Mrs. Matched | Complete

Chapter Eleven

The thirty minutes I'd given myself to prepare were clearly insufficient as I was still not quite dressed when Christopher knocked on my door. "You ready?" he called through the door.

"One minute!" My arms contorted behind my back, trying to find the zipper on my dress. I hopped around a few times, hoping that would somehow help me find the zipper pull, but all it did was make me crash into the corner of the dresser. I had to bite my tongue to keep from swearing.

"Do you need some help?" Christopher's voice was soft and concerned. "It sounds like it might be getting dangerous in there."

"I'm fine!" I could hear the pain in my own voice as the pain shot up from my knee. The dress is zipped enough to cover my bra in the back. What's the harm in accepting help?

"Actually, I'm not. I do need help."

When I opened the door, his eyes widened and drifted down to my arm holding up my dress before he drew them back up to my face. "Sorry, uh..." he stuttered out. "You look beautiful."

I bit my cheek to try to stop the blush from flushing my face. When that didn't work, I turned around and slid my hair in front of my left shoulder. "Would you mind finishing the zipper?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level. "I can't quite reach it there."

Why did I think this wasn't going to get weird? He thinks we're married!

I didn't feel his hands brush my back as he pulled the zipper up. Christopher deftly clasped the hook at the top of the dress that would keep the zipper from coming undone. His hands lingered for a moment before he removed them and we both stood there, still and silent. Please say something so I don't have to. But eventually, the silence became too much.

"Thanks. I think I'm ready to go now." I tried to keep my voice as bright as possible.

"It would be my honour." He offered me his hand and I accepted it. It's amazing how quickly I've adapted to keeping this cover without thinking. Taking the pressure off by having an exit plan must be working wonders.

"So," he said as we stepped onto the stairs, "what exactly are we going to do tonight?"

"We are going to dinner, of course. Why do you think I'm dressed like this?" I gestured to my outfit for effect.

"No, I know we are going to dinner. Why wasn't I allowed to find a good place to eat?"

"Because that's part of the mystique. You just have to trust me."

"I do," he said, stepping into our living room. "I'm just not sure why you can't tell me."

"All good things come to those who wait."

"Fine," he relented. "Let's do it your way. Do we get to go out the front door or should I jump out the window?"

"The front door is fine." I shook my head and led him through it. We were only two steps from the front door when our phones simultaneously rang out the notification of an incoming message. That can only mean one thing.

Sitting down on the porch swing, Christopher pulls out his phone and slides open the notification that has become so familiar to us these last few days: Match Made.

I watched his eyes dance around the screen as he skimmed the notification, his face drooping the further he read.

"What's wrong?" It was my turn to ask. When he didn't reply, my impatience drove me to ask again.

"Sorry, I just had to finish reading." He handed the phone to me. "I guess they planned another date for us."

A date? Then why did he look so sad? Did he want out of this like I did? He didn't give me that impression.

"So, why is that a bad thing?" I finally asked. I was trying to read the notification while I was speaking to him, so I did neither task well.

"Just keep reading."

I turned my full attention to the notification. "Discussing these topics doesn't sound so bad," I tell him when I get to our expected discussions about family values, children, finances, and the like. "I mean, these are all things people who are going to be married should discuss, right?"

"Keep reading."

I sighed, but turned my eyes back to the phone. Skimming through the message, I finally found what he was discussing. Oh, there it is.

"They want us to watch my favourite movie while we're having this conversation?" I handed back his phone after finishing the whole message. "And you're scared I might pick something genuinely terrible? Or you're wondering how we can possibly talk over a movie? I assume we could do them one at a time, if that's easier."

"It's not that." He reached for my hand again.

I took it and threaded my arm through his instead. "So, then what's the matter?"

"I wanted to go to dinner." His voice came out barely above a whisper.

"What?" I asked, though I was fairly certain I had heard him correctly.

"It says we have to start now, and I wanted to go to dinner."

"Screw that." I started off towards the edge of our lawn. "We're going to dinner. What are they going to do to us? Get mad we went out on an extra date?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to get us in trouble over this. No one wants to pay those astronomical fees."

I didn't even bother to listen to the rest of his argument, instead taking off running -- or as much as I could run in my heels -- and then called back to him. "If you don't come with me, I might have to pick the worst restaurant I can find and eat by myself. It will be a really sad sight."

I looked back at his dumbstruck face, jaw hanging open as he stood frozen on our front porch. Smiling, I waved and turned the corner out of our front yard and into the street. "I mean it! I'm going with or without you."

"Wait, Aubrey!"

When he started to move, I took off as fast as I could towards the corner at the end of our block. I almost made it to the corner before he caught me.

"I honestly thought you'd be slower in those shoes." He grabbed my hand. I looked down at our hands and then back up to him, raising an eyebrow and waiting for a response.

"It's so you don't run off again. I can't keep running or I'll end up in the hospital."

"That's fair," I laughed. "I can't really run in these shoes, either. So don't worry."

"Can we walk a little slower?"

"Why? Tired already?"

"Yes," he gasped. "I am. Now, what are we doing exactly? Or do I still not get to know where I'm going? Is this where you kill me?"

"No. Where did you get that idea? Do you like those awful horror films?"

"Can you just tell me where we're going?"

"No. Because I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Nope. We're just going to pick the second restaurant we see and walk in."

I could see the skepticism in his eyes, so I added. "You said you were going to trust me, remember?"

"I did," he drawled.

"So? Shall we?"

Christopher bit his lip and looked into my eyes as though he were calculating his options. Just when I thought he was going to back out and head home to watch my favourite movie, he answered. "Yes. Yes, we shall."