Mia wakes up on her wedding day and immediately throws up.
Morning sickness, nerves, or cosmic commentary—she's not sure which. She kneels on the cold bathroom tile, forehead pressed against the toilet seat, and thinks about how this is definitely not how fairy tales start.
"Mia?" Alexander's voice filters through the door. "Are you okay?"
They've been sharing the bedroom for two days now. Two awkward days of carefully maintained distance, sleeping on opposite sides of the massive bed, navigating around each other like polite strangers. Which, technically, they are.
"I'm fine," Mia calls back. "Just the usual."
"Can I come in?"
She's about to say no when another wave hits. She throws up again, miserable.
The door opens. Alexander appears in pajama pants and nothing else—and wow, Mia forgot how built he is. Not the thought to have while vomiting on your wedding day, but there it is.
He kneels beside her, gathering her hair back. "How long has this been happening?"
"Every morning for two weeks. Dr. Okonkwo says it's normal."
"It doesn't look normal."
"Well, growing a human isn't exactly a natural state." Mia wipes her mouth with shaking hands. "I'm glamorous, aren't you lucky you're marrying me?"
"Extremely lucky." He's not joking. He hands her a glass of water, helps her stand. "Do you need anything? Crackers? Ginger ale?"
"I need to not be pregnant on my wedding day. But since that's not an option, crackers are fine."
Alexander leaves, returns with a sleeve of saltines. They sit on the bathroom floor together, Mia nibbling crackers while he watches with an expression somewhere between concern and helplessness.
"This is romantic," Mia says. "Really setting the tone."
"We're getting married at City Hall in four hours. Romance was never part of the plan." But his mouth quirks. "Though for the record, I've seen worse wedding mornings."
"Have you?"
"Victoria threw a lamp at me once. During one of our 'on-again' phases. I had a black eye for a week." He shrugs. "You throwing up is significantly better."
"Setting the bar real high there."
They sit in comfortable silence. Outside, Manhattan is waking up. Somewhere out there, normal people are having normal days. Not signing contracts or marrying strangers or growing babies with men they barely know.
"Are you having second thoughts?" Alexander asks quietly.
Mia considers lying. Considers saying she's fine, this is fine, everything is fine. But they promised honesty.
"I'm having thousandth thoughts," she admits. "But I'm still getting dressed. Still showing up."
"That's all I can ask."
"What about you? Any regrets?"
"Only that we're doing this at City Hall instead of somewhere that matters to you." Alexander stands, offers his hand. "But we can have another ceremony later. Something real. If you want."
"This is real."
"You know what I mean."
Mia does. This is legal, binding, necessary. But it's not romantic. Not the wedding little girls dream about.
Then again, Mia stopped dreaming about weddings around her third foster home.
---
Sophie arrives at nine with enough anxiety for both of them.
"Okay, I know you said no fuss, but I brought options." She dumps shopping bags on the bed. "City Hall wedding doesn't mean you have to look like you're filing taxes. You're marrying a billionaire. We're making an effort."
"Sophie—"
"Nope. Don't argue. This is happening." Sophie pulls out dresses—simple, elegant, nothing over-the-top. Cream and ivory and soft whites. "Pick one. Any one. They're all yours."
Mia touches a cream dress, soft and flowing. Knee-length, with delicate lace sleeves. It's beautiful without being bridal. Perfect for what this is—a legal ceremony, not a love story.
"This one," she says.
"Good choice." Sophie beams. "Now sit. I'm doing your makeup and hair and you're going to let me because you look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't."
"I know, babe. That's what concealer is for."
Sophie works magic. Foundation covers the dark circles. Mascara makes Mia's eyes look less dead. A touch of blush brings color back to her pale cheeks. Hair gets swept into a simple updo, soft and romantic despite the circumstances.
When Sophie holds up the mirror, Mia barely recognizes herself.
"You look beautiful," Sophie says, eyes shining. "Alexander's going to lose his mind."
"It's a contract marriage. He's not supposed to lose his mind."
"Doesn't mean he won't." Sophie hugs her carefully, mindful of makeup. "I'm so proud of you. You know that, right? You're doing something terrifying and brave and I love you."
Mia's throat tightens. "I love you too. Thank you for being here."
"Always." Sophie pulls back, swiping at her own eyes. "Okay, no crying. We'll ruin all my hard work. Get dressed. Your husband-to-be is probably pacing a hole in the floor."
---
Alexander is, in fact, pacing.
