Zack takes great offense that I have no interest in meeting this bride until our wedding day. I think the mystery will add to the excitement of the arranged marriage – I certainly find myself needing to manufacture some. He tells me nothing about this woman’s personality, and I don’t even know what she looks like or if I’ll feel any attraction to her. If I can’t bring myself to sleep with her, I can perhaps train her to satisfy my needs with her hands and mouth but…
Can I really spend the rest of my life withoutanygenuine intimacy?
I hope this is a regular case of cold feet cropping up and this woman isn’t utterly insufferable. My parents believe the lie I told them about this woman’s origins – they certainly have no idea that I’ve never met her before and I tasked my brother with inventing a creative lie aboutwhythey haven’t heard about her until now.
The only thing I know about her is that she’s named Cullen Jenkins-Scott and she spent far more money than she shouldhave been able to access on a fancy and entirely useless liberal arts education. The thought of her looks only occurs to me the day I’m supposed to walk down the aisle, and the threat of potentially having an ugly wife looms over me.
Even that, money could surely be used to fix.
Before I walk down the aisle to the small chapel I had erected in the guest house for the sake of this little ceremony, my brother comes to meet me again and worsen my anxieties further than his presence already does. My visible irritation does nothing to deter his presence.
“This is your last chance to come to your senses and marry someone you went to St. Paul’s with.”
“Why would I do something like that? Youdohave a wife for me?”
“Yes. But aren’t you in the least bit concerned about… anything?”
“I trust you entirely, Zack.”
“I’ll wait with you at the altar then.”
“Does she have someone giving her away?”
“I hired a man of an appropriate age to play her father for the time being. She didn’t want any of her family members involved.”
Oddly, that puts me at ease. Maybe we have something in common – nosy family members who get way too involved in our personal lives.
“Great. It’ll look perfect, then.”
“I think you’re going to love being married.”
My brother ushers me out of the room and I stand at what I think must be the altar – I’m not much of a churchgoer – with my brother and the ordained brother in Christ ready to performthe holy ritual of this ancient tradition. I’m sure there have been more arranged marriages like this one throughout history.
And maybe my brother surprised me with a celebrity bride, some desperate woman with a secret gambling problem and an equally powerful addiction to pleasing men. The organ music starts and I hear the familiar music I never thought I would experience at my own wedding. We have a very small crowd of witnesses – my team of assistants of which Zack is the lead, and two of my business associates sit in the audience, most likely because of their own investments in thisdating economy.
I look eagerly towards the other end of the room for my bride. She enters on the arms of a black man, which is certainly a strange choice from Zach. Her wedding gown covers almost every inch of her skin, and there are gloves, so almost everything about her appearance is a total mystery except for her height and shape.
Quickly, I estimate her height as somewhere around five-feet-eight-inches tall. Her figure astounds me even in a dress that covers everything. Nothing could hide a woman with such a full-figure from being seen. With each step, her breasts and buttcheeks, although cinched together tightly by her formal wear, can’t help but jiggle.
I’m already breathless. Zack promised me he wouldn’t get me a surgically altered woman. The deal will be totally compromised if he breaks my one rule for this situation. This woman’s voluptuous body must be entirely natural, a detail that I almost can’t fathom being true. Her breasts are… the biggest I’ve ever seen, frankly. And the dress covers everything.
With a hefty veil over her face, I can’t make out any of her features, even as she stands in front of me. The bride my brother chose for me is a total mystery, except for curves that her dress can’t hide.
I wouldn’t call her fat, but I wouldn’t call her thin either. I glance over at my brother who now features a deep red blush that concerns me. Let’s hope he’s just getting cold feet as much as I am and not some sinister scheme that pushes the boundaries of my tolerance for him.
The music stops and the officiant starts up with all the religious crap they still make you say at weddings. I can’t believe that we’re still holding on to all these little bits and pieces of tradition. I feel far too eager to catch a glimpse of my bride. My brother seems more impatient than I am, which is the only pleasure I get from waiting. He can’t hide his own anxious sighs.
When he gets to the correct part of the verses, the priest directs Cullen Jenkins-Scott father-of-the-bride to lift her veil. My brother gasps prematurely as the black man lifts the thick white fabric away from the woman’s face and like most arranged marriages throughout history, reveals my wife’s face to me in that moment past the point of no return.
Well, not unless you want to make quite a scene and cause an embarrassment.
Not like that would be likely.
That son of a bitch.
I can see why my brother thought he would push my buttons with this choice. Unfortunately, every word out of my mouth when I made my requests for a wife was totally honest. The darkened mahogany skin color of the woman in front of me doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Why should dark skin offend me? Especially not when it’s as clear and blemish free as this woman’s skin.
My breath catches in my throat. My word, she really is attractive. And in a way you wouldn’t expect because she doesn’t look a thing like the average woman who hangs around the circles I run in. Even her hair…