Paul’s Williamsburg loft looked swept from the pages of a design magazine, utilizing all the interior design tactics Brittany had been trying to hone during her years of school. As she left the elevator, her thin form swallowed hole by the enormous space, she glanced around her, emitting a long, even sigh. Out the floor to ceiling windows, she saw a sweeping view of Manhattan, which made her bones ache. From her own Brooklyn apartment, she’d had a view of a brick wall, a reminder, constantly, that she was ramming her head into a metaphorical one.

“This is insane,” Brittany whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Well, I suppose, it’s your home now,” Paul said, his voice becoming insistent, almost booming. It made Brittany’s drunken headache. Leading her down the hallway, he pointed toward the furthest door, stating: “That’s your room, there. I want you to make yourself comfortable. I’d texted ahead, had the maid put out a bunch of towels and other things for you. I’m not sure you’ll have time to go home and collect your things before our big day.”

Incredulous, Brittany swept her head toward him, her lips parting. “What do you mean?” she asked, laughing. “We aren’t getting married this very hour, are we?”

Paul gave her a coy smile. “Actually, Brittany, the parents don’t want to wait a moment more. We’re doing it the old-fashioned way. The arranged marriage way, only, we’re arranging it ourselves. We’ll be married tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” The word echoed around Brittany’s brain. She leaned back against the hallway wall, blinking her large, doe-like eyes up at him. She felt she was suddenly faced with a nightmare, unable to wake up. The heat gravitating off of Paul’s body made her skin feel electric, bright—yet the knowledge of what she was actually doing, in the light of a more sober brain, was absolutely terrifying.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Paul asked her. “Or should I go hunt for another Brooklyn girl with money problems?”

“No, no,” Brittany whispered, swiping her blonde hair behind her ears. “I’m just tired, I guess. I might just sit for a bit. Collect my thoughts. Big day, you know?”

“Sure. And remember, Brittany. Everything for tomorrow will be worked out, without your assistance. Most girls have to plan their weddings. But you? You have the luxury of kicking back. Enjoying the day.”

She had no answer for him.

Brittany felt Paul’s eyes upon her as she entered her bedroom, diving into another room that was bigger, still, than her entire apartment. A white bedspread gleamed in the brightness of the overhead light, and a large painting, probably an antique, stretched across the wall in a chorus of blues and purples and bright pinks. Tossing herself onto the bed, she tried to ease her racing heart.

As she lay back, she heard the doorbell to the loft. Craning her ears, she listened close as Paul opened it, greeting the arrival with tense, angry words.

“Didn’t mention you’d be stopping by.”

“Didn’t think I’d have to, if I was bringing Lea. Besides, my mother is busy right now. I don’t have another option.”

“Of course.” In the other room, Paul laughed, whispering something, his voice tinged with joy. “By the way, Elena. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

The woman laughed dryly, sounding incredulous.

“You can laugh, but listen. You’ll be hearing from a lawyer soon enough to re-examine my custody rights. Everything’s about to change around here,” Paul affirmed.

Custody? Brittany burst up from her relaxed position, listening more actively. Was there a child involved?

“Well, you know, Jack’s got good money and good lawyers, too. I can’t imagine anything you did could match him.”

Creeping toward the door, Brittany found herself suddenly face-to-face with a little girl—blonde haired, blue-eyed, with curls descending down her back. She wore a bright pink dress and a coat that traced down her back, making her look as if she’d just raced down the hall to see her. Blinking brightly, the little girl kept her mouth pressed tightly closed.

“Hello,” Brittany whispered, her heart hammering. “Can you tell me your name?”

The little girl shook her head, biting her bottom lip. Her cheeks were bright pink, almost cartoony. Outside, Paul continued to fight with the strange woman—perhaps his ex-wife, if her hunch was correct. Brittany beckoned toward the girl, telling her: “You can come in here, if you want. While they keep fighting out there.”

The girl finally spoke, her voice bright and whimsical, as if she were singing a song. “You’re getting married?”

Brittany nodded, feeling like an alien on a far different planet. “I suppose so.”

“Do you think that means I’m the flower girl?” she spoke, bringing her hands together, like a prayer. “I’ve always wanted to be a flower girl. My friend Ashley, she was…”

In that moment, Paul appeared on the other side of the young girl, bringing a strong hand to her shoulder. Glancing up at Brittany, he gave her a wry smile, a small shrug. “I see you’ve met Lea,” he said.

Lea scrambled back from them both, looking anxious at the sound of her name. Racing back toward the living room, she left Paul and Brittany staring at one another, Brittany looking incredulous.

“And who on earth is Lea?” she asked, her voice catching.

“Well, she’s my daughter, of course,” he affirmed. “Does this change anything?”

Brittany’s mind raced with panic. Gripping her hands together, she hunted for the words to say that would make this all okay, that would ensure she could go through with this, regardless of the child and the lack of love and the fear in her belly.

But she had nothing to say.