I thought I was marrying a successful entrepreneur, Eleanor muttered, her voice trembling as the door swung open. A woman entered, handinhand with three squalling children, her eyes wide with shock.
This is absurd! Shes a oneofakind design, you cant just rip her apart! the designer thundered, flinging his arms dramatically. Its like asking Leonardo daVinci to give the MonaLisa a moustache!
Im paying £4,000 for this dress and I expect it to fit perfectly, Eleanor said calmly, though her insides roiled. You can see the excess fabric here. Ive lost weight over the past month.
Last fitting you weighed exactly the same! the designer snapped back. A bride might slim down or put on a few pounds, but not that quickly. This gown was cut to your measurements.
MrSomerset, Eleanor sighed, the wedding is in three days. I have no time for arguments. Please make the alterations I asked for.
The designer gave her a disdainful glance, then finally nodded. The dress did indeed sit too loosely. Eleanor had shed five kilos in the frantic weeks leading up to the ceremonynot from dieting, but from endless errands and nerves. Invitations, the venue, the photographer, the floristall fell on her shoulders. Oliver was too absorbed in his business to worry about such minutiae.
Fine, Derek Ashcroft softened, pricking the fabric with pins. Well make you look like a queen. But stop losing weight, or I cant guarantee the result.
Eleanor smiled at her reflection. The white dress, its lace bodice and billowing skirt, gleamed like a fairytale. She turned, admiring the silhouette, wondering whether in three days she would become the wife of Oliver Somerset, owner of a thriving construction firm and, by all accounts, the most charming man shed ever met.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Oliver: Stuck in a meeting. See you tonight. Kiss.
She exhaled a silent sighthird time that week. Business demanded his attention. After the wedding, they would have more time together.
That evening, while waiting for Oliver at home, Eleanor thumbed through photographs for the wedding album. First seaside holiday, a ski trip in the Alps, the restaurant where hed proposed. Ten monthshardly a long courtship, but she felt certain he was the one.
A knock announced Olivers return. He slipped his blazer onto the armchair, smiled, and pulled her into a kiss.
Sorry for the delay. Investors from Birmingham needed me.
No problem, she replied, wiping a stray tear. Hungry? Ill heat up dinner.
I grabbed a bite in the office, he said, eyes flicking to his phone. Tell me how the fitting went.
Eleanor launched into the drama with the designer; Oliver nodded absentmindedly, his gaze drifting back to the screen.
Youre not listening, she said sharply.
Emergency, he typed a quick reply. What were you saying?
It doesnt matter, she stood, Im going for a shower. Its been an exhausting day.
The water washed away fatigue but not the unease. Lately Oliver seemed distantperhaps prewedding nerves, perhaps work pressure? She emerged, towel wrapped, and heard his hushed phone conversation from the bedroom.
Yes, everythings fine. No, dont worry, Ive got it under controlyes, of courseIll be home soon.
Eleanor froze in the hallway. Who was he speaking to so tenderly? She edged toward the door.
Ill be home shortly, Oliver said, ending the call.
She felt the room close in. Who were you talking to?
Oliver flinched, turned:
It was Victor, my deputy. We were discussing tomorrows meeting.
You said youd be home soon, she said, voice tight.
What? he frowned, then laughed. Ohright, I meant Ill be back at the office. My tongue slipped. Im exhausted, love.
She wanted to argue, but he stepped forward, enveloping her in a hug scented with expensive colognejust a hint of a floral perfume. She brushed it aside, convincing herself it was just the office secretarys perfume lingering on his coat.
Three days, and youll be Eleanor Somerset, he whispered, smiling. Sounds splendid, doesnt it?
She nodded, pressing her cheek to his chest, the prewedding jitters inflating every doubt. What could possibly go wrong?
The next morning Eleanor visited her friend Kate to collect the beaded shoes shed asked Kate to embellish.
You look worried, Kate said, pouring tea. Prewedding panic?
I dont know, Eleanor swirled her cup. Oliver was on the phone last night, said hed be home soon, but he was already home.
He probably misspoke, Kate shrugged. He runs a company of a hundred staff, half of them women. A whiff of perfume isnt unusual.
Eleanor forced a smile, though anxiety lingered.
Are you both ready for married life? Kate asked, eyebrows raised. You havent even lived together.
Weve spent weekends together, gone on holidays. Thats enough to know someone, Eleanor replied.
What about his parents? Kate pressed. Youve never met them.
They live in the countryside, elderly, cant travel. Theyll be at the wedding, Eleanor repeated, sounding rehearsed.
Strange theyve never visited in ten months.
Olivers swamped with workconstruction contracts, overseas trips. Hes always busy.
Will any of his business partners attend the ceremony?
Victor will, plus a few others.
