I stare at the beautiful Christopher Ward watch on my wrist as I wait in the registrar's office. She's late. Why she had to be on call for our wedding day is beyond me. But then, this marriage isn't a result of love. It's a farce. A marriage of convenience. No need to waste leaves on that, I guess. Besides, she has taken a leave for the reception tomorrow. The marriage might be a farce for us, but we need a big, fat show off for the rest of the world to believe it. After all, we need them to acknowledge us as husband and wife, before we can reap the benefits of the marriage.
Fifteen more minutes have passed, and still, she's not here. I am sure we are going to miss our appointment. Damn it, a delay would not be good for me. And she knows that. It's like she's doing it on purpose. The fancy pediatric surgeon, making the lowly psychologist wait. Damn her, damn her to high hell. I take out my phone and open our chat, but I don't text her. I don't want to appear that desperate. She needs this marriage too. I exit the chat, and go to Instagram instead to distract myself. I highly discourage all my patients from turning to this instant dopamine, but fact is, I am just as addicted as they are, if not more.
"Ian! Hi!"
She is out of breath, and speed walking towards the bench I am seated on. Still in her scrubs, with a large bag on her back. No pointy, clicky heels, just smart, doctor prescribed shoes. Looking every bit of the harried, super doctor that she is. She exudes an aura of importance, and I notice people discreetly glancing at her, and then at me.
"Cara! You're here!"
I stand up, smiling at her.
"We didn't miss the appointment, did we?"
She asks, looking at me worriedly.
I shake my head.
"We are yet to be called."
She blows out air through her mouth and sits on the rickety bench. I join her.
"That's great. There was an emergency at the hospital."
"I thought you had last minute wedding jitters. Cold feet."
She laughs. As if we have the option of not getting married.
"So, what was the emergency?"
I ask, partly out of interest, partly to make conversation.
"A kid rammed a pencil in his baby brother's nose at an angle, hard enough that the sharpened end pierced the skin and came out. Had to operate."
She says, clicking her tongue. I shudder at the image.
"Damn, I didn't think pencils were hard enough to do that!"
"Anything is harmful if enough force is applied."
"Why on earth would the brother do that though?"
"That's your department, isn't it? I just focused on saving the nose while trying to keep the scarring to a minimum."
"And did you?"
She gives me a look, raising a single eyebrow at me. Of-course, who am I talking to. I smile at her, the smart, highly talented woman, who is about to become my wife. She reached into her bag, pulls out a file, and begins reading it. Why didn't I think of doing that? Instead I have been sitting here for the better part of an hour, twiddling my thumbs. And now, I look like an idiot, sitting next to the smart lady.
Stupid Ian.
I scold myself mentally for not planning ahead. But I hadn't anticipated the wait. Or her being late and continuing to work even after arriving. Even though it's a marriage of convenience, its our wedding day for hells sake! Can't a man at least expect small talk from his bride to be?
I rub my hands across my face.
Focus on what's important, Ian. Don't get caught up in the small things.
Finally, they call us. A few simple signs, a photo for the file, and we're done. Married. For better or for worse.
"Congratulations, Dr. Ford and Dr. Reynolds."
The registrar says, more of a formality than any genuine happiness at our marital status. We express our thanks and leave the dingy building.
"Want to grab a bite?"
I ask Cara, who is peering into her phone.
"Huh? Uh no, I'll eat at the canteen. I have to head back."
Seriously? Heading back to work not two minutes after getting married?
"Alright. See you tomorrow, then?"
"Yeah, I'll be at the venue by 4. You'll arrive by 5, I presume?"
"Yeah."
"See you then, Ian,"
I wave her bye. She has almost reached her car, when it clicks.
"Cara! Hey, Cara! Wait!"
I jog behind her, trying to get her attention. She turns around, puzzled.
"What?"
"Shouldn't we be arriving together? Make it seem like we spent our wedding night together?"
Her eyes widen in alarm.
"Yeah, you're right. Guess we should have thought of that before. Damn, this messes things up."
"It's alright, you can get a cab to my place in the morning, and we'll go there together. I'll book a limo to drive us to the venue."
"Yeah, okay. I don't think I should go back to the hospital now. I mean, it would look suspicious, right?"
A shiver runs down my spine. I can't have anyone getting suspicious about the authenticity of this marriage.
"Yeah, in fact, just to be safe, you should stay at my house for the night. Get it caught on my neighbors CCTVs."
"Shit, we really dropped the ball on this. All our plans would have been down the drain."
"And we're supposed to be the smartest career choice out there."
I deadpan, and she laughs. The tension eases a bit. We didn't get caught.
"Looks like we have enough time to get something to eat before we head to the 'wedding bed'."
I say, wiggling my eyebrows at her, my fingers forming quotation marks around the words "wedding bed".
"Let's go someplace with CCTVs, and the kind of waitstaff who will be mandated to sing something silly to us."
She says. I nod in acknowledgement.
"Good thinking. Eye witnesses."
She googles for a few minutes, before deciding on a nearby diner. Small enough that the people there might remember the two of us, and nice enough that we can score a free bottle of wine at least. Hey, even people who make huge salaries appreciate free stuff.
"Let's meet there, then."
She says, waving me bye. I watch her go, till her car disappears from view, before walking back to my own car. My bride. Dr. Cara Reynolds. The ticket to my safe, uber wealthy future.