I never imagined I would sign a marriage certificate before signing a business contract.
Yet there I was, pen hovering above paper, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure the clerk behind the counter could hear it.
"This will make everything official," she said politely. "Once you sign, you'll be legally married."
Married.
The word felt unreal, like something meant for other people—people who fell in love, planned weddings, argued about guest lists.
Not me.
I took a slow breath and glanced sideways.
The man sitting beside me looked calm. Too calm.
He wore a light gray suit, simple but tailored, his posture relaxed as if we were waiting to sign a lease instead of binding our lives together. His hands rested on the table, long fingers loosely folded, a silver watch peeking from under his cuff.
He noticed my hesitation and turned slightly.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
His voice was steady. Warm, even.
I nodded quickly. "Yes. Just… nerves."
That wasn't a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Because the truth was, my family's company was bleeding money, and this marriage was the only reason the bank had agreed to keep us afloat.
A courthouse marriage.
Six months.
That was the agreement.
Three days earlier, my father had looked older than I had ever seen him.
"I don't have many options left," he'd said, rubbing his temples. "If this deal falls through, we lose everything."
I remembered gripping the armrest of my chair, nails digging into the fabric.
"What deal?" I asked.
He hesitated. Then sighed. "A family-backed investment. They want… stability."
Stability.
A polite word for marriage.
That was how I met him.
Through a business introduction. No romance. No pressure. Just a practical proposal delivered with calm honesty.
"It's a formality," he'd said then. "A legal marriage to satisfy the requirement. We live separately. We keep our lives separate. After six months, we divorce."
Straightforward. Clean.
I agreed because I didn't see another way.
"Ma'am?"
The clerk's voice pulled me back.
I looked down at the paper again.
My name.
His name.
Side by side.
I signed.
The pen felt heavier than it should have.
He signed next, smooth and unhesitating.
The stamp came down with a sharp thud.
"Congratulations," the clerk said with a small smile. "You're officially married."
Just like that.
The photographer waved us over for a quick record photo.
"Stand closer," she instructed cheerfully. "You're newlyweds, after all."
I hesitated for half a second before stepping toward him.
He shifted slightly, giving me space—but when the camera lifted, his arm came around my shoulders naturally, resting there like it belonged.
The contact startled me.
Not because it was inappropriate.
But because it felt… comfortable.
His hand was warm through the thin fabric of my dress, steady and light, not possessive. I could feel the solid line of his chest near my shoulder, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing.
I forced myself to relax.
This means nothing, I reminded myself.
The camera flashed.
Outside the courthouse, the air felt different.
He glanced at me. "Do you want coffee?"
The question caught me off guard. "Coffee?"
"We should talk," he said. "And I don't think standing on courthouse steps is ideal."
I studied him for a moment.
This was where my expectations began to crack.
I had assumed he'd be cold. Strictly business. Distant.
Instead, he was… considerate.
"I know a place nearby," I said finally.
We sat by the window, sunlight spilling across the small café table. The normalcy of it all felt strange—like the world had no idea what had just happened.
He ordered for both of us after asking my preference, then leaned back slightly, hands folded.
"So," he said, "ground rules."
I nodded. "Yes. Let's be clear."
"No romantic expectations," he began. "No interference in each other's personal lives."
"Separate residences," I added.
"Agreed."
"And after six months," I said, meeting his eyes, "we divorce quietly."
A pause.
"Unless you want out sooner," he said. "If that happens, tell me. I won't make it difficult."
That surprised me.
"You wouldn't?"
He shook his head. "This arrangement only works if we both feel respected."
I studied his face—calm, open, sincere.
This was not the man I had imagined marrying.
"What about public appearances?" I asked.
"We play the part when necessary," he replied. "But only when necessary."
I exhaled, tension easing from my shoulders for the first time.
This could work.
When we stood to leave, he hesitated.
"One more thing," he said.
"Yes?"
"We should exchange numbers. Just in case."
I smiled faintly. "Right. Husband."
The word felt strange on my tongue.
His lips curved slightly. "Wife."
Something warm flickered in my chest.
I ignored it.
Because this marriage wasn't supposed to feel like this.
It was unexpected.
It was temporary.
And yet, as I watched him walk beside me under the afternoon sun, one thought lingered quietly in my mind—
I had a feeling this man was nothing like I expected.