For Love

My family has, for at least ten generations, directly, indirectly and invariably, always married for love.

But now that I’m walking up to the altar, none of those lovely people bothered to show.

So it’s seventeen-year-old Henry’s arm that I lean on as I walk in time to the hymn towards Mr. Daniel Grün, his affluent older cousin. My fiancé of about three or four weeks.

Yikes.

I have to admit: right now, in this ridiculous dress and killer heels, in front of all these people, it does seem like a terrible idea. That’s what my mam told me: when you walk up the altar, you’ll realize your mistake.

Unfortunately, she also said I would barely be able to look at the groom for regret and shame. And right now, for some reason or other, Mr. Grün-Daniel-is the only thing in this room I can look at directly.

Everything else seems blindingly bright. His perfect family, the cameras, the reporters, the politicians and dignitaries from foreign states, and this massive church, awash in gold and morning light. By contrast, Mr. Grün: gangly tall and dark, plain, slightly awkward in his formal suit and coat.

He looks back at me unflinchingly, oblivious or indifferent to the rest of it.

Yikes.

------

“We should get married.”

“Excuse me?”

We sat at the corner of my favorite café, just five blocks away from my house. I’d never sat on the corner before; it was actually a cut-off room with a long table that people had to reserve days before. We’d walked in, had a coffee each while the room emptied out and the waitress canceled the next reservation. 

Now I sat at one of the narrow ends of the conference table, and he completed a ninety-degree angle next to me.

“Look.” He said, leaning forward. His posture was perfect, but I could tell he was having a hard time meeting my eyes. “I know you’ll be leaving the international court before the year ends. I know it’s because you can no longer afford Mr. Göthal’s tutelage.”

My heart shrunk. “How-“

“You’re more popular in the Council than you think, Miss Bonn.” He smiled-the media often portrayed this expression of his as a self-satisfied smirk, but over the course of half an hour’s small talk, I’d realized it was a nervous grin he did his best to hide. 

“I can finance the internship, and your studies. I can even secure you a permanent position in the Council, if you wish.”

I shook my head. I was still trying to wrap my head around ‘we should get married’. “I-“

“I think you have a future as a diplomat. As a politician. I’ve realized we have similar ideas, we share the same goals, so I propose we-“

“Wait a second.” I manage. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but...I need to think.”

“Of course.” Said Mr. Grün. “Forgive me.”

The impatience in his voice was palpable. I took a sip of my tea-two coffees was one too much for my state of mind- and tried not to laugh. 

“Let me see if I understand you.” I begin, slowly. I lean back in my chair-I need space to digest this. “You propose that I marry you in order to continue my career in foreign affairs?”

“I do.” Mr. Grün cleared his throat. “It’s not how I would prefer to put myself forward, but... I don’t know you well enough to guess what else you might want. I do know there’s much you want to change about the world-and you could do that through me.”

I don’t know you well enough to guess what else you might want. 

I had the upper hand here. Mr. Grün, the heir to the ministry of one of the three current world powers-who’d practically grown up amidst political chaos-just openly admitted I had the upper hand in a negotiation he had begun. 

“Why?” I asked. “I’m just an intern. I’m barely old enough to drink, Mr. Grün.”

“You are barely old enough to drink.” He nodded. His hands moved to emphasize his words. “And you are an intern. You’ve held the mic three times in three separate international meetings. Mr. Tafel will not stop boasting about you. Thirty-three diplomats-all from nations of consequence-know your name. Most importantly of all: you’ve yet to make enemies.”

“The comments I was allowed elicited plenty of disapproval-“

“There is a difference between dismissal by self-absorbed bureaucrats and disapproval. There is a still greater difference between dismissal and enmity.” Mr. Grün said.

“If I had your influence, Mr. Grün,” I couldn't suppress a smile. “I would make enemies much more quickly than I do now.”

“I’m counting on it, Miss Bonn.” He smiled back, a bit more freely. Then he looked back down at his hands. “But please-call me Daniel.”

I felt myself blush. “This is…incredible.”

Mr. Grün leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“To you, it might be. But believe me… I’m convinced you’re the only one who can help me.”

“Help you?”

“I doubt such a well-prepared student as you are has never seen me blunder through a political debate and achieve-very often-the exact opposite of what I intend.”

I had to cover my mouth to hide another smile.

Mr. Grün was in fact, and by far, the most passionate, the most honest, and the least articulate politician I had ever beheld, from the moment I first saw him appear on the news five years ago with his forbidding, thunderous voice, fresh out of law school. He was ridiculously intransigent, and only spoke to propose extreme or even harsh measures.

But I knew these times called for such measures.

“Exactly.” He rolled his eyes, looked away. “I could leave the Council to one of my cousins-God knows they want it-but I won’t, for reasons that would take too long to explain, and I would rather not explain here. There’s so many issues that need immediate attention-poverty, earth’s ecosystem, slavery-and I’m trying to emphasize them. But everything is business, even in the Council.” He met my eyes, looked down at his hands, then back at me. “And if I want to be effective as a negotiator, I need someone like you to help me.”

I took a deep breath.

This was impossible. It was incredible. And Mr. Grün hadn’t changed much, after nearly a decade in politics; who was I to think I could change him?

But it was tempting.

“Think about it.” He said, with a sideways look at me, and called for the tab. “I know this might seem unusual to you…but I thought you might be open to the possibility.”