Just a handful? No friends?
He prefers small gatherings.
Kates skeptical stare lingered; shed always been wary of Olivers polished façade.
That night, Eleanor summoned the courage to talk. In the kitchen, Oliver flicked through a tablet while she stirred a sauce.
Oliver, I need to ask she began, voice trembling. Are we really ready for marriage?
He looked up, surprised. What do you mean?
Weve never met your family, Ive never been to your home, I barely know your friends.
Weve talked about this a hundred times, he said, setting the tablet aside. Ive been staying at your flat while my house is being renovated. Youll meet my parents at the wedding. My friends? Im not exactly a social butterfly.
She pressed on, And the wedding rings?
Its all sorted. Ill pick them up tomorrow.
No, Ill do it myself. I need them wherever we are, she insisted.
He snapped, No! Ill take care of it. Trust me.
That night, sleep eluded her. Olivers steady breathing filled the room, but her mind raced. She loved him, trusted him, yet a part of her screamed that something was off.
At dawn Oliver left early, claiming he had to settle work matters before the ceremony. Eleanor stayed alone, her resolve hardening. She dug through her contacts and dialed Victors number.
Hello? a male voice answered.
This is Eleanor, Olivers fiancée. I need details about tomorrows event.
Event? Victor asked, confused. Which event?
The wedding, Eleanor said, heart pounding. Youre invited, right?
A long pause. I dont know any Oliver Somerset.
Im sure youre his deputy at the construction firm
I work in finance for a travel agency. Never in construction.
Eleanor sank into the chair, feeling the floor disappear beneath her. She thanked him and hung up, staring at the empty hallway. Who was the man shed been planning to marry?
She fired up her laptop, typed the company name Oliver had bragged about, and scrolled through search results. No record of an Oliver Somerset running a construction empire. No press releases, no LinkedIn profile. She sifted through social media, hunting for any trace of his projectsnothing.
She rummaged through a box of photographs and documents Oliver had left. Among them, a passport, drivers licence, and a business card. The licence looked suspiciously forged. She called the number on the card; an automated voice announced the line was unavailable.
The front door clickedOliver returned. She hastily shoved the papers back into the box.
What are you doing? he asked, planting a kiss on her cheek.
Just looking at our photos, she replied, forcing cheerfulness. Tomorrows a big day.
He smiled, pulling a velvet box from his pocket. I got the rings. Want to see?
She nodded. He opened the box to reveal two gleaming gold bands.
Theyre beautiful, she whispered, a lump forming in her throat.
Try one on? he offered, holding out the smaller band.
No, she stepped back. Bad omen. Youll wear it tomorrow.
He laughed, Superstitious, arent we? Fine, surprise it shall be.
His sincerity seemed genuine, his love palpable. Could everything really be a lie?
Im heading to Kates for the night, Eleanor announced. Traditionalgroom doesnt see the bride before the ceremony.
Of course, he replied, Ill stay with a friend. See you tomorrow, love. He kissed her long, tenderly, as if for the last time. A single tear escaped.
At Kates flat, Eleanor poured out everythingVictors misleading call, the missing company, the perfume scent.
I think hes not who he says he is, she concluded, wiping her eyes.
Lets verify, Kate said, opening her laptop. Full name?
Oliver James Somerset.
Date of birth?
15May1979.
Kate typed furiously. No records. No news articles, no legal filings. Usually a man of his supposed stature would appear somewhere.
Maybe hes just private?
Or a fraud. That fake Victor theyre duping you. Why would he do it?
Money? Eleanor guessed. Im a teacher, I have nothing.
Property? Cars? Kate pressed.
Only my parents house, no car of my own.
Could be a conmarry, collect gifts, disappear.
Eleanor shivered. Is that common?
Occasionally, yes. Especially with wealthylooking victims.
She lay awake that night, a strange calm settling over her. By morning she decided: she would go to the ceremony, face the man whod lied for ten months, and demand answers.
The venue was a modest country inn outside Norwich. Eleanor arrived an hour early, changing in a quiet dressing room. Guests filtered inher parents, friends, a few of Olivers colleagues. No sign of Oliver yet.
Friends helped her into the dress, adjusting the train, fixing her hair. The gown fit perfectly, yet she felt as though she were wearing someone elses skin.
Olivers here! a friend announced, peeking into the room.
Eleanors heart hammered.
The ceremony was slated to begin in fifteen minutes. She stood at the window, watching the last cars pull up. A silver minivan halted, and a woman stepped out, clutching three children. She was welldressed, eyes wide with anxiety. She whispered to the kids, who obediently followed her toward the entrance.
A chill ran down Eleanors spine. Something told her this was no coincidence. She slipped out of the dressing room and entered the main hall, where guests were already assembled. Oliver stood near the registration desk, his back to the door, speaking to a clerk.
