I would never have anticipated it, but I was excited. And I knew it was a problem when I caught myself grinning for no reason at all; or at least no reason I was immediately aware of. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was, as of yesterday, officially married. And I would be lying if I said I wasn’t anxious to meet this new husband of mine.

I had spent the night obsessing about it. I wondered whether it made sense to plan a wedding. A proper wedding, with family and friends, a scenic venue and a proper ceremony. The idea had a certain appeal. The issue of the venue was easily taken care of. We could have it right here. There were few places more naturally beautiful than this little neck of the woods. Family and friends was where the idea lost its sheen. Thanks to my self-imposed exile, I had significantly trimmed down the list of people I could call friends. There were probably people who would be thrilled to hear from me again, people who would swear they still cared about me. But it was telling that in all this time, the phone calls had been virtually nonexistent. When Hollywood’s Golden Boy vanished, so too did the majority of my circle.

Which left my immediate family. Mother would no doubt be thrilled with a huge wedding. The splashier the better. And she would invite just about every star on the damn planet. Dad would match her star for star. Really, if I let them, they would turn the whole thing into an awards ceremony scale celebrity cameo-fest.

So… no big wedding, then.

A small intimate wedding would no doubt be better, but there was essentially no point to it at all. If the idea was to let the people closest to us know we were married, why not just have a little dinner party and announce it to them instead? As the great Rance McCormick had said in one of his more memorable movies, public weddings were no more than civilized voyeurism.

A case could be made for eloping, too. If I waited for a while, I could just tell my parents I had met someone and we had eloped.

But what if Kyler wanted a wedding?

I already felt guilty about the contract, and the coldness of my proposal. Sure, I had to include the clause about romance. But maybe I could have been a little nicer about it. But he had accepted, much to my relief and excitement.

So, what if he did want a wedding? I thought about it, then decided it would be best to have that conversation with him when he got here. We would agree on a course of action together.

The only thing I could do was prepare for his arrival.

I called a lawyer and had them initiate the paperwork procedure. Aside from the permanent marriage license, I needed the contract ratified so we wouldn’t have any issues going forward.

Afterwards, I set about clearing the mess I had made around the house. I did not want to call a cleaning service, partly because it felt like the cleaning that needed to be done was very personal. Beyond picking up shirts I had not seen in weeks and disposing litter from days ago, the real cleaning was almost emotional. I had to comb through what was about to be my old life if I was to start a new one.

In the first few weeks after I moved here, I had been eager to purge Chris from my mind, and that meant getting rid of everything that reminded me of him, or anything I still owned that was even remotely connected to him. Out went the shared albums, the books and clothes. It wasn’t easy, because at that time everything reminded me of him. But the purge went on for days, until a pile had accumulated in the middle of my bedroom; a pile of the most innocuous things.

Yet it had not been complete. In the midst of all my rage, I had been unable to get rid of the tiny black velvet box that now sat at the bottom of my bedside table drawer. I don’t know why I kept it. It was symbolic of my pain. I never took it out, but knowing it was there was like a dull but comforting ache I needed to remind me of it all.

I knew that was the first thing I would have to get rid of.

It was just as I left it. Even now, it looked perfect, the exquisite velvet still silky smooth to the touch. I remember seeing it and thinking it was the perfect metaphor for Chris. Dark. Beautiful. Heavenly to touch. I remember the look of joy that suffused his face when I pulled it out. I remember the swell of applause and cheering that broke out when I dropped to one knee, the ensuing chaos when he said yes and we kissed blissfully. Everything had seemed so perfect.

But there was nothing I remembered as clearly as ‘the incident’. I only had to close my eyes, and there I was, climbing up the stairs to our apartment, my step made clumsy by the wine I had been drinking all night. There I was, fumbling awkwardly with the keys, finally picking out the right one and getting into the apartment.

He was supposed to have been asleep. With half a mind to surprise him, I had slipped out of my tux, and then tiptoed to his bedroom. I should have picked up on the scent of candles, or the drone of mood music filtering from under the bedroom door. I should definitely have paused at the grunting, the moaning, the telltale sounds of passion.

I remember the look on his face when I walked in. Bliss, and then shock, and then despair.

He was gone the next day. He never said he was sorry. He never said anything about it. He was just gone, and the only thing he left was that little black box, and inside it, the perfect diamond ring.

Well, that box had to go.

My phone buzzed as I was contemplating how to do just that. It was a new number, and I was just about to put it away when I saw the message.

“Hi, hubby.”

It was so out of the blue and so funny I actually laughed. He had a sense of humor. That was good.

“I wondered if I should pick anything up for the wedding night?” the text went on.

I wasn’t too old to recognize the flirty tone.

Grinning like an idiot, I typed back, “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I just stumbled across this gorgeous little mesh outfit and I wondered…”

“I’m sure you would look great in it, but most people don’t go into their wedding night expecting to be dressed.”

