Simon Hendrix

I can’t believe she’s late. This woman— God forbid she ever makes any occasion on time, glancing at my mother’s disapproving stare— pinching the bridge of my nose; great. The doors of the reception hall bursting open as she clumsily enters the grand hall.

“Ah, thank you for gracing us with your presence—“ I cleared my throat, standing immediately, settling my mother’s harsh tone. I didn’t want an arranged marriage but I won’t mistreat the poor girl. My body felt stiff near her.