The doors swung open, and the woman with the children entered. The room fell silent. Oliver turned slowly; his face drained of colour.
Paul? the woman breathed, voice shaking. Whats happening?
Eleanor moved closer, bewildered. Oliveror Paul?stood between two women, eyes darting.
Its Alice, he finally managed. What are you doing here?
What am I doing? Your mother called, said you were getting married! Paul, we have three kids! Alices voice trembled.
Murmurs rose among the guests. Eleanor felt the floor tilt. She clutched a nearby chair for support.
Oliver? she called, voice cracking. Who is this woman?
Its not Oliver, Alice shouted. His name is Paul Derek Kline. Hes my husband, the father of these children. He works as a manager at a car dealership.
The childrentwo boys, one girllooked up at Paul, confusion and hurt written on their faces.
Dad? the older boy asked, why are you in a suit? Is this a wedding?
Quiet, Kirill, Alice hissed, Dad will explain later.
Paul stared at the crowd, then whispered, Alice, lets step outside. Ill explain everything.
Alice crossed her arms. Im not leaving until I know whats going on.
Eleanor stepped forward, eyes locked on the man shed loved. Who are you? she whispered, voice barely audible.
He lowered his head. Paul Kline.
And youre married? she asked, each word a blade.
Yes.
And these are your children?
Yes.
The revelation crashed over Eleanor like a wave. All the months of love, the promises, the plansgone.
Why? she demanded, tears spilling. Why lie to me?
Paul remained silent, his gaze sweeping the assembled guests. The silence was deafening.
I I didnt mean for it to get this far, he finally stammered. I met you by accident. You were beautiful, intelligent. I told you I owned a construction firm. It was a lie that spiraled out of control.
Alices voice rose, anguished. Two years of double lifeyour trips, your delays! I trusted you!
Eleanor felt the room tighten around her. Did you plan to disappear after the wedding? Take the gifts, the money?
Kate, who had been watching from the side, stepped forward. Youre a fraud, Paul. Youve been using Eleanor for a wedding profit.
Nothing like that, Paul muttered, his eyes flickering. Id never hurt you, Eleanor.
Eleanors throat burned. You never even introduced me to your parents. You never let me meet your friends. You built a fantasy.
The crowd shifted, whispers growing louder.
I think Ill leave, Alice said, her tone cold. You cant stay here after this. She gathered her children, heading for the exit.
Paul stood, shrouded in condemnation, and turned toward Eleanor. Im sorry, he whispered, voice hoarse. I cant fix this.
She shook her head, feeling a strange mix of emptiness and liberation. Just go, she said softly. Leave.
He walked out, the doors closing behind him.
Eleanor remained in the centre of the hall, dressed in white, the guests eyes fixed on her. The silence was heavy, then Kate approached, embracing her.
Lets go, Kate said. The banquets paid for, the musics booked. Shall we celebrate?
What would we be celebrating? Eleanor asked, a faint smile breaking through the pain. My freedom, perhaps?
Kate laughed, a short, breathy sound. Heres to surviving a terrible script.
Eleanor lifted a flute of champagne, drank it in one gulp, and set the glass down with resolve. The band started in the background; guests began to dance, laughter bubbling around the tragedy. The sting of betrayal lingered, but Eleanor felt a fierce spark of strength.
Later, as the last guests departed, she sat on the steps of the inn, still in her gown, Kate beside her offering a glass of water.
How are you? Kate asked.
Exhausted, betrayed, but oddly grateful that the truth came out now, not later, Eleanor replied honestly.
Youre incredible, Kate said, shaking her head. I dont know if I could have held on like you did.
Neither did I, Eleanor admitted, looking up at the darkening sky. Turns out were stronger than we think.
They fell quiet for a moment, then Kate asked, What will you do next?
Ill return the dress to the designer, Eleanor said with a wry grin. Then I have no idea. Ill learn to trust again, maybe travel somewhere sunny, far from men like him.
Should we go on holiday together? Kate suggested, eyes bright.
Lets, Eleanor agreed. Somewhere with sea and sun, no contracts, no lies.
They laughed, the night air cooling their cheeks, and Eleanor felt a small crack of hope melt the ice around her heart.
The next morning she awoke on Kates sofa, blankets over her, sunlight streaming through the window. She stretched, feeling for the first time in months truly freefrom deception, from expectations, from a future built on falsehoods.
She opened her phone, typed a short post: Sometimes loss is a discovery. An ending can be a new beginning. Thanks to those who stood beside me yesterday. Your support means everything.
She added, If my brokenwedding story helps even one woman avoid the same trap, it was worth it. Share, comment, likelove and truth always outshine deceit.
