Id imagined I was marrying a swashbuckling entrepreneur, only to have his actual wife turn up at the ceremony with three kids in tow.
Darling, youve lost your mind! This is a oneoff couture piece you cant just have it altered! the designer declared, flinging his arms dramatically. Its like asking Leonardo daVinci to give the MonaLisa a moustache!
Im paying £460 for this dress and I expect it to fit like a glove, Blythe said, her voice steady while her nerves flared. You can see the excess fabric here. Ive shed a few pounds since the last fitting.
In the previous fitting you weighed exactly the same! the designer retorted. Brides lose weight, they dont vanish overnight. This gown was cut to your exact measurements.
MrHarper, Blythe sighed, the wedding is in three days. I dont have time for a war of words. Please make the changes I asked for.
The designer gave her a sour look, then reluctantly nodded. The dress did indeed sit a bit baggy. Blythe had lost five kilos in the month leading up to the wedding not from diet but from endless errands and nerves. Invitations, the venue, photographer, florist every detail now rested on her shoulders. Oliver was far too busy running his construction firm to fuss over such minutiae.
Fine, MrHarper softened, pricking the fabric with pins. Well make a queen out of you. But dont lose any more weight, or I cant be held responsible for the result.
Blythe smiled at her reflection. The white dress, with its lace bodice and full skirt, looked like something out of a storybook. She turned sideways, admiring the silhouette. In three days she would become MrsOliver Sampson, owner of a booming building company and, by all accounts, the most charming man shed ever met.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Oliver: Stuck at a meeting, see you tonight. Kiss.
Blythe let out a sigh the third such delay that week. Business, she thought, always demands attention. After the wedding theyd finally have more time for each other.
That evening, while waiting for Oliver, she thumbed through photos for the wedding album. First trip to Brighton, a ski day in the Alps, the restaurant where Oliver proposed. Ten months wasnt a long courtship, but if he was the one, why wait?
A click the front door opened. Oliver trudged in, tired but smiling, tossing his blazer onto the armchair and pulling Blythe into a kiss.
Sorry Im late. The investors from Manchester needed my focus.
No problem, Blythe said, flashing a grin. Hungry? Ill heat up dinner.
I grabbed a snack at the office, Oliver muttered, rubbing his eyes. Tell me how the fitting went.
As Blythe recounted the designers tantrums, Oliver nodded, occasionally glancing at his phone.
Youre not listening, she snapped.
Sorry, urgent matter, he typed a quick reply. What were you saying?
Never mind, Blythe stood. Im off to the shower. Its been a long day.
The water washed away the fatigue but not the anxiety. Lately Oliver seemed distant perhaps prewedding nerves? Maybe work pressure? She stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her, and heard Oliver murmuring into his phone from the bedroom.
Yes, everythings fine. No, dont worry, Ive got it under control right.
Blythe froze in the hallway. Who was he speaking to so gently? She slipped to the door.
Ill be home soon, Oliver said, ending the call.
Home? He was already home. A knot tightened in Blythes chest. She opened the door.
Who were you talking to?
Oliver jumped, turning.
Victor, my deputy. We were discussing tomorrows meeting.
You said youd be home soon.
What? Oliver frowned, then laughed. Ah, I meant Ill be back at the office soon. Misspoke. Im knackered, Blythe.
She wanted to argue, but Oliver already moved in, enveloping her in an embrace scented faintly with an expensive cologne and, oddly enough, a hint of perfume. She dismissed it as a lingering whiff from his secretarys perfume.
Three days, and youll be MrsSampson, he whispered. Sounds lovely, doesnt it?
She nodded, pressing against his chest, the prewedding jitters swirling. What could possibly go wrong?
The next morning Blythe visited her friend Kate to collect the beaded shoes shed asked Kate to embellish.
You look worried, Kate observed over a cup of tea. Prewedding panic?
Not sure, Blythe twirled the mug. Yesterday Oliver had a strange call. He said hed be home soon, even though he was already home.
And? Kate prompted.
He sounded different. And I swear I smelled perfume on him.
Blythe, youre being paranoid, Kate waved a hand. He runs a company with half the staff being women. Its bound to have a hint of fragrance.
Maybe youre right, Blythe smiled, though the unease lingered.
Are you both ready for married life? You havent even lived together.
We’ve spent weekends together, holidayed. Thats enough to know someone.
And the parents? He still hasnt introduced you to his.
They live up north, elderly, cant travel. Theyll be at the wedding.
