The day was here. Ben discarded the files of the upcoming projects on his desk as Thomas walked in. "Sorry to disturb, but you need to sign this, sir."
Ben sighed, "Oh, yeah," he took the documents, read them and signed, giving it back to him.
Thomas cleared his throat. "Uh, is anything wrong, sir?"
Ben didn't know what to say to him. Thomas was a good guy, he had combed black hair, a small timid frame, and round glasses. He peered curiously at his boss and adjusted his glasses as a nervous gesture. Ben huffed. "No, nothing's wrong, Thomas. Thank you. Go home, now. It's Sunday, anyways, but still I called you for these," He looked at the file and hummed.
Thomas grinned. "No, sir, it's completely alright. The file was important. Ah, I'm taking your leave, now."
As he watched his assistant leave the cabin, Ben splattered on his chair, dropping his head back in complete surrender. Today was the day, yes, the wedding day. It didn't seem like it, though. It was a plain, ordinary Sunday; the sky was blue, clear and endless, beaming atop his head like an enema of crystalline purity, He got up, advancing towards the big window, soaking in the view of New York City, the Big Apple. It was a city that never slept, to be honest.
The buildings dazzled in the sunlight, the streets full with people and vehicles, the sound of them completely shunned to him through the sound proof glass of the window. He could only see beaming faces, shining plethora of multi-storey buildings and the chaos, but he couldn't hear any of it. It took him long but he realised that's how his life was; he could see only from afar, but no sound reached his soul.
Nobody moved him, nothing moved him. No sound, no rhythm, no noise. He never wanted to be tied down in something as chaotic as marriage, but he couldn't help his fate. He was disinterested, to be exact. Yesterday night, he had video called Alex and before he could say anything to him, his friend had started bragging about how Isabella Group was gonna be super successful.
He wanted to tell Alex that he was getting married, but then he stopped himself. It wasn't a real marriage, and if Alex knew he had sacrificed his peace for the Group, he would get mad at him. He didn't want that. He couldn't believe four days had past. Every sane sense in him told him to run on his heels, but his determination had grown to another wavelength and now only death could stop him.
The details of the wedding were already messaged to him by Sanjeev. He opened the text, his eyes scanning the venue and the timing. Only an hour. He was already in a black tuxedo, so there was no point in worrying. Shutting down his laptop, he trod downstairs, closing his office. There was no one here but him. The silence was his favourite, and he took a deep breath, absorbing the tranquility in his cells, bidding it adieu.
His peace was gonna go away. It wasn't peace though, it was a still void that made him comfortable, that gave him moments of joy. It was a void that existed, that neither contained peace, nor chaos. His life was stagnant in between, not peaceful, not chaotic. He liked it like that. Too much noise outside haunted him, transported him back to the memories that he longed to forget.
He leaped inside his car, driving towards the venue, St. Patrick's Cathedral, located in midtown Manhattan. The drive wasn't that long, and within half an hour, he parked his car outside the church premises. He entered inside, noticing a few people wandering about the vast, green field that was spread before the sanctimonious structure.
Entering through the wooden door, he noticed Sanjeev and his wife, Shalini standing just beside the minister, talking to him. Ben was actually quite surprised to see the decorations and their attires. Sanjeev was decked up in a light blue Kurta, and with that, a pair of white, cotton pyjamas. He didn't know exactly how to perceive the kind of clothing, but it seemed like traditional Indian wear.
Beside him, Shalini was wrapped up in a single pink cloth, that was pleated from her waist, and then a part was hugging her upper body. It seemed like a saree, though he hadn't seen someone wearing that so closely. The decorations, as he looked around, were mostly done with fresh red roses, tuberoses and jasmine blooms, the scene of the flowers looming heavily in the air.
"Oh, Benedict, welcome, welcome!" Sanjeev beamed at him, dropping the formal tone with him.
He had gone from Mr. Williams to Benedict in just a beep, he mused, realising that it must be an Indian custom to talk so casually with the son-in-law. "Oh, hi, Sanjeev."
"Hello, my dear boy!" The man hugged him in a tight embrace, and then patted his arm. "Shalu, meet Benedict."
As the patheticity of the matter sunk in, Ben realised he hadn't met her would-be wife's mother previously. What kind of sick marriage was this? As if been forced to walk or talk, the middle-aged woman walked towards him, giving him a restrained smile. "Hello, I hope you've been well."
Something was acutely wrong with this family. Ben sighed. "Hi, Mrs. Mehra. Yes, I'm doing fine." Calling her formally seemed like a better option as a mark of respect.
"Why isn't anyone here yet?"
Sanjeev found his question funny, somehow. "I have not invited anyone. It's just us. I want it to be a small, private function."
This looked more like a funeral than a marriage, he cackled silently. "Oh, okay, good."
The minister announced that it was time for the ceremony to begin. Reluctantly, Ben approached the small stage and stood up there, facing towards the decorations. Samjeev wasn't there, as instructed by the priest, he had probably gone to escort his daughter up to the stage.
