The party had been going on for hours. Music blasted through the entire penthouse, somewhere people were laughing, glasses clinked against each other, and on the huge rooftop terrace stood more people than Émile cared to count. He should have been here long ago. His best friend Roch Vannier had already sent him three messages. The last one simply read: If you miss your own goddamn pre-wedding party, I'm ending our friendship. Émile had laughed at that. About three hours ago. Before one drink turned into five. Before Maud suggested going to that little bar. Before— Émile looked at his left hand. The ring was still there. A plain silver wedding band.
"Shit."
Maud's laughter sounded beside him.
"Stop staring at the ring."
Émile looked up. They were standing in the elevator to Roch's penthouse. Maud leaned against the wall next to him, also considerably drunker than she should be.
"I married my best friend two hours ago."
"Romantic."
Émile snorted.
"I'm getting married in two days."
Maud grinned.
"Then you'd better hurry with the divorce."
"Annulment."
"Whatever."
Émile ran a hand through his silver-blonde hair. His head felt pleasantly heavy. Too much whiskey. Definitely. Tomorrow he would hate himself for it. But tomorrow was tomorrow's problem. His lawyer would sort it out. A drunken marriage. A signature. A goddamn ring. It was ridiculous. Émile couldn't even remember who had come up with the idea. Maybe Maud. Maybe him. Maybe some drunk idiot next to them. Someone had said: You two act like an old married couple anyway. Maud had laughed. Émile had drunk another whiskey. After that, the word marry had come up somewhere. And for some completely stupid reason, two grown adults had decided it would be incredibly funny to do exactly that. Émile shook his head.
"You are going to kill me."
Maud rolled her eyes.
"You act like you had an affair."
"I married another woman."
"Drunk."
"That surprisingly doesn't make the sentence any better."
Maud laughed again. The elevator doors opened. Music hit them. Émile automatically straightened his black shirt. He had left his jacket in the car somewhere. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his forearms, revealing part of his tattoos. He probably didn't look like a man whose wedding was in two days. More like someone who had been celebrating his bachelor party for hours already. Which technically— No. Émile didn't want to think about that.
"There you are finally!"
Roch stood no more than ten meters away. His best friend initially looked relieved. Then his gaze wandered to Maud. Back to Émile. And finally down. To Émile's hand. Roch froze. Émile noticed immediately.
"Say nothing."
Roch blinked.
"What the hell is that?"
"Roch."
"Why are you wearing a wedding ring?"
Émile grimaced.
"Not so loud."
Roch stared at him. Then at Maud. Then at the ring again.
"Émile."
"I'll explain tomorrow."
"You'll explain it now."
Émile reached for a glass of whiskey from the tray of a passing waiter. Roch immediately took it from his hand.
"You're definitely not getting any more alcohol."
"You're not my mother."
"No, but apparently the only person here with a functioning brain."
Émile raised an eyebrow. Roch pointed at the ring.
"What. Is. That?"
Maud giggled.
"We got married."
Roch said nothing. Émile could have sworn his best friend had stopped breathing for a few seconds.
"You…"
His gaze darted between them.
"What?"
Émile sighed.
"It was a drunken idea."
Roch went pale.
"Please tell me this is a joke."
"Unfortunately not."
"Émile."
"I'm getting it annulled."
"You're marrying her in two days!"
Several people nearby turned around. Émile shot Roch a warning look.
"Could you perhaps say it a little louder? I don't think the people on the street heard it."
Roch stared at him as if Émile had completely lost his mind.
"Does she know about this?"
Émile was silent. Only briefly. But apparently long enough. Roch's face changed.
"Oh god."
"I'll tell her."
"When?"
"Today."
"Today?"
"Yes, Roch. Today."
Émile reached for his whiskey. Roch moved the glass out of reach.
"No."
"Give me the glass."
"You've had enough to drink."
"Apparently not."
"You're married!"
Émile briefly closed his eyes.
"Stop saying that."
"Why? Does reality suddenly bother you?"
Maud crossed her arms.
"You two are making way too much of this."
Roch slowly turned his head to her.
"Neither of us is in a position to voice an opinion,"
he says, to both of them.