I sank back into the bed, patting a few pillows to ensure maximum comfort.

“You’re sure? How can you be sure? Unless you took a little peek at my profile?”

I rolled my eyes. He was teasing me, and I loved it.

“I might have taken a little peek, yes”

“Just a little one?”

“Tiny.”

“Did you like what you saw?”

“There’s definitely a lot to like. I’m more excited about what I didn’t get to see…”

“So your overall impression is…good?”

“It is. It’s very good.”

“You’re quite the looker yourself, hubby. If I may be so bold, I can’t wait for Saturday.”

I couldn’t either. But I hesitated just as I was going to say it back. It was almost like the spell he had already woven around me had broken. I was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of that giddy, lightheaded sensation in the pit of my stomach, the one that also meant I was smiling to myself. I was also aware of the increasing tautness in my sweatpants, but I chalked that one off to the innuendo we had been trading back and forth. I realized it had been such a long time since I was this aroused, and now Kyler had managed to do it twice in quick succession.

I needed to pump the brakes. I definitely liked him, but it wouldn’t do to appear too eager. So I gently redirected the conversation, asking him to tell me a bit more about himself.

I expected him to wave it off, promise to give me details when we met in person or rattle off some conversational summary. He did not. He accepted the invitation openly, going into generous details about his life.

He was an only child, and it wasn’t hard to see how much his father meant to him. He had been brought up by a single parent; he had never known his other parent, as his father’s partner had left soon after finding out about the pregnancy. And now his father was in an assisted living facility, having been diagnosed with dementia.

He shared just enough, but already I realized there was a lot to him. I liked that. I was sure it would be interesting to explore that.

I was unsure what to share with him. I felt I needed to share something, if for no other reason other than to extend the same trust he had with me, in talking so freely about his life. I didn’t want the first perspective he got of me to be the whole business with the scandal, so I decided not to tell him exactly who I was. It was inessential, really. I had not been Saul McCormick in a very long time, at least not the person the world assumed I was.

So I told him about the mountains. I told him about the beauty of the sunrises and the tranquility of listening to the river. I told him about the biting cold in the mornings, and how good it would be to have someone to wrap myself around when it got too bad. I joked that I had become the quintessential hunter and gatherer, foraging for herbs and skinning animals for hide. Kyler replied that that was an image he would be thinking about as he touched himself that night.

Kyler already knew part of my stipulations was that he succumb to my sexual needs, but I honestly hadn’t expected him to delight in it so readily. He seemed just as eager to get together as I was, if not more so, and the idea that he was going get off while thinking of me, had my own cock hard and ready. However, I ignored it in favor of learning more about him, and we continued texting into the night until I eventually fell asleep.”

I woke up the next day with a feeling of geniality and contentment I could not remember experiencing in a long time.

It was easy to focus on the preparation after that.

I went over every inch of the house, making sure it was presentable. I took a reconnaissance trip through my favorite spots in the woods and beyond, marking out the places I would take him and the things we were going to do together. I realized we would have enough time to do all that and more, but I still wanted him to see the Roch Mountains as I saw them; a beautiful paradise away from the chaos of the world. It made me realize how much I had missed companionship.

I also found myself planning for the wedding night. It was subtle at first. I would be standing at a random spot in the house, and the thought would suddenly slip into my mind: what would it be like to take Kyler right here, on this rug? Or ‘it would be fun to bend Kyler over this table and thrust into him’. Pretty soon, I was actively making plans for what I would do to him. I imagined I would grab him the minute I saw him and plant one on him. And then I would take his hand and lead him into the house and pin him against the first surface I laid eyes on. And then I would ravish him, and the first words out of him would be exclamations and moans.

It was as if the floodgates had been opened, and years upon years’ worth of sexual frustration came pouring out of me. I was now in a state of constant arousal. It did not help that Kyler had taken to sending me regular updates of what he was doing, along with cheeky selfies in which the best parts of him were blocked out. He wanted to keep the element of surprise, he said.

The effect of it all was that by Friday evening, I was in a feverish state of excitement and anxiety. Everything was ready. The lawyers had faxed back the documents I would need, including a ratified contract agreement. All Kyler had to do was sign them, and we were officially married.

It took every ounce of self-control I had not to call him that night. More than anything else, it was that urge that worried me. Giddy and excited were no good if this was a marriage only in name. I liked the kid, there was no point denying it. But I would have to be more guarded. I glanced once more at the little velvet box, and the rush of unpleasant memories was enough to steel myself.

The phone buzzed, but I ignored it. It felt dirty, somehow, to talk to him in the midst of my cleanse.

I took a long hard look at the engagement ring. The logical thing would be to throw it into the fireplace, right? But no, that one was going right back into the drawer. If ever I had a moment of weakness, it would serve as a timely reminder of the perils of falling in love.