My Wife, My Man?

Chapter One

"There's only one happiness in life — to love and be loved." George Sand

I'm getting married; usually, such an announcement was followed by squeals of excitement and many congratulations, but Perli remembered hers: there was silence.

She let out a shuddered breath. With her eyes closed, she listened to the melody played by the skilful fingers of the pianist. This was her cue to move, to take a step into the hall where both familiar and unfamiliar faces waited for her. However, she found herself stricken by paralysis.

"Asambe, Perli." Her uncle's call for movement had her eyes snapping open.

Perli looked at him through her veil, to see his grinning face. She wondered how he could smile that much at her doom. With a head so bald that it could have been used as a mirror and shoes shining as if oil had been poured onto them, her uncle, Jabo was the happiest man at that moment. Why wouldn't he be? He had always sought ways to get rid of her.

"You know." He wrapped his arm around hers. "You're looking so beautiful, my child. Enhle," he whispered the compliment. His words sent chills of pain down her spine, serving as a reminder of his greed. After all, she was doing this stupid thing to save him and the family, or as she was made to believe.

"Come now, my child, they are waiting for us," he spoke in a sweet tone; something she wasn't too familiar with. He took a step forward, forcing her to follow his movement.

Perli took heavy steps down the flowery aisle. This was the very aisle that many walked down — mostly — once in their lifetime, to be united with another. Like a baby learning to walk, her steps were unsteady in the heels she felt uncomfortable wearing. She was hesitant, fearful enough to perceive the rising storm in her heart. She heard it: the rage and violence that tormented the beating of it; a heart that could have very well drummed itself into an attack. Thinking about it, she felt convinced it wouldn't have been such a bad thing if she had experienced a heart attack at that moment.

She grasped her uncle's arm, afraid letting go would deliver her into the arms of the person she had no feelings for, her husband-to-be. Unknown people, dressed in affluent attires and fake smiles, stood and watched in silence as her beauty, which she barely felt, brightened up the hall. She felt the urge to cry. Looking up at the ceiling, she blinked her eyes repeatedly to tame her tears. She sniffed and swallowed, hoping to send liquid down her parched throat.

"Chainganeyami." Jabo caressed her arm as if to comfort her. "Don't cry. You will ruin your makeup." His advice felt futile; she knew wouldn't be able to hold back her tears.

"But malume... Angifuni—" she choked as she tried to respond in Zulu. "I-I d-don't w-want to-to do this," she spoke softly. "I don't want this ma—"

"Shut up!" Jabo barked, his voice was loud enough for only her ears. He tightened his arm around hers so she wouldn't be tempted to run away. "You're doing this, whether you like it or not!"

Perli shut her eyes to hold the tears she could not shed. She slowed her pace, dragging her heels on the decorated floor. She sighed and opened her eyes. With each step, she drew closer to the man who patiently waited for her at the end of the aisle. Her body tensed up as her eyes caught his: the husband. His eyes were pinned on her, studying her every movement like a lion studied its prey. His eyes were cold: a piercing blue that was sure to scare even the toughest of men. He watched her with that stupid, almost evil upward curvature of his lips that told of his victory over her.