Roseanne Crantz stared down the aisle at her betrothed. For anyone else, this would have been the happiest day of her life. Wearing a beautiful floor-length white gown with a train made of delicate lace, the bodice of the dress was dotted with gems that she suspected were real diamonds. Her makeup done by world-class professionals, and her chestnut hair curled with complex braid patterns sewn in. Down the aisle waited a wealthy man, whose family owned a large hospital chain. Yes, for anyone else this would be a dream come true.

But for Rose, it was hell. Her father owned a law firm that worked with the Rosenberg Hospitals, but had recently been slapped with a large fine after decades of alleged tax evasion. The only reason James Crantz avoided prison was because he owned the top law firm in the country, and knew the most effective loopholes to use against a corrupt system. In his last-ditch effort to maintain his status, James had struck a deal with Charles Rosenberg, head of the Rosenberg family, to arrange for his only daughter to wed Edward Rosenberg, eldest and heir to the Rosenberg power.

Rose could go on a long rant about it being the 21st century and women not being property to sell. It was either be married off or be disowned, and Rose chose what she considered to be the lesser of the two evils. She scowled at her almost-husband down the aisle. Just then, her father clamped a hand over her arm linked in his, as a silent warning. She gave one last pleading look to him, and he just shook his head and straightened his back, readying himself to hand his daughter off.

Panic rose in Rose's chest as Pachelbel's Canon began. She took three grounding breaths and tried to swallow down the lump in her throat, but to no avail. With one last deep inhale, she put on her most dazzling smile and let her father walk her down the aisle.

With each step, Rose's vision narrowed and her breathing became harder. Her father shot her a look that said "get your shit together", and she tried so hard to bite back the panic. She couldn't help but think that with each step she was walking closer and closer to a cage that she'll be locked in forever.

Finally, they arrived at the altar. Her father leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek, but not before whispering, "if this marriage fails, it will be on you," in her ear.

A flicker of fear crossed her face, but she plastered back on a smile and turned to Edward, who was doing his best to look happy.

Edward was a difficult man to describe. If this were a romance novel on the shelves of your local convenience store, he would be tall, handsome, and charming. Edward was none of these things. He was oddly shaped, with a head too big for his body, and legs too small for his head. His knees were kind of knobby, but he had a belly that showed his wealth. Rose had only met him a handful of times at parties, but he had the personality of a spoiled toddler. 

"Darling," Edward smiled, showing his artificially perfect teeth. He glanced Rose up and down, before meeting her gaze. "Don't you think you should have lost a couple of pounds before the wedding?" 

Rose tried her best to stifle her scoff, but quickly disguised it with a lighthearted laugh. She had never considered her weight to be a problem, and neither did her doctor. The pot calls the kettle black, she thought to herself.

The officiant cleared his throat and looked to the bride and groom for confirmation that they shall begin. "Dearly beloved," he began, and that was all that Rose really remembered because the whole thing had been long, soulless, and boring. She contemplated her escape through the whole ceremony, but wore the mask of someone who was happy to be with the man she was marrying.

The reception was lavish with a pyramid of champagne glasses, which Rose made her way to between guests offering her their best wishes. The hall was really more of a ballroom, with high ceilings and pillars running along the walls leading to a grand staircase where she had been announced as Mrs. Roseanne Rosenberg for the first time. 

She searched her surroundings for a hidden place to escape her new in-laws and their posh guests. She quickly made her way toward the balcony on the far side of the hall, as far away from the music and laughter as she could get. Rose leaned against the railing, champagne flute in hand, and let out a shaky breath. 

“Are you not enjoying the party?” 

Rose hadn’t even seen the man standing to her right. She peered up at him, noticing how he awkwardly adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket. “I wouldn’t say that I’m enjoying it, no,” She said, hesitantly. 

“Not lavish enough for you, my lady?” He chuckled in the dark.

“Too lavish,” Rose narrowed her eyes at the stranger. “And you are?”

“Pardon my manners. My name is Owen, assistant to Mister Edward Rosenberg,” he bowed slightly, “though, I use assistant very loosely. I’m more of his errand boy.” 

Rose was confused as to why this man felt comfortable enough to speak freely to the new wife of his boss. She could never imagine speaking to her employer’s spouse that way, if she had one. She couldn’t even imagine speaking to her own father that way. She sipped her champagne and watched as he stepped closer to her. Clearing her throat, she thought to introduce herself. “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” Owen laughed, “You’re the newly deemed Mrs. Roseanne Rosenberg.”

She couldn’t help but cringe at hearing her “new” name. “Roseanne Crantz, actually. People call me Rose.”

“Okay, Mrs. Rose-”

“Just Rose,” she said, now cringing at her new prefix. 

“Okay, just Rose,” he mocked, “And why are you not celebrating the union with the man you love at your own wedding reception? Aren’t brides supposed to be dancing and having fun?” 

Rose sighed and took another sip of her champagne. "I'm sure I should," she paused, considering how much information is safe to tell Owen. He worked for her husband, sure, but he didn't seem like he really cared. After all, he referred to his job as "errand boy".

"Why do you work for Edward?" She asked instead.

Owen shrugged, and leaned against the railing beside her. "I mean, it's a job." 

"That's all?" 

"What better reason? It pays well, and I don't have to worry about rent or groceries. So what if I have to deal with a bunch of rich snobs?" He glanced at her before adding, "No offense."

"None taken. We are a bunch of rich snobs," she chuckled slightly. "So then why are you out here? You're not enjoying the reception my lovely in-laws put together?" She failed at keeping the disdain from her voice.

"I would love to be able to stand there all day and listen to Lady Elizabeth go on about her castle in Whales, but sometimes a man's gotta breathe. I mean, have you listened to them? They're so far from reality that it's depressing." Owen gestured dramatically at the ballroom behind them.

"I am one of them," Rose said, amused at his mini-rant, "but you do have a point. With all that money, you'd think they would have more to talk about. Instead, they talk about golf. Golf, of all things. It's the world's dullest sport, yet only rich people play. Or they talk about how millennials are ruining the economy by not buying things they can't afford. Or how much they spent on the yacht they'll never use. It's all mundane after a while. I think the only way I'll survive this night is if I turn it into a drinking game."

"Let's do it." Owen grinned at her.

"Do what?" 

"Turn it into a drinking game. One drink for every posh, unattainable, and detached from reality thing they say."

"This may be the death of me," Rose thought for a moment. "But it beats the alternative. Let's do it."