"Roch."
Émile's voice turned warning. Immediately. Instinctively. Defending Maud. As always. Roch noticed. Of course he noticed. His gaze slowly wandered back to Émile.
"You're really doing this right now?"
Émile frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Roch shook his head.
"Forget it."
Émile hated that tone.
"If you have something to say, say it."
Roch stepped closer. His voice became quieter.
"Your fiancée is here."
Émile looked at him. Of course she was here. He knew that. You had come earlier because you wanted to help Roch with the final preparations. In two days, they would get married. Two goddamn days. Émile looked at the ring on his hand again. For the first time that evening, he felt something remotely resembling nervousness. Not fear. Not yet. He knew you. You would be angry. Of course. You'd probably throw some pillow at his head. Maybe he'd sleep on the couch for a few nights. And he would deserve it. But they would get over it. They always got over it. Émile had forgotten dates before. Cancelled dinners. Disappeared in the middle of the night because Maud needed him. They had fought about it. Often. And still, you had stayed. You loved him. He loved you. This didn't change that. After all, it wasn't like he had married Maud because he loved her. It was a drunken stupidity. A mistake. Nothing more.
"Where is she?"
Roch didn't answer immediately. Émile raised an eyebrow.
"Roch."
His best friend finally pointed toward the rooftop terrace. Émile nodded. Then he started moving. Roch grabbed his arm.
"Émile."
Émile stopped.
"What?"
"At least take off the goddamn ring."
He looked down. Émile had indeed forgotten he was still wearing it. He touched the ring with two fingers. Hesitated. Not for any sentimental reason. It just suddenly felt wrong to simply make it disappear. As if he were trying to hide something. Émile let his hand drop again.
"No."
Roch looked at him in disbelief.
"No?"
"She'll hear it from me."
"Then at least tell her alone."
Émile nodded. That was what he had planned anyway. Maud wanted to follow him.
"I'm coming with you."
"No."
For the first time that evening, Émile's voice was completely sober. Maud stopped.
"Émile—"
"I'll talk to her alone."
"But it concerns me just as much."
Émile turned to her.
"Maud."
A single word. That was all it took. She knew that tone.
Émile turned away again. He made his way through the guests. Some were already congratulating him on the upcoming wedding. Ironic. Émile answered the congratulations with a curt smile. Tomorrow he would personally ring his lawyer out of bed if necessary. The marriage to Maud would disappear. Then he would marry you. Maybe not the day after tomorrow. All the legal bullshit might postpone the wedding. A week. Two. Whatever. He'd organize a new venue. Twice as big if she wanted. Extend the honeymoon. Somehow he would make it right. Émile Ducharme solved problems. He always had. And you— His steps slowed. There she was. Émile stopped for a brief moment. Something tightened unpleasantly in his chest. His fingers moved unconsciously. The wedding ring suddenly felt heavier than a few minutes ago. Maybe Roch was right. Maybe he should take it off. No. No lies. No secrets. Émile breathed out slowly. Then he continued walking. Until only a few steps remained between them.
"Hey."
His voice was surprisingly calm. Émile ran a hand through his light hair.
"Before you hear anything from anyone else…"
He paused briefly. Damn it. How do you explain to your fiancée that you accidentally married another woman two days before the wedding? His gaze flickered to the ring for a moment. Then back forward.
"I did something incredibly stupid tonight."
Émile swallowed.
"Maud and I were pretty drunk and one of us had a shitty idea."
He slowly raised his left hand. The silver ring was impossible to miss.
"We got married."
The words sounded even more absurd spoken out loud. Émile let his hand drop again.
"But before you freak out: it means nothing. It is a formality, a lawyer and a joke. If you want the date moved, we move it. If you want the whole thing called off, I will survive that too."
A crooked, almost apologetic smile appeared on his lips. He still believed this would be the worst fight of their relationship. Still thought about lawyers. An annulment. A postponed wedding. Flowers and apologies. Everything he could use to fix his mistake. Because in Émile's head, one thing had always been certain: that you would forgive him. He had built a whole life on it. He had never once asked what it cost you, and tonight, for the first time, it occurred to him that he had no right to it.