A Pact of Love

Love Contract

Sophie was sat at the big, old kitchen table, surrounded by stacks of bridal magazines. She flipped through page after page, eyes catching every little detaillace overlays, delicate beading, gossamer veils. Every now and then, her gaze would linger on a perfect white dress, and shed imagine herself walking down the aisle: her hands trembling a little, everyone turning to look, her heart hammering with anticipation.

Beautiful she whispered to herself, her attention glued to a particularly stunning gown with a full skirt and dainty straps. It looked just like something from a fairy taleweightless, elegant, satin shimmering under studio lights.

But just as quickly, the corners of her lips fell. She let out a sigh, set the magazine aside, and got up slowly from the table. She padded over to the grand, carved mirror in the hallway and gave herself an honest look. Side-on, then a tilt of her headtrying to see herself the way a stranger might.

Shame. Thats not for me, she told her reflection, this time with a note of finality, like she was willing herself to accept it. Shouldve looked after my figure.

She twirled once in front of the mirror, picturing herself in a full-skirted gown with a corset, layers of tulle and immediately grimaced.

I need something simpler, she mused, voice low, as if confiding in an invisible friend. No puffball skirtsIll look like a meringue. But at the same time, she wanted her dress to be special. Im only doing this once; I want it to be right.

Sophie ran an anxious hand through her hair as a wave of mild panic crept in. There were too many ideas, all so gorgeousand yet, none seemed quite her. She kept glancing at the scattered magazines, hoping the next page would reveal some flash of inspiration. Instead, she just felt tired and more than a bit lost.

I need to talk to someonebefore I go completely mad over this wedding, she muttered, collapsing onto the edge of a chair.

The slam of the front door jolted her from her thoughts, making her jump. She paused, listening intently. Keys? Only two people had a set: her dad and her fiancé, Oliver. But both of them were meant to be busyher dad off at some big business lunch, Oliver supposedly caught up at a work meeting hed mentioned that morning.

Sophie held her breath, waiting. Worry fluttered through herwhat if it wasnt either of them? Usually, by this time of day, shed be away at her salon, and the house would be empty. The unease made her shiver.

She stole quietly away from the table and crept towards the stairs down to the hall. From the landing, she could see the front door perfectly. She leaned out, pressing herself against the wall, peeking around gingerly.

But thenrelief. It was Oliver, of course. His unmistakable figure taking off his shoes with his usual carelessness, humming some random tune under his breath.

Ollie? Sophie almost whispered, frowning. Whats he doing home?

She watched him, curious. Maybe he was surprising her? Or Wait, who was he talking to?

Just hang in there, darling, Olivers voice was unexpectedly soft. Sophies blood ran cold. He never spoke to her like that. Not long now, Ill keep to my end of the bargain, and well be together.

Sophies nails dug into her palmshe didnt dare make a sound. What bargain? And who was he talking to?

How much longer? he continued, voice turning brisk. Six months, thats all. Yeah, the weddings next month, then a few lovely months of married life His tone wavered, disgust sneaking into his words as if he could hardly stand to say them.

Their weddinga mere checklist item in some sort of contract?

And what Jacob wants after, thats his business. Ill take my things and be gone once the last bit of the payment lands in my account.

Those words were like being punched in the chest. Sophie staggered, clutching the doorframe. Her thoughts raced: He lied. Hes been lying to me all this time!

She retreated quietly, trying to make sense of the chaos in her mind. Her dad was involvedthat much was clear. A deal. Payment. A six-month plan. The pieces clicked together in a horrible, gut-turning puzzle. She wanted to scream, but the sound was stuck in her throat.

Yet, despite the pain chewing at her insides, Sophie decided to stick around and listen. Maybe shed learn something elsesomething to help her fully understand what was happening.

Oliver got comfy in the armchair, feet propped up, continuing the call totally oblivious to the fact that Sophie was just in the next room, listening to every word.

Oh, dont fret, he said, voice laced with fake reassurance. Youre the only one I love! Dont you want that nice flat in the city, fancy clothes, sparkly bits of jewellery? He paused, as if expecting a reply, then smirked, See? Howd I be able to afford all that as someones PA? Six more months! Well be together, I promise.

His confidence made Sophies anger finally break the surface. She made her way down the stairs, limb by limb, like pushing through invisible fog. Her legs shook, but she kept going.

No, youll be free much sooner than that, she announced, walking into the lounge.

