The Hopeful Bride

Gabriella

It didn't feel real when she drunk-applied to the Mail Order Bride website. And it sure as hell didn't feel real when the agency called the next day and she met with the director, Lisa over FacetTime.

Thinking back on it, it should have felt more real when she signed her name on the dotted line. But it didn't. The whole thing felt insane. So dangerous. So not her. She half expected to find herself on some Dateline special or worse in the middle of a Dark Web trade.

She fidgeted in her seat as she tried to settle her nerves. This felt like pretend, as stupid as that sounded. Because the required blood test and background check sure as hell was real. The intensive interview held by Lisa was real. The truckload of crap she piled into her Ford Explorer and dropped off at Goodwill was real. The suitcase she packed with all her world possessions was real. And pathetic.

Still, the idea that she had a man actually waiting to marry her? Not even close to feeling real.

But here she was, sitting on top of her suitcase in the baggage claim with her purse dangling from her arm. Her eyes scanned the room for her soon-to-be husband. Why was she doing this again? Because carpe diem and all that crap. Worst-case scenario she would meet this man, hate him, tell Lisa she was out, and bam. No one was forcing her to get married. She was an independent woman.

Gabriella let out a snort. "So independent that I'm a twenty-first-century mail order bride."

Her phone vibrated.

Shar: Have you met him yet? Share your location with me so I know where you are.

Exhaling, she remembered to ground herself. She wasn't the only one flabbergasted by her decision. When she first told Sharpay, they both laughed for a bit at the absurdity. Then that laughter turned into concern. Then Sharpay began sending her articles upon articles of women lost in sex trafficking, of dark web nightmares, and pictures of mountain men who looked like Charles Manson.

It could be worse. She could have had to get a roommate on Craigslist and a job at Taco Bell.

Gabriella shared her location. Then typed out a reply.

No signs of him yet. I'm waiting in the baggage claim.

She twisted her yellow scarf around her neck. Her identifier, Lisa had explained. Since there were no photos or names exchanged. So here she was, with a stupid yellow scarf. She picked at some lint as her phone vibrated again.

Shar: Send me a picture of his license plate.

Gabriella: What are you going to do with that?

Shar: Give it to the police if you go missing.

A shiver of fear raced down her spine at the thought. Would a job at Taco Bell really be that bad? Did this place have a bar? Would it be a bad impression if she met her soon-to-be husband with a vodka sprite in hand?

She looked down at her chosen outfit. A pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a green top paired with a simple black leather jacket she had found at Goodwill and a yellow scarf. He was going to take one look at her boring thrift store clothes and want to trade her in.

She looked down at her gold bracelet. It had been a graduation gift from her mom, the last gift before she died. The thing was, she had nowhere else to go. She didn't even have money to get herself back on a plane home if she wanted to. If she really wanted to leave, she would have to call Lisa and tell her she changed her mind before she even tried.

But what else did she have to lose?