Mia finds him in the living room, wearing a charcoal suit that fits him like it was painted on. His hair is styled, jaw freshly shaved, and he looks every inch the billionaire CEO about to add "husband" to his list of acquisitions.
He stops when he sees her.
Just stops. Stares. His expression does something complicated—surprise, appreciation, something softer that Mia doesn't have a name for.
"You look..." He trails off. "Wow."
"It's just a dress."
"It's not just a dress." His voice is rough. "You look beautiful, Mia."
Heat creeps up her neck. "Thank you. You look good too."
"I look like I always do."
"Exactly."
That gets a small smile. Alexander closes the distance between them, pulling a small box from his pocket.
"I know this isn't traditional," he says. "But I wanted you to have something. For today."
Inside the box is a ring. Not the engagement ring she never got—just a simple wedding band. White gold, delicate, with tiny diamonds embedded around it. Elegant without being ostentatious.
"Alexander, this is—"
"If you hate it, we can exchange it. I had three jewelers bring options but nothing felt right until I saw this." He takes it out, holds it carefully. "It reminded me of you. Understated. Beautiful. Stronger than it looks."
Mia's eyes burn. "I don't hate it. It's perfect."
"I have a matching one. If you want us to match. Or we can have different ones. Whatever you prefer."
The consideration undoes her. He's trying so hard to make this feel real, feel right, despite being bound by contract.
"Matching is good," she manages. "I'd like that."
Relief crosses his face. He tucks the box back in his pocket. "Ready?"
"No. But let's go anyway."
Marcus drives them to City Hall. Sophie and James—Alexander's CFO and best friend—follow in another car. They're the only witnesses. No family, no press, no spectacle. Just a quiet legal ceremony to bind two strangers together.
The Manhattan Marriage Bureau is surprisingly mundane.
Fluorescent lights, plastic chairs, couples filling out paperwork with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some look thrilled. Some look terrified. One couple is clearly hungover, still wearing last night's club clothes.
Mia and Alexander probably look the most mismatched—him in his designer suit, her in Sophie's dress, both of them radiating "this is definitely not a love match."
"Marriage license?" the clerk asks, bored.
Alexander produces it. He filed the paperwork days ago, efficient as always.
They wait. Sophie holds Mia's hand, squeezing encouragement. James claps Alexander on the shoulder, murmurs something that makes Alexander's jaw tighten.
Finally, they're called.
The ceremony room is small, utilitarian. A judge who's probably performed a thousand of these stands at the front, wearing robes and a professional smile.
"Alexander Kane and Mia Chen?"
"That's us," Alexander says.
They stand before the judge. Sophie and James flank them. The room smells like industrial cleaner and other people's futures.
"Do you have rings?" the judge asks.
Alexander produces two bands—matching, simple, perfect.
"Then let's begin." The judge opens a book, starts reading. The words wash over Mia—legal marriage, state of New York, lawfully wedded, sickness and health.
Standard vows. Nothing personal. Nothing real.
Until the judge says, "Do you, Alexander Kane, take Mia Chen to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Alexander looks at her. Really looks at her. And says, clearly, "I do."
"Do you, Mia Chen, take Alexander Kane to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
This is it. Last chance to back out. Run away. Choose the hard path alone over the uncertain path together.
Mia thinks about the baby. About the ultrasound pictures. About Alexander kneeling beside her on the bathroom floor, holding her hair while she threw up.
About the possibility—slim but real—that they might figure this out.
"I do," she says.
"Rings, please."
Alexander takes Mia's left hand. His fingers are steady as he slides the ring on. It fits perfectly. Of course it does—he probably had her measurements taken while she slept.
Mia takes his ring, hands shaking. She slides it onto his finger, and something about that gesture—marking him as hers, even temporarily—makes this feel suddenly, terrifyingly real.
"By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The judge smiles. "You may kiss the bride."
Mia's heart stops.
They didn't discuss this. Didn't plan for this moment. The kiss isn't in the contract.
Alexander steps closer. "Is this okay?" he murmurs, quiet enough only she can hear.
She nods. Can't speak.
He kisses her. Soft, brief, chaste. Appropriate for a City Hall wedding with witnesses. But his hand cups her cheek with unexpected tenderness, and for just a moment, Mia forgets this is pretend.
Then he pulls back. They're married.
"Congratulations," the judge says. "Marriage certificate will be mailed within two weeks."
Just like that, it's done.
They sign the official documents. Sophie cries. James looks vaguely uncomfortable with the emotion. And Mia stands there, wearing a wedding ring, legally bound to Alexander Kane.
