I'm in neutral territory — a cafe — wearing a cute floral dress and flats. Apparently it is casual but still cute. Why that matters, I will never know. But Divya convinced me it was suitable for an afternoon date with my husband. Or whatever he is.

It's only once I find an empty table and sit down near the espresso machine that I realize the cafe is very small and warm. And, I can't remember what my husband looks like, so I have to pull my phone out and pretend to be covert while I check my camera roll to remember.

I keep saying 'my husband' like it's real. Maybe if I say it enough times I'll start to believe it. Or at least other people will.

My husband.

"Bianca?" a voice calls from across the cafe, and I look up to see the same face I'd been trying to memorize moments before. Except the unkempt hair and disheveled suit jacket have been replaced by a fresh clean look and a short sleeved button down.

"You order already or do you want me to get something for you?" he points to the cashier and waits, eyes wide and smile bright.

"I'll just have a plain coffee, thanks!" I wave and smile back, hopefully obscuring the shaky, unsteadiness of my arms. It's so much colder in here than it used to be, but I can't find where the draft is coming from.

Okay, all I have to do is wait for him to get here and then explain the situation. We'll go to the pre-wedding activities, I'll pay for his amazing trip to Divya's wedding, and then we'll get a divorce and be done with the whole thing.

He'll probably go for it! And if he doesn't, there's always the Elvis impersonator from yesterday.

Oh, God, I hope I don't have to call the impersonator.

It's possible I've pushed back every single one of my cuticles five times before Enrique slides into the chair across from me and pushes and tray onto the small circular table between us.

"I got you a croissant and a sandwich, just in case. If you don't want them, I'll take them back with me so they don't go to waste. So, no pressure either way. I'll just put your coffee down in front of you there and then go give this tray back. I guess they only have one or two."

His babbling is oddly calming. "Thanks. It's perfect." I pull the sandwich toward me and pick it up, offering a smile that hopefully looks more confident than it feels.

I admit to watching him walk away. He's my husband, so it's fine, right?

The sandwich he picked is loaded with flavour. Some type of green sauce really adds to the ham and cheese packed onto freshly baked bread. The scent of coffee pulls me in to the point that I almost miss a bridal party crashing through the doors.

"They must get bachelorette parties here a lot," Enrique says when he returns, slapping a small pile of napkins down on the table. "No one even flinches when they arrive anywhere. Have you noticed that?"

My mouth is full of sandwich so I just smile and nod.

"You aren't from Vegas, are you? I can't believe I didn't ask."

"Well, I did run away from you, so..."

"You did. Not that I blame you. I'd think I was a joke, too, really. I'm ... not usually the kind of guy who does stuff like that."

"Drunkenly marrying the girl whose shoe you picked up out of an elevator?"

"Precisely."

"Well, I think we gave it about the same amount of time as Cinderella and Prince Charming, so clearly we're fine. Totally normal."

"It would be, if this was a movie. Or I wasn't me."

"Wow. Ouch." That sounds very promising.

"Don't be like that," he sighs, pushing his hair back out of his face in a futile act that resulted in the whole of it falling back onto his forehead into his eyes. "It's not even about you. You're lovely, I'm sure. But I don't know you. You don't know me. Look at us, meeting here in a coffee shop like it's a first date."

"Isn't it?" I slap my hand onto my mouth. I didn't mean to say that part out loud, but it's the truth, and it hangs heavy between us as the drunk-on-mimosas crew of brides-and-bridesmaids-to-be loudly orders coffee and bread from the no-nonsense old woman behind the counter.

"You don't have to be nervous," he laughs and drops his head into his hands. "This is ridiculous. I can't even look my mother in the eyes."

It stings. I know it shouldn't, but it does.

The coffee gives me some time to think before I speak this time. "I know what you mean. I'm not exactly used to getting drunk and doing spontaneous things. I think my friends actually dropped dead when they realized."

"Mine wanted to throw me a party," he sighs. "Any excuse for more adult activities, I guess. I don't really want a bachelor party."

"Well, you aren't a bachelor anymore so I guess you're off the hook."

