His Wife (A Contract Marriage Story) by Heer Mangtani

Chapter 1
Sofia’s PoV
I wiped tears from the corner of my eyes, hoping nobody saw me weep, and that the mascara didn’t run because of my unending
tears. I was miserable, still in disbelief believe that the first time I was going to see my husband-to-be was when I’d walk down
the aisle, and he would be waiting for me at the end of it.
At least, I hoped he would be there, and that he wouldn’t elope. Not because I wanted to particularly marry him, but because
being stood up at the altar in front of the whole world would be very humiliating.
“Ms. Baker?” As I fixed the princess-y Versace wedding gown one last time, one of the three women who had followed me since
the moment I had stepped into this mansion today called me, and I looked up at her.
“Yes?”
“Your grandfather is waiting for you outside. It’s time.”
It’s time. It’s time to get married to a man you don’t know.
Nodding, I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time making sure no tear stained my make up, and then left the room and
walked down the stairs to the long wooden doors from which I was supposed to walk out. The dress was trailing behind, and the
four inch heels I was wearing were uncomfortable.
I felt suffocated, as if I would breakdown again any moment.
“Sofie!” My grandfather’s eyes lit up when he saw me, and mine softened looking at him all decked in his blue tux. It’s all for him,
I reminded myself, he needed the money.
“Grandpa,” I smiled softly at him, hurrying to reach him before he walks to me. He used to be tall and fit once, but years of
chemotherapy had sucked the strength the out of him.
“Oh! You look beautiful!” Tears glistened in his eyes. “I wish your parents could see you like this.”
I gulped the lump forming at the back of my throat as I held his hand when I reached him. “Are you happy, grandpa?”
“Very.” He beamed, “You will be taken care of when I’m gone. Gabriel is a good man.”

I nodded. I wasn’t happy, but he didn’t need to know of that.
“Are you ready?” He asked in a whisper as I wrapped my hands around his arm and we stood in front of the shut doors.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
On queue, the doors opened. People stood on both sides of me when I stepped out and onto the aisle, every eye on me. Some
hushed whispers. Camera flashes.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
I looked up. Despite the meticulously planned extravagance all around me that the Whitlock family had spent hundreds of
thousands of dollars on, the person that caught my eye was the man standing at the end of the aisle.
Gabriel Whitlock.
I had googled him. I knew of his brown eyes and dark hair, his lopsided smile, his broad, muscular shoulders and his graceful
stance, but my heart still skipped a beat when our eyes met.
Oh, I so wished for this to be a fairytale-come-true, not a nightmare of a marriage I was about to be trapped in.
He was looking at his watch, and there was a frown on his face when he looked up, which changed when he saw me. An
emotion I couldn’t decipher flickered in them, and I squirmed under his scrutinising gaze.
He stepped down when I reached the end, forwarding his hand towards me in a perfectly practiced gesture, and cameras flashed
more than ever as my grandfather placed my hand in his as if traditionally entrusting me with him.
His palm was rough and large, and mine felt so small in his. Oh, what a mismatch.
“Hey,” I mouthed over the priest’s words, surprising myself. I hadn’t planned on doing this. My voice was so little that I wasn’t
sure he heard me, but he did. His eyes flickered towards me, setting on me for a brief few seconds.
His jaw clenched, and then he looked away.
He didn’t look back at me for the rest of the time, and my cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment when the dreaded words
cut in: “Do you, Gabriel Whitlock, take Sofia Baker to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” He finally turned to me, and I bit my lower lip.

“And do you, Sofia Baker, take Gabriel Whitlock to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
This was suffocating. The outfit I was wearing costed more than my apartment. “I do,” I still answered.
“Gabriel, you may kiss your bride.” The officiant announced, and the entire world faded when he stepped towards me, hovering
over me despite the tall heels I was wearing. One of his hands brushed my lose locks away and held my cheek as he bent down
to gently place his lips on me.
It was barely a brush.
And just as quickly, he moved away as if he wasn’t supposed to kiss me in the first place.
* *
We didn’t attend the reception of our own wedding.
After the nuptials, I was ushered back inside by my grandfather.
“Seems like Gabriel cannot wait to get to know you,” My grandfather laughed quietly, and I contemplated the urge to roll my
eyes.
“I absolutely cannot.” Gabriel’s voice filled in from behind, a charming but formal smile on his lips.
“You take good care of my Sofie, okay?”
“She’ll never have the chance to complain.” He didn’t even look at me. “But I’m going to steal her from you now.”
Grandpa smiled sadly, and I squeezed him tight. “I’ll visit you tomorrow,” I promised him, “Don’t forget your medicines.”
He nodded. He was going to stay the next few days with Gabriel’s grandparents, who happened to be his friends from college. I
had met them a few times before. They visited quite often after hearing about Grandpa’s illness.
“Smile.” Gabriel whispered when we begin walking outside, getting me to look at him.
“Huh?”
“I said... smile.”

I knit my eyebrows furthermore, confused, but as soon as I stepped outside, tens of camera lights flashed in my eyes. There
were reporters everywhere, throwing overlapping questions that I couldn’t catch.
“Is it true that this is an arranged marriage?”
“Is it true that this is the first time you both are meeting each other?”
“Mr. Whitlock, what happened to your relationship with Ms. Grant?”
I couldn’t make much sense of anything, only Gabriel. He had wrapped one of his arms around my back, his body tilted sideways
as if to shield me from the flash lights as he guided us to the limousine at the end of the path, and quickly helped me get inside.
Once the door shut, the gentleness with which he had talked to my grandfather and showed in front of the cameras vanished,
and his jaw tightened, his eyes falling on the watch again.
I cleared my throat. “Is that normal for you?”
“Yes.”
He looked outside as the driver drove away from the chaos, barely sparing me a glance.
I spoke up again. “I’m Sofia... Baker.”
This time, he looked at me like I was stupid. “I know,” he deadpanned.
I shut up after that.
He was clearly not interested in talking to me. I felt embarrassed for trying again and again, and the urge to cry returned. I
always knew this wasn’t going to be an unrealistic fairytale where he looks at me for the first time and falls in love with me madly,
but I hoped he would at least look at me. And talk to me. Or agree to be a friend. Or something.
But with the way he was behaving with me, I could have as well married a robot.
After twenty minutes of silence, no music, windows rolled up and the scent of a light air freshener mixed with air conditioning of
the car choking me, I spoke up again. “Have I offended you somehow?”
“Well, yes,” He cocked an eyebrow at me, “You married me.”