Page 27 of Groom Gamble

My disciplined boss is taking the day off?

“What about Operation Calculus?”

“It can wait.” He finishes his tie with practised hands, and I can’t keep my eyes off him.

“But—”

“Everything can wait, today, Sophia. Everything, except getting married.”

Oh wow. He’s serious about this.

“Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” The last thing I need is bad luck, and my boss is conventional. I’m surprised he hasn’t thought of this.

Mr Streatham sighs like I’m being very tedious. “That’s a superstition left over from arranged marriages?—”

“Which ours is—” I point out.

“When the groom seeing the bride beforehand risked him deeming her not attractive enough, and not going through with the marriage.”

Oh.

I don’t know what to say to that.

“I won’t change my mind, little one.”

“You won’t?” There’s a tremor of uncertainty in my voice.

“No.” And when I look up at him, he’s as serious as I’ve ever seen him. “Not least because you’re very pretty.”

That comment settles onto my chest like spring blossom. “Thank you,” I murmur.

He shakes his head dismissively.

“It’s only, this is really quick…” I say, mostly to myself. That’s what I wanted, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t love me. I was never going to have love from my husband, only maybe, my children.

“There’s a Maths Club meeting later this week,” he replies. “I want to introduce you as my wife.”

Right. Yes.

And as I get up and dressed, thankful that Mr Streatham leaves me alone to do so with a curt, “I’ll be back,” I keep that in mind. The only reason we’re doing this is so I have a child, and Dex has a wife.

Being reminded he doesn’t actually wantmemakes me shy about what I’ve been doing. Basically, I threw myself at my boss. I’m glad I don’t have to dress in front of him. He’s seen me withno clothes on, but there’s horny nude, and then there’s “which of these knickers is least grey” naked. I am not convinced I’m attractive in either scenario, but I don’t want my boss watching me wiggling into my jeans.

I’m particularly glad for white underwear when he takes me dress shopping after an extravagant breakfast. I try on the first dress then hesitate at the curtain leading out of the changing room.

He said he was going to help me choose a dress because otherwise I’d be alone, but I’m still irrationally worried about giving us bad luck. What if I don’t get pregnant because of him seeing the dress before the wedding?

But then, if I can’t get pregnant within six months, will Dex be one of those people who used to be close to me, and then forgot? The fair-weather friends who wanted to hang out with me when it was convenient but didn’t bother to keep in touch when school, university, or our jobs took us in different directions. Who never phones or messages?

I guess he wouldn’t, since I don’t think he even owns a smartphone.

“Come out here,” Dex calls from the main part of the shop.

I don’t respond, because I think my voice would emerge with all the melodic grace of a five-year-old playing the violin.

Oh shit, Sophia, don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.

I exhale. Perhaps I don’t need luck, or already have it. Because despite all the odds, I’m marrying my boss.