Greg holds my gaze as I recite the words just read by the Priest “pour avoir et tenir de ce jour vers l'avant… ” ‘Have and to hold?’ I snicker internally. I never thought that would ever happen between us.

“Pour aimer et chérir… ” The Priest continues. “… jusqu'à la mort nous sépare.” ‘Love and cherish… till death separates us?’ I don’t know. He can be quite tedious. He always wants something and whenever he shows up, my entire world turns upside down. Suddenly my mind starts pacing as the doubts start racing in. Crap! What are we doing? I think I need more time to process this. This is crazy. We can’t… I still haven’t even thought about it all yet. Haven’t analysed the pros and cons, assessed the possible dangers, or even come to terms with us being an ‘us’ for that matter.

The room is cloaked in silence now. The priest has stopped speaking and they’re both looking at me, awaiting my response. I look up at Greg’s face but everything’s a blur now, thanks to my untamed emotions. A tear attempts an escape down my left cheek but he catches it and gently soothes it away before he resumes holding my very trembling hands, massaging and then interlacing my fingers with his. I nod. “I do love this man. He is smart and sweet and caring and kind… and very demanding which is extremely annoying but it challenges me for the better.” It is only when everyone including the priest burst out laughing that I realise I had said all of that aloud. Thank God it was in English. I doubt any of them understood me.

When Greg called me last week to ask if I was interested in working with him in signing what he deemed “the most important business deal of both of our lives” I should have said no. I already had so much going on, there just wasn’t any time as I already had several projects in queue. But I was just happy he called. We hadn’t spoken to each other in months but it felt like more and I hated it. I had kept myself pretty busy helping friends out with random projects that proved quite successful. Naturally I panicked when he said it was out of the country and for an entire month. My projects were at their peak and I was needed, now! I didn’t even have my passport.

Well, a couple calls to some of his business friends and my passport complete with a visa, was in hand by the end of the week. Greg even had everything taken care of from plane tickets to hotel accommodation within the week that he called. All I had to do was be packed and ready for pickup by Sunday afternoon at one, right after church.

There’s never really time to assess anything with this impulsive man. Why does he do this to me? I was still uneasy about it. The deal itself sounded ingenious. It was brilliant and definitely worth a risk. Something didn’t feel right but I still made my telephone calls regrettably informing my business partners that I would no longer be able to work with them. I had however provided viable replacements in some very talented colleagues of mine as well as some of my past students who were now making quite a name for themselves. Forsaking all others I had left the country and my work for him and this formidable deal.

The Priest makes his final decree. "Je vous déclare mari et femme."

I can’t believe we are married. I am his man and he is my wife. Oh dear, that’s not right is it? I giggle and shake my head as I wipe the tears away from my face. Evidently my head is still spinning after the whirlwind of events that have just transpired. I am still trying to process it all. This morning when he came knocking at my hotel room around 7:00am with a fancy gift bag poorly hidden behind his back, I just assumed it was a regular birthday gift but I should have known better. Mr. Thoughtful never buys just regular gifts for anyone. Imagine my surprise when he let himself in after I received the gift and sat comfortably on the sofa, waiting to see how it looks on me. My birthday was tomorrow so I had no plans of opening it until then, but he kept urging me to ‘try it on… for him’, I too became intrigued. I also thought of it as an opportunity too. It meant that if whatever it was didn’t fit properly, I could easily get it exchanged in time for my birthday. I quickly receded to my bedroom with gift bag in tow. “They have your favourite, Chai Tea. It’s in the kitchen!” I shouted from the bedroom. “Help yourself!” Meanwhile I was busy digging into the mystery bag and trying to figure out the meaning of all this bulky fabric. Confused and anxious, I emptied the contents unto the bed and out rolled a bundle of white cotton and lace and polyester fibres I assume. I learnt a couple fabric names from my mom. She’s a seamstress.

