My mother’s furious voice blasted from the phone.
“I was busy.”
“Busy with what? Busy with that con man?”
“Mom, Leo’s not a con man,” I said, glancing at him. He was perfectly calm. “We’ve known each other for a while. A friend introduced us. We felt it was right, so we got married.”
“A friend? Which friend? Why don’t I know about this? Stop lying to me.”
“It was… it was Maya’s friend,” I improvised, looking at Maya. She immediately caught on.
“Auntie, it was me.”
Maya leaned in close to the phone.
“I introduced them. Leo’s a college classmate of mine. He’s a really great guy. Runs his own company. Has a house, a car. Way better than Alex.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Maya, is that true? You’re not covering for her, are you?”
“Absolutely true. I swear on my life,” Maya said, patting her chest. “Leo’s been crazy about Chloe for ages. The wedding thing yesterday was a spur-of-the-moment decision. They wanted to surprise you.”
“Surprise me? More like give me a heart attack,” my mom grumbled, but her tone was less hostile. “Fine. Put him on. I want to talk to him myself.”
I handed the phone to Leo. He took it, his voice calm and steady.
“Hello, Mrs. Miller. This is Leo.”
“Hello,” my mom said, clearly not expecting him to actually be there. Her bluster faded slightly.
“I apologize, ma’am. We should have discussed this with you before getting the license. I was just in a hurry. I was afraid Chloe would change her mind.”
Leo’s delivery was flawless.
“You’re really not just messing around?”
“Of course not. I’m very serious about Chloe, and I promise to take good care of her.”
My mom then launched into a full-scale interrogation about his family, his business, and his future plans. Leo answered every question smoothly, without being arrogant or defensive. By the end of the call, her tone had softened considerably.
“All right. Since you kids made your decision, I won’t say anymore. We should arrange a time for our families to meet for dinner.”
“Of course, Mrs. Miller. That’s a great idea. I’ll arrange it.”
When he hung up, we all breathed a sigh of relief.
“Nice acting,” Maya said, giving Leo a thumbs-up.
“You too,” Leo replied with a faint smile.
When he smiled, faint lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, making him look less distant. For the rest of the weekend, Leo was mostly at my apartment. He cooked, cleaned, and answered work emails. We were like strangers sharing a living space, maintaining a polite distance, yet bound together by a legal document. On Sunday afternoon, he took a call, and his face grew grim.
“Okay. I understand. I’m on my way.”
He hung up and grabbed his jacket.
“That was the hospital. My mom’s not doing well,” he told me.
“Should I come with you?” I asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head.
“Maybe next time. It’s not the right moment.”
He paused.
“Just take care of yourself.”
He left in a hurry. I watched the door close behind him, a strange feeling in my chest. We were by law the closest of kin, yet we were more distant than strangers. That evening, I got a text from him.
“She’s stable now. Thanks.”
“Good,” I replied.
Putting down my phone, I looked out at the city lights. The immediate crises, Alex’s harassment, my mother’s objections, had been temporarily handled. But the bigger problems loomed: the baby in my belly, this absurd marriage, and the husband I knew almost nothing about. The storm had passed for now, but I had a feeling a much bigger wave was still on its way.
Monday morning, my phone buzzed me awake. A text from Leo.
“My mom wants to meet you. Are you free for lunch today? I can pick you up.”
I stared at the screen, all sleepiness gone. Meeting the family already? I touched my still-flat stomach, my feelings a tangled mess.
“Okay,” I replied.
The office was still a minefield of stares and whispers. I did my best to ignore them and focus on my work. Around ten, my boss’s assistant called.
“Chloe, Mr. Henderson would like to see you in his office.”
My stomach dropped. Here we go. Mr. Henderson’s office was at the end of the hall. He was standing by the window, his back to me, when I knocked and entered.
“Mr. Henderson, you wanted to see me?”
He turned, his face serious.
“Chloe, have a seat.”
I sat, my palms sweating.
“I hear you got married last Friday,” he said, getting straight to the point.
“Yes.”
“And the groom wasn’t Alex Vance.”
