes up after a while, either on my side or theirs. They sulk, I try to talk about it, and it’s over.

But what about all those couples who have been happily married for thirty, forty, or fifty years or more? They’ve got to be doing something right.

And suddenly George DeLuca comes to mind. He’s a highly eligible bachelor from one of the wealthiest families in the country. And not only is he highly eligible, he’s touted as the perfect husband for one lucky woman.

I do a quick search for more information. My lunch hour flies by as I read everything about him that I can find. Who will be his perfect wife? I can’t find anything that even hints at it.

Suddenly, I’m excited. This is my article. This is exactly what I’ve been looking for: The Perfect Marriage. All I need to do is get him to agree to an interview.

I pick up my phone.