Oliver spun around, startled. His face drained of colour, the fake smile vanishing. He didnt even finish his sentence. His phone clattered to the floor.

Sophie? Love? he stammered, standing up, panic and confusion clear as day. What are you talking about?

He took a step towards her, hand outstretched like he always did when smoothing over an argument. But Sophie stepped back, chin up, gaze icy.

Darling? she repeated, the word tasting bitter. Seriously? You think I didnt hear you?

She stood her ground, staring him down, searching his eyes for grief or regret. But all she saw was panic and frantic scrambling for excuses.

Hannah Thats your mistress, isnt it? Not the sister you once introduced? Sophies voice was measured, but the tension running through it was sharp as a knife.

Oliver went pale, scrambling for his phone as if it could save him. His hands shook.

Youre mistaken, he said, making a poor attempt at sounding calm. What Hannah? Ive no idea

He reached for her hand but Sophie yanked hers away, resolve steeling in her chest.

You know exactly what, she said dryly, and Oliver looked away, ashamed. I heard you. All your syrupy talk on the phone. It made me sick.

She swallowed, steadying her trembling voice. The pain ran deep, but she refused to let it show. Every memory, every dream, all those momentsthey were fake. She was nothing but a prop in his little game.

Oliver stood in silence. He knew there was no way out of thisnot now. Maybe if hed checked to see if she was home, maybe if hed kept his guard up. But it was too late for that.

There wont be a wedding, Sophie said, her voice firmer than it ever had been, the decision ringing out with finality. But before I throw you out, I want the truth. All of it. No lies. No excuses.

Her voice didnt waver, even though she was fighting back tears. She crossed her arms in front of her, bracing herself for more hurt. Her eyes were dry, her jaw set. She wanted the whole rotten truth.

The truth? he sneered, dropping his act. You want the truth? Fine. I would never have looked at you twice if your dad hadnt offered me the deal. Olivers words were cold, almost cruel. I take you out, play the doting boyfriend, sprinkle some compliments around and in exchange, I get an easy job and a very tidy fee. Double salary, you could call it.

He said it as if he were talking about popping to the shops or some tedious team meeting. But every word was a knife, cutting through Sophies last bit of hope.

This was all about money? she whispered, feeling numb. But she met his gaze, refusing to cry.

Did you really think someone like me would fancy someone like you? Oliver snorted, and there was nothing kind or familiar in his laugh. Have you looked in a mirror lately? Honestlylook again.

Those words stung in a way nothing else could. Sophie felt her throat clog, her eyes burn. She clenched her fists, forcing herself not to break.

For a moment, she stood there in utter silence, trying to process it all. The world dimmed around her. Every date, every chat, every shared dreamjust pieces in a deal, nothing more than a cruel performance.

Get out, Sophies voice was steel, even as her insides churned. Ill send your things by courier. Go.

Oliver shot her a final, scornful glanceno warmth, just cold satisfaction at peeling off the mask. He moved slowly to the door, dragged on his coat, and left, slamming the door behind him. Sophie was left in suffocating silence.

Outside, Oliver felt his nerves starting to fray. Now he had to deal with Jacob, Sophies dad. He knew the mans reputationstrict, commanding, hated liars. If anything, this plan had been a disaster. Still, he remembered the money sitting pretty in his bank and tried to take comfort.

Well, at least I got paid, he muttered as he wandered down the street, hoping no one would demand the money back.

Meanwhile, in the now-empty house, Sophie was struggling to dial her dads numberher hands shook so much, she kept pressing the wrong buttons. When it finally connected, she couldnt help but yell.

Dad! How could you?! How could you do this to me?!

She barely let him answer. The words tumbled outangry, hurt, impossible to stop.

You organised this! You paid him! You made him pretend! You never even asked me what I wanted! You just assumed you knew best!

Her voice was frantic, but she couldnt hold it in any longer.

I trusted you! I thought he I thought he loved me! But it was all a performance! You turned my life into a joke!

Jacob tried to apologise, but she didnt listen. All the pain, the bottled-up insecuritiesthey rushed out.

Never again! Dont you dare interfere in my life, ever! Do you hear me? Never!

She hung up, tossed the phone aside, and finally let her tears come. She curled up on the sofa, shoulders shaking, crying harder than shed cried in years. Right then, she felt like a little girl againhurt, betrayed, abandoned.

