Till Contract Do us Apart (ON HOLD)

1

Charlotte

"Charlotte Grey.... Charlotte Morgan. Charlotte Morgan."

My name rolled off his tongue like a sensual phrase.

The newly sharpened pencil petite in his large hand, scrawled a name on the borrowers' name list Scotch taped to the back of a sun-beaten copy of 'Grapes of Wrath'.

Our eyes followed the name like it was a secret guilty pleasure, as the librarian pressed a stamp next to my soon-to-be-name. Charlotte Morgan.

The warmth of the mid-evening sun seeping through the library windows, the scent of dust and moldy pages, suddenly dissipated.

I stood stunned, finding myself facing the open doors of my bedroom, instead of the library. Alec stood before me in the backdrop of a pitch black night, sliding a cold silver ring through my finger.

His ivory skin seemed to glow even under the weak waning moon, and his coal black hair, damp against his head with sweat that glistened his temples.

"Will you...be my fiancée?" His breaths rugged and raw, Alec brought my ringed finger to his lips.

Was this what it felt- happiness?

It was like there'd been a heavy weight in my body all along, and suddenly, had melted away at his sentence, like they were never there before.

Tickles spread through my stomach, and blood timidly came up to my ears.

"I-"

"I'm afraid not. She's my wife." To the sound of a too-familiar voice, my head turned.

Slipping a ring through my other hand, was Lucas. I shivered. This ring, seemed to feel colder to touch. His piercing, ocean blue eyes bored into mine, as he brought my hand to his cheek.

"You're already mine, Mrs. Young."

I didn't have to wait for my eyes to open to my bedroom ceiling, and to the intensity of morning rays, to know this was all a dream. For Lucas to say something like that- impossible.

"Is everything okay, Charlotte?"

All blood rushed to my cheeks, as I saw Lucas himself standing at my bedroom door.

Freshly showered, in a three-piece suit that accentuated his tall, well-built robust frame, his golden blond hair immaculately pushed back with gel.

Catching my surprise, he took a step back. Always, as if the threshold of my door was some holy ground, he never stepped over that ridge, that line.

"I'm sorry for coming in. I heard you scream." He lowered his eyes with a rueful smile. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He wore a new grey neck-tie today, one that I hadn't seen before. It went well with the grey of his eyes.

The embarrassment at the dream dissolved at his apology. We could very well be roommates, not husband and wife.

"I'm fine. Sorry." Exchanging apologies like this- we could very well be acquaintances.

A lock of his hair was out of place, and there was a ladle still in his hand. He'd run to my room hearing the scream.

My throat seemed to prick. Sometimes I wished he wasn't so nice.

Seeming conscious of the ladle in his hand at my gaze, Lucas lowered it, clearing his throat.

"Breakfast is ready."

Only then did I realize- I wasn't wearing any make-up. My hair unkempt and unbrushed. I was in my pajamas, too, a pillow thrown onto the floor, and the sheets tangled around my legs.