Possibility… the possibilities were endless.

And I couldn’t afford to keep the internship. My family was about to be evicted. I needed a job.

“I can give you some breathing room.” Mr. Grün said, standing up. “Offer you financial support for a year, while you think about it.”

I stared at him.

“A year?”

“Well,” He stopped, raised a curious eyebrow at me. “How much time do you need to think about it?”

The way I saw it, things were fairly simple.

But then it hit me-my family.

They were going to kill me.

—

“Are you out of your mind?” My mam gasped.

Papa was speechless.

“I don’t think so?” I answered.

“You barely know him!” She threw up her hands. “You don’t know if he’s a serial killer!”

“Mam, please.” I tried to speak softly. “He’s a public figure. I’ve seen him on tv since I was sixteen.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer!”

“They would have caught him by now.” Says Papa.

“Thank you.” I huff.

“You don’t know him. How can you marry someone you don’t know?” My brother walked in from the rain and wiped his feet on the rug. Already butting in. “And for money?”

“We’re broke.”

“Does that matter?” Mam asked. “You know nothing about this man’s personal life! He could be cold to you-he could be cruel. What does money matter?”

As the money had started to run out, though she never gave us less, she skimped on her own food to buy cigarettes. Ever since my dad had gone blind, one year before I finished high school, there hadn’t been money for my tuition. Or my brother’s. Not that he cared.

“It matters to me!” I shouted. “An ugly divorce is not my worst fear, Mam! It’s having to give up everything else! It matters to me!”

Silence fell. Both my mam and my brother looked at my Papa. So I looked at him, too. He hung his head, his chin on his chest, like something inside him had snapped.

“Oh, well done.” Muttered my brother.

"Mara." Whispered my mam frantically. "We've taught you better than this. It's beneath you to marry for such worldly reasons. You'll get a job. We'll figure everything out. This man has done nothing to win you-don't debase yourself by giving him your hand. Mara-"

“Get out.” Papa broke in-his voice shaking with anger. “You sell yourself for a better life? It’s not worth your dignity, what I gave you?”

Shit.

“Papa-“

“Get out.” He snarled. “I’ve had enough of you-wasting your time studying while the rest of us struggle to stay alive. Get out. Don’t come back.”

No one contradicted him. My mam looked at me helplessly and my brother slammed his way out the back door. They’d both worked so hard-for so long. So had Papa.

They weren’t thinking clearly.

So I left.

——-

I say my vows without making one mistake, and without hesitation.

When the ceremony ends, Mr. Grün-Daniel-offers me his arm. I take it; people take pictures and shake my hand. Daniel’s perfect family kiss and embrace me, and I return their gestures. I wait for the pang of regret to hit me, I wait for my conscience to berate me.

Nothing happens.

There are dances; the first with Daniel, the second with his father. The three rehearsals we had before the wedding make them both enjoyable. I must admit they are both excellent dancers.

I keep looking around for my family. In the weeks that elapsed after my engagement, my mam agreed to accept whatever financial support I could give them.

“Don’t tell your father.” She’d said. “He’s still very angry at you-Mara, I wish you wouldn’t do this.”

They’re not here-not even my mam. Some of my aunts and uncles called before the wedding, to try to dissuade me. They’re not here either.

So much for love.

Once in a while, Daniel kisses me.

He’d asked me for permission the first time, some two weeks after our engagement. I’d agreed without asking him why, and he’d offered no explanation. Perhaps that’s why I still blush redder than a tomato every time.

I invited some friends from school-I spend time at their table when Daniel is busy with someone else, and no other relative, colleague or reporter tries to question me. Not much time at all. But they laugh and tease me and make my nervousness seem unimportant, unnecessary.

They seem happy for me.

Daniel stays by my side. He seems to realize how out of place I feel and guides me through nearly every conversation with diplomats, businessmen and other important personalities, most of which I’ve only seen on tv and in the Council. I discover he knows much more about small talk and flattery than I first thought.

“I know they’re exhausting.” He whispers in my ear, once dinner is over. “Take a break whenever you want-I’ll distract them.”

I take him up on his offer. But I take care not to disappear for too long.

He asks me to dance, more than once. About halfway through the evening, I realize I like dancing with him.

“I can’t thank you enough for being here with me.” He tells me, during a slow song, while I’m trying to focus on the music and not on how my feet are so numb that I might step on his. He smiles-unexpectedly, really smiles. I almost step out of time. “I-you won’t regret this, Mara.”

The moon is high in the sky by the time I and my friends step off the dance floor. We walk to their table, talking and laughing. 

“I can’t believe you married the Modern Tragedy.” Says Gina, finishing her third glass of wine. 

I shush her, snorting. I’d given Mr. Grün-Daniel- that nickname myself, when I started law school, for his singularily noble ambitions and frightful lack of persuasion skills. 

I can’t suppress a yawn-I cover my mouth and hope to heaven that no one is looking. This wedding has been so...complicated. 

“What’s that? How can you yawn?” Irene holds her hand to her chest, eyes wide. “When he’s looking at you like that, too. Darling, the night hasn’t even begun for you yet.”

I make the mistake of glancing at Daniel. 

He is looking at me. He meets my gaze and smiles-that same real, wide smile, that I’d suspected I’d imagined. 

I turn back to my friends, blushing fifty different kinds of bright red. 

Yikes.