Her tears werent just for Oliver. They were for years of feeling not good enough, of always being so critical about how she looked. Sophie had always been self-consciousstaring at her reflection, picking apart every flaw. If I just had a smaller waist if only I had a prettier figure She envied the women in magazines, the ones on TV. But reality was cruel, and it stung.

She even thought about surgery from time to time. But she always stopped herself, thinking about her mum.

The story of her mumIsabel, who insisted on that elegant version of her name, even when ordering a curryhad always been in the back of Sophies mind. As a young woman, Isabel had been strikingsharp cheekbones, thick hair, a kind of grace that pulled your eyes to her.

It all changed after a nose job gone wrong with a so-called specialist her friends had recommended. She only wanted a tiny tweak, nothing dramatic. Instead, the surgery left permanent scarring. She visited clinic after clinic, threw all her money at it, but it just got worse.

Slowly, her confidence seeped away. Social events stopped, and eventually, she hated looking in the mirror at all. Shed hide beneath big hats and dark glasses, drawing the curtains and shutting out the world.

Then, one day, she simply left. No explanations, no goodbyesjust a note for Jacob: I cant do this anymore. Sorry. No calls, no letters; she vanished. Sophie was left behind.

She grew up staring at old photos of her glamorous mumthe smiling Isabel, radiant and happy. But the difference between young Isabel and the woman who left was stark. As the years ticked by, Sophie couldnt help feeling she would never measure up.

She compared herself to her mum all through her teens. Mums cheekbones were perfect; Sophies cheeks were round. Mums hair was silky, hers was wild and flyaway. She found faults in every feature. Even when friends said she looked lovely, Sophie didnt believe it. She always felt less thannot quite beautiful, never enough.

It seeped into all parts of her life. At school, she kept to herself, too shy to draw attention. At uni, she avoided speaking up. Boys rarely noticed her and, if they did, they lost interest quickly. Sophie decided it was her looksnothing else.

If I were just prettier, everything would be different, shed tell herself, over and over, not realising that her lack of confidence was what actually pushed people away.

Then came Oliver. He swept into her life like sunshine after a stormnoticed her, looked at her as though she was the only woman alive. He gave her genuine compliments, remembered silly details, took her to cosy cafes, bought her flowers for no reason. With him, Sophie for the first time in years felt attractive. Not perfect, but enough. He made her feel wantedmaybe even loved. She began to believe she might actually deserve happiness.

But now, all that was rubble. Everything Oliver had said was an act, a paid performance. The person orchestrating it all? Her own dadthe one shed trusted most.

**************************

A couple of months later, Sophie stood in the fitting room, wearing a simple, beautiful white wedding dress. There was no heady, giddy excitement, just a quiet, business-like clarity. The dress suited her shapely shoulders, falling loosely and elegantly to the floor. Lace at the cuffs caught the light.

She studied her reflectionno longer searching for faults or wishing for something else. She accepted herself as she was.

An hour later, Sophie walked the aisle between the pews and guests. Her head was high, back straight, steps graceful. No starry look of a lovestruck bridejust steadiness and calm. Some guests smiled and whispered, admiring her; others exchanged glances, surprised by her poise.

Sophie greeted them, but her mind was a million miles away. She remembered a talk with her dad a while back.

Dad, Ive decided to say yes to Simons proposal, shed said, looking him in the face.

Her dad froze, coffee halfway to his lips, caught off guard.

Are you sure, Soph? Its a big decision.

Im sure, she replied firmly. Im done waiting for lightning-bolt love that might never show up. I want something stable, respectfula normal family. Simon can give me that.

But what about love? he started.

Love is wonderful. But Im tired of waiting for a miracle. I want to build my life myself.

Now, approaching her fiancé at the altar, she replayed her own words. Simon waited, a bit anxious but smiling. There wasnt wild passion between them, but there was honest warmth and respectthings Sophie now valued above all.

As the registrar began her little speech, Sophie realised: she didnt regret her decision. This wasnt some fairy tale about true love. But it was her decisionthoughtful, grown-up, and free.

Maybe Simon wont ever be besotted with me, she caught herself thinking. But hell respect me. And who knows perhaps one day, well love each other properly.

That idea made her smiletruly smile, for the first time in a while. Love, she realised, takes many forms. Maybe, theirs would start with a steady foundationnot fireworks, but something strong and real. Something she could build on.