Mrs. Mia Kane.
The name feels like wearing someone else's clothes.
---
Lunch is at a restaurant so exclusive it doesn't have a sign.
Sophie and James join them—a small celebration, intimate and strange. Champagne flows, though Mia drinks sparkling cider. The food is incredible, though Mia can barely taste it through the surreal fog.
"To the happy couple," James toasts, grinning. "May you figure out how to coexist without killing each other."
"Romantic," Alexander says dryly.
"I'm a realist." James turns to Mia. "Fair warning—he's terrible at sharing space. Controlling, particular, and absolutely will reorganize your belongings when you're not looking."
"I'm sitting right here," Alexander says.
"I already reorganized her art supplies," Alexander admits. "Twice."
"See?" James looks vindicated.
Despite everything, Mia laughs. "At least he's honest about his flaws."
"That's new," James says. "Usually he pretends to be perfect."
"I am perfect," Alexander deadpans. "This is well-documented."
They banter. Sophie tells embarrassing stories about Mia in college. James reveals that Alexander once spent six hours debugging code because he refused to admit he couldn't do something. Normal friend conversation, as if this is a normal wedding.
Mia watches Alexander laugh at something James says, and thinks maybe they can do this. Maybe they can be partners, even without love. Friends, even without history.
Maybe it's enough.
After lunch, Sophie and James leave. Congratulations, well wishes, promises to see them soon. Then it's just Mia and Alexander in the back of the car, heading home.
"How do you feel?" Alexander asks.
"Married." Mia twists the ring on her finger. "It's weird. Is it weird?"
"Extremely weird."
"Do we have to do anything? Tonight, I mean." The question comes out awkward. "Wedding night traditions or—"
"God, no." Alexander looks horrified. "I mean—not that I don't want to—not that you're not—" He stops, regroups. "We do whatever you're comfortable with. No expectations. No pressure."
"Okay. Good."
They ride in silence.
"Although," Alexander says carefully, "my mother is coming to dinner tomorrow. To meet you. Officially."
Mia's stomach drops. "Your mother. Eleanor Kane."
"Unfortunately, yes."
"The articles said she's terrifying."
"The articles are correct." Alexander's jaw tightens. "But you're my wife now. She'll have to accept that."
Wife. There's that word again.
Mia looks down at her ring, catching the light. She's Mrs. Alexander Kane now. For better or worse. For two years or forever.
The car pulls up to Kane Tower. Their home.
Alexander helps her out, and photographers appear from nowhere—cameras flashing, questions shouting.
"Mr. Kane! Did you get married?"
"Who's the woman?"
"Is she pregnant?"
"Any comment on the Victoria Ashford situation?"
Marcus and the security team create a barrier, hustling them inside. But not before Mia sees tomorrow's headlines forming in real time.
Inside the elevator, Alexander looks grim. "I'm sorry. I thought we'd have more time before they found out."
"It's fine. This was always going to be public." Mia leans against the wall, exhausted. "At least now it's official. No more speculation."
"Just different speculation."
The elevator opens to their penthouse. Their home. Their marriage.
Alexander loosens his tie, suddenly looking as tired as Mia feels.
"Want to watch a movie?" he asks. "Something mindless? Pretend today was normal?"
"I would love that."
They change into comfortable clothes—Mia in leggings and an oversized shirt, Alexander in sweats that make him look dangerously approachable. They order pizza because apparently billionaires eat pizza too. They settle on the couch with careful distance between them.
Alexander scrolls through options, lands on some action movie neither of them cares about. The pizza arrives. They eat in comfortable silence, watching explosions and car chases and plots that make no sense.
Somewhere around the third act, Mia's exhaustion wins. Her head droops. She catches herself, tries to stay awake.
"It's okay," Alexander says softly. "You can sleep."
"I'm watching—"
"You're exhausted. It's been a long day." He hesitates. "You can... if you want, you can..."
Mia doesn't make him finish. She shifts closer, rests her head on his shoulder. He goes still for a moment, then relaxes. His arm comes around her, tentative but warm.
They sit like that, fake married and actually comfortable, while the movie plays on.
At some point, Mia drifts off completely.
When she wakes, it's dark. She's in bed—their bed—still in her clothes. Alexander must have carried her. He's beside her, on top of the covers, also fully dressed. Asleep but present.
Mia looks at the ring on her finger. At the man beside her. At the life they're trying to build from contracts and circumstance.
It's not a fairy tale.
But maybe it's something better.
Something real.