Odd you never visited them in ten months.
Olivers swamped. You know, the construction business, head office in London, trips abroad Kate listed. Why arent any of his business partners attending the wedding?
Theyll be there Victor and a few others.
Just a few? What about friends?
Hes not a fan of big parties.
Kate gave a skeptical glance but stayed quiet. Shed always been wary of Oliver too perfect, too mysterious, too busy. Not every man is an open book, after all.
That evening Blythe decided to confront him. They were in the kitchen, Oliver scrolling through his tablet, her stirring a sauce.
Oliver, I need to ask are we really ready for marriage?
He looked up, surprised.
What do you mean?
We barely know each other. Ive never been to your house, never met your parents, hardly know any of your friends.
Weve talked about this a hundred times, Oliver put the tablet down. Most of the time Ive been staying at your flat because my house is being renovated. Youll meet my parents at the wedding. Friends I dont have many. Im a workaholic, you know that.
Right
Nothing but about it, he said, pulling her into a hug from behind. In two days youll be my wife. Well move into that new house Ive bought for us. Well have a wonderful life, I promise.
Blythe nodded. Shed never seen the house, but Oliver claimed it would be a surprise after the wedding. A sweet gesture, though it added to her nerves.
By the way, have you collected the rings from the jeweller?
Oliver froze.
Not yet. Ill pop in tomorrow.
Should I do it myself? I need to be in that area anyway.
No! Ill take care of it. Trust me.
That night Blythe lay awake while Oliver slept soundly beside her. She loved him, trusted him, yet a part of her screamed that something was off.
The next morning Oliver left early, saying he had to sort out lastminute work before the wedding. Blythe was alone and decisive. She dug up Victors contact from Olivers phone and dialed.
Hello? a man answered.
This is Blythe, Oliver Sampsons fiancée. I need details about tomorrows event.
Excuse me? Victor sounded confused. What event?
Our wedding. Youre invited, arent you?
A long pause.
I dont know any Oliver Sampson, Victor finally said. You must have the wrong number.
But youre his deputy at the construction firm
Im an accountant at a travel agency. Never worked in construction.
Blythe sank onto a chair, legs numb. She thanked Victor and hung up, staring at the wall. Who was the man shed been planning to marry?
With trembling fingers she opened her laptop, typed the company name Oliver claimed to own, and searched. Several firms with similar names appeared, none listing an Oliver Sampson as director. Social media gave nothing. No news articles, no project credits.
She rummaged through a box of Olivers papers shed kept a passport, drivers licence, a business card. The licence looked real enough, but a quick call to the number on the card went straight to a dead line.
The front door burst open Oliver returned. She quickly shoved everything back into the box.
What are you up to? he asked, kissing her cheek.
Just looking at our photos, Blythe lied. Tomorrows a big day.
Great, he grinned. Ive got the rings. Want to see?
He produced a velvet pouch, opened it, and two glittering gold bands lay on a cushion.
Beautiful, Blythe whispered, a lump forming in her throat.
Try them on? he offered, pulling out the smaller one.
No, she stepped back. Bad luck. Youll wear them tomorrow.
He laughed.
Your superstitions are adorable. Lets keep it a surprise.
He smelled of expensive cologne, a faint hint of something floral that made Blythes mind race. Perhaps his secretary had been nearby?
Im heading to Kates, Blythe announced. Ill spend the night there tradition, remember? The groom doesnt see the bride before the ceremony.
Of course, Oliver said. Ill crash at a mates place. See you tomorrow, love.
He kissed her long, as if it might be the last. Blythe felt a tear roll down her cheek.
At Kates flat, she spilled everything the call to Victor, the deadend searches, the perfume scent.
Im scared he isnt who he says he is, Blythe concluded, wiping her eyes.
Lets doublecheck, Kate said, opening her laptop. Full name?
Oliver James Sampson.
Date of birth?
15May1979.
Kate typed furiously.
Nothing. No press, no LinkedIn, nothing. Most CEOs have at least a trace.
Maybe hes reclusive?
Or a fraud.
Why would he marry me then?
Money? Blythe guessed. But I have none. Im a teacher.
Property? Car?
No house, no car.
Could he be a conman who marries, collects gifts, disappears?
It happens.
Kate nodded. Ive read about it. Usually they target wealthy victims.
Blythe spent a sleepless night. By morning she felt oddly calm. She decided she would still go to the ceremony, face the man whod lied for ten months, and ask the inevitable question: why?