Ben could feel his heart beating loudly against his chest. He took deep breaths, calming his raging nerves. Anxiety came as an electrical storm in his brain that, quite honestly, was painful. It was different from a headache and it felt the same as intense sorrow, perhaps as a sort of frozen panic with nowhere to go. His feet were rooted to the ground, his body felt heavy.
There was silence. Though the big church was rendered empty except for their presence, there was a different kind of stillness that fell around the surroundings as soon as he saw Sanjeev walking down the aisle, holding his daughter's hand. She was here. He felt the need to move almost without end, his limbs were moving, the anxiety was gone, or at least he could ignore it for a while. It was only inside that he knew it was still there, coursing through his veins as if it had hitched a ride on his blood cells.
Sarah walked towards him, her small frame growing bigger as she neared him. Her petite figure looked quite voluptuous in the red saree she had worn. It seemed like a chiffon georgette that was soft, transparent and light, that had hugged her figure tightly, outlining her curves. It was wrapped around her in a modern fashion, like a gown, and a thick, golden belt was buckled on her waist, keeping the material at its place. A part of the saree was draped across her upper area thinly, and she had matched it with a golden blouse.
She looked....different. More Indian, more vibrant. Her hair was open and curled precisely, there was a golden shimmer on the top of her eyes, and her lips were painted red. He dropped down his gaze, comprehending that he had been ogling her like a pervert. He cleared his throat as the situation needed him to forward his hand out to her so that she could get up beside him.
So, he did that. He took her hand from Sanjeev, seeing a red mark on her wrist. Flinching in surprise, he left her palm, and then held it again gently. The mark was red and puffy, and he wondered what might have caused her wrist bruise like that. He had been as gentle as possible, right? She stood in front of him, looking at him through her vivid, black lashes.
Her brown eyes searched his, touching and probing at him; as if telling him something, something dangerous and profane. He blinked his eyes, unable to resist her look. It was a look of pleading, a kind of silent prayer that made him utterly restless. He was so affected by her, every part of his body had springled like fire once he had held her hand, skin to skin, burning and creating havoc.
He was still holding her hand, and at the break of his chain of thoughts, he jerked it away, suddenly being aware of his surroundings; Sanjeev was looking at him like a hawk, and Shalini was just staring plainly and emotionlessly.
"We're gathered here today, to witness the divine connection between a man and a woman, that manifests as holy matrimony. We're here to join this man, and this woman in threads of marriage." The minister said, clearing his throat.
He held his breath, his fear coming alive. Never had he thought he would be here, marrying a woman. This was his greatest fear, coming alive in the most unexpected of ways. The palpitation of marriage was here, yet the fact that it wasn't going to be a proper relationship calmed him.
"Do you, Benedict Williams, take her, Sarah Mehra, as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in richer and in poorer, until death do you part?"
He inhaled deeply. "Y-yes, I do." His voice wavered.
The minister turned to Sarah. "Do you, Sarah Mehra, take him, Benedict Williams, as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in richer and in poorer, until death do you part?"
"I do." She verbalized too quickly, too hurriedly. Maybe, to hide her uneasiness.
"Exchange your rings,"
Sanjeev brought out two rings, holding them out in front of them. Ben took a ring that was meant for a woman, a silver band with small stones cutted at the center. It seemed fake, to be honest. Nevertheless, he slid it on her ring-finger, once again, his body jolted up with liquid current as his skin made contact with hers. He felt a shiver run through her and she looked at him.
The ring looked fake and made of normal stones, and for a second, he couldn't really believe that business tycoon Sanjeev Mehra had given such a low-priced piece of jewelry to his only daughter. She shivered, taking the ring and making him wear it. Her hands were shaking unbelievably.
He felt a strange sense of worry for her. Firstly, the bruise on her wrist, and then her trembling hands. He could sense something was off about her, something wasn't right. The wedding band she had made him wear was shining incessantly, the diamonds were small and fitted all over. However, his ring looked real, and the diamonds were original, he could tell that.
Why? Why was her ring fake, then?"
The minister applauded. "I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss your bride." The old man stared at him.
He gasped, desperately fighting for air. Finally, he was married, at least, ceremonially. He couldn't breathe. He had promised himself he wouldn't marry, ever. But alas! It was his fate.
He had to do it, no matter what.
Trying to be over with it as soon as possible, he held her waist, pulling her towards him and then kissing her mouth, intending to give a light smooch, but as soon as his lips touched hers, something warm crept into his soul and he tried to get a taste of her lips, sucking it softly and gently. She tasted of coconut, a kind of fruity, nutty smell filled his nose as he felt impossibly aroused.
He left her, realising that it was too much, really. She looked at him, her eyes sparkling and he stared into them, breathing hard. The restlessness gripped him again.
Fuck, he was aroused for his forced wife.