A loud horn honks, jolting me out of a moment’s doze. We’re back in the limo again, in Paris. Crap, my mom… is still back in Trinidad, unaware. Both of our families are… and we just… got married… all the way in Paris. I reach for my phone. No phone?!! That was the one thing he didn’t get to organise. Crap! My mom is going to kill me! She wanted to do my dress. My sister is going to kill me! She always wanted to be my maid-of-honour. My dad… crap my dad! I remember him constantly pestering me ever since I turned 21 to let him know whenever I decided to get married. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t always aware of what was happening in his only daughter’s life as I moved around a lot. Jeez dad, it’s not like I would just run off and get married and not say anything. Crap, I just did that.

I run my fingers along the heavily tinted window and the ridiculously cold a/c levels inside makes me appreciate the searing heat just outside my window. We’re sitting in the back of a white limo that’s been furnished with plush black leather seating. Inside smells of fresh polish and the interior surfaces glisten of the same. Greg is next to me still in his suit but his top button is undone and the jacket and tie is in his lap. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the white envelope slid snugly between the crevices of the seat.

“Our wedding certificate.” His response is resolute.

“Already? Paris is quite efficient.”

“Oh, no. I made a formal request to ensure it would be completed on time.”

My mouth shifts circumspectly.

He interjects as if reading my subtext “everything on this trip is important to me.” But instead of being relieved by his response I get an eerie feeling in my gut.

The limo comes to a sudden stop as we clear a blind corner. The traffic is deplorable. Ugh, I just want to get back to our hotel to sleep so I can finally catch up to this time zone. I rest my wearied head on his shoulder. “Can I keep this for later?” I ask, reaching for his grey tie. “Anything you want.” and I snuggle into his chest as I wrap the tie around my fingers. I love the way he says that. He reminds me of Alladin’s genie declaring ‘Your wish is my command!’

This morning I had spread out evenly from the head of the bed, the bulky item from the gift bag, trying to make sense of it all. It was clearly a dress, but not just any dress. This was the white gown I had posted on Instagram almost a year ago with the caption ‘found the #gown, looking for the #groom’.

“What the hell? Where… how?” Tears welling, I hastily undressed and slipped it on. To my surprise it fit, perfectly. Every curve from my hips to my bust fit snug yet comfortable and sexy, even cinching at the waist line. But how did he get my measurements? Then I remembered that one time we went to the gym and he prepared a workout routine for me based on my weight even though I refused to get onto the scale. He had however gotten the green light to take my measurements and managed to perfectly assess my weight based on some Mathematical calculation using my height and some other madness, he claimed. This genius of mine. He knows too much, I had thought. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Greg, did you get through with the Chai tea?” I shouted from the bedroom once more. “Yea, Um I don’t know where the cups are though.” Oh great! I shook my head. “Obviously it’s in the cupboard, somewhere nearby.” and I waltz out of the bedroom still adorned in my birthday gift and into the kitchenette to assist. He just stood there with his mouth open, holding the tea sachet in one hand and a white envelope in the other. It was so adorable. “What?” I blushed through my eyelashes, feigning innocence, but he just handed me the teabag. I reach out for it but then he jolts back to reality. “Oh sorry, wrong hand.” And he switches to hand me the envelope in the other hand. “What’s this?” There was nothing written on either side but I could see a graphic printing through from the card inside. “My birthday card I presume?” Still no response from him other than a slight nudge of the head so I smile and decide to open the envelope. I slid out the folded item. The graphic on the front was the cute little monkey emoji doing the ever popular ‘see no evil’ that he messages me when he’s being bashful, but other than that, there was no writing on the outside. “Hmm this is interesting.” What is he up to? His actions are so random that I almost never pick up on his hints.

I opened the card and my tears fell in between the recently-drawn sketch, smudging the ink. The drawing, done over the fold of the inside, was that of a very realistic palm open and outstretched with a gold ring strung to the underside of the card by a cute little ribbon in the centre of it. As my eyes slowly drifted to look up at him, all he could muster was….

“I need a wife!”