His sad smile flickers across his face before it's replaced with a happier one. "I'm glad to be off the hook for a bachelor party. Not exactly how I imagined it going."

"You and me both, my dude." I cannot believe I just called him my dude. Hiding the blush behind my sandwich is tricky, now that I've eaten more than half of it, but I do my best. An image of the Elvis impersonator flashes through my head, stopping me from getting up and just leaving.

The silence between us is made more obvious by the candid conversations going on all around the room. "Can we just admit this whole thing is completely out of the norm? Can we just drop all the weird pretenses and get to know each other? I mean, is that okay with you?" I finally break the silence, unable to hold his gaze while I do.

I'm certain the whole cafe is staring at me while I stare at my lap. The moments between my outburst and his reply stretch on so long I risk a look up to make sure he's still sitting across from me.

"I'd like that," he says when my eyes reach his. "Really, I would. I just don't know what to do. How do you go on a first date with your wife?"

"They do it all the time on those soap operas where someone gets amnesia."

"Good point. Do they give any tips?"

"Well, there's a lot of helpful information on coming back from the dead after you renegotiate your contract, but not much else. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? What does your dating profile say?"

"I don't have one," he answers simply. "I've never seen the appeal of online dating."

Admittedly, I don't have a dating profile either, so I'm not sure what possessed me to ask that question. "Well, what would it say if you did have one? 'Looking for hot blonde yoga instructor'?"

"Hilarious."

I'm pretty sure he rolls his eyes before fixing them on a photograph of a boat in the corner.

My nail polish looked much better when I came in than it does now.

"I guess it would say I'm Enrique. I'm thirty-two and I've just settled into a career I don't hate. Finally. I wasn't really looking for anything in particular, but I've always kind of wanted to be married one day. I got lucky, maybe, in getting to skip the dating part, because this is terrifying."

It's a good thing I don't have coffee in my mouth when he blurts that last part out, because I would have lost it. Instead I just spurted out a laugh that came out as a bark and drew the attention of everyone left in the room. "I was going to say the same thing! I don't even remember the last first date I had!"

"Right? I think I was in high school?"

"High school? No. A guy like you hasn't been on a date in over a decade? I don't believe it."

"I said 'first date'. It's been a long time since I had a first date." He drops his gaze now and adds. "It's been a long time since I had any date, too, but not as long."

This situation is so weird. "You don't have to hide your past from me, Enrique. Like, your dating history or whatever. I'm not going to get mad. We literally just met. You didn't do anything wrong dating people before we met."

Suddenly it dawns on me that there is one very obvious way he could be doing something wrong. "Wait! You aren't currently dating someone, are you?" Because if you are I definitely can't take you to a wedding as my date.

"That's what you're worried about?" His laugh rings clear as a bell. "No, I'm not dating anyone. Are you? Is that why you were avoiding my calls and stuff?"

"What? No. I'm not currently dating anyone. I was avoiding you because..." Might as well be honest. Deep breath. "I was avoiding you because I was trying to figure out how to ask you to annul the marriage. If that's something they do here. And I was fully unsure of how to ask that of you. It seemed so cruel to marry you only to ask you to get out of it."

"I... I can't give you that," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

I almost ask him why not. Everything in me wants to fight back. He can give me that! I should fight him.

And I might have, if it weren't for the fact that I came to this cafe with the express purpose of convincing him to act married to me for another week. Swallowing my pride is a larger lump in my throat than I thought, but I manage to put on a smile.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Enrique, because I have a proposition for you." 

♤ ♥ ♤

Author's Note: Bianca has met her husband for the first time as a sober gal and she is not sure where it's going to go from here.

While you're waiting for the next chapter, why not check out emc_scribbles 's Love Bites?

Kate Bishop returns to sunny Los Angeles to find the comfort and security her life has recently lacked. A mysterious attack in Chicago has left her with literal and figurative bruises...and enough nostalgia for normal to accept her friend's offer of working part-time at her catering company.

Between helping cater for glamorous weddings and high-society dinners, a horrible blind date and a frankly bizarre menu proposal sends her spiraling into a dark, secret world that promises the danger she'd hoped to leave behind.