The wedding was booked at a cosy country inn outside Oxford. Blythe arrived an hour early to change and get ready. Guests trickled in her parents, friends, a few work colleagues. Olivers side was conspicuously empty.
In the bridal suite, friends fussed over her dress and hair. The gown fit perfectly, but she felt like shed slipped into someone elses skin.
Olivers here, one friend announced, peeking in. Looking dashing in his suit!
Blythes heart thumped. Was she about to discover the truth?
Fifteen minutes remained before the ceremony. She stood by the window, watching the last cars arrive. A silver minibus pulled up, and a welldressed woman stepped out with three children. She looked flustered, whispered something, and led the kids toward the entrance.
A chill ran down Blythes spine. Instinct told her this wasnt a coincidence. She slipped out of the suite and headed for the main hall, where guests were already gathered. Oliver stood near the registration desk, back turned.
The door swung open and the woman with the children entered. The room fell silent. Oliver turned slowly, his face blanching.
Paul? the woman asked, voice trembling. Whats happening?
Blythe moved closer, still trying to piece it together. Oliver or Paul? stared between the two women.
Alice, he finally managed. What are you doing here?
What am I doing? Alice snapped. Your mother called me, said you were getting married! Paul, we have three kids!
The guests murmured. Blythe felt the floor give way beneath her. She clutched a nearby chair.
Oliver? she called out. Who is she?
What Oliver? Alice shouted. Hes Paul Dmitri Kline, my husband. The dad of these children. He works at a car showroom.
The children two boys and a girl, ages ten, eight, and four stared bewildered at the man in the suit.
Dad? the oldest asked. Why are you in a wedding suit?
Quiet, Kirill, Alice scolded, pulling his arm. Papa will explain later.
Paul or Oliver finally found his voice.
Alice, the kids, wait for me outside. Ill explain everything.
No, Alice crossed her arms. Im not leaving until I know whats going on.
Blythe stepped forward, eyes locked on the man shed loved.
Who are you, really? she asked softly.
He lowered his head.
Paul Kline.
And youre married? she pressed.
Yes.
And these are your children?
Yes.
Blythe felt something snap inside. All those months, all the declarations of love, the plans for a future a lie.
Why? she whispered. Why did you pretend to be a businessman?
Paul was silent. Alice grabbed his sleeve.
This has been two years, hasnt it? Your trips, the late nights, the work youve been living a double life!
Not now, Alice, Paul begged.
No, now! she shouted. I trusted you! I believed every word!
Blythe interjected, Why the deception? The proposal, the wedding
The hall was so quiet you could hear a moth flutter. All eyes were on the unfolding drama.
I I didnt mean for it to get this far, Paul stammered. I met you by accident. You were beautiful, smart. I wanted to impress you, so I said I owned a company. Then it spiralled out of control.
What was the point of marrying me? Alice asked.
I thought I could disappear after the ceremony, collect the gifts, the money, and run.
Kate, who had slipped in behind Blythe, stepped forward.
I think he was planning to vanish after the reception, take the presents, and never look back. Right, Paul?
No! Paul protested. I couldnt do that to you, Blythe.
But you did, Kate said. How long have you been juggling two families?
Paul fell silent, his gaze drifting over the assembled guests.
Did you know she was married? Alice asked, her voice shaking.
No, Blythe replied, I only learned yesterday.
Its disgusting, Alice muttered. Absolutely disgusting.
She turned to the children.
Lets go home, she said. You dont need to stay here.
The kids obeyed, clutching her hand.
Maybe you should leave too, Paul, Kate suggested. You cant stay here after this.
Paul stood, surrounded by judgmental looks. Blythe stared at him, barely recognizing the man shed once thought shed spend her life with.
You should go, she said quietly.
Blythe, please, I can explain
Theres nothing to explain, she replied, shaking her head. Just leave.
He lingered a moment longer, then turned and walked out, the doors closing behind him.
Blythe remained in the white wedding dress, the guests hushed, the atmosphere a mix of emptiness and relief. Kate came over and wrapped an arm around her.
Lets get out of here, she said. Weve already paid for the banquet. The guests are here. Maybe we should just make the best of it.
What are we celebrating? Kate asked, bewildered.
My freedom, Blythe said with a faint smile. Imagine if shed shown up after the ceremony, or a year later, or when we already haveImagine if shed shown up after the ceremony, or a year later, or when we already have kids of our own, only to discover the same betrayal.
