Sorry, but You're Not My Groom

A video of my boyfriend proposing to his secretary makes it to the trending topics. Everyone squeals over how romantic and touching it is.

His secretary even posts on social media, "I've waited so long for you to appear, and I'm glad I didn't give up. I'll leave my life in your hands, Mr. Emerson."

One of the comments goes, "God, this is so sweet. A CEO and his secretary—I ship them!"

I don't weep or cause a fuss. Instead, I close the webpage and ask my boyfriend for an explanation.

That's when I hear him talking to his friends. "I didn't have a choice. She would've been forced to marry someone she doesn't love if I didn't help her."

"What about Vicky? She's your actual girlfriend. Aren't you afraid of her getting mad?"

"So what if she is? She's been with me for seven years—she can't live without me."

Later, I have my wedding on the same day as his. Our cars drive past each other, and I exchange bouquets with his secretary. When he sees me, he breaks down.

"I'll do it, Mom. I'll marry the guy you chose for me," I said.

In the darkness of the living room, my voice sounded stiff and melancholic.

Mom was shocked to hear that I was agreeing to the marriage alliance she previously proposed. "I thought you didn't want to do it? Why are you agreeing to it now?

"Marriage isn't a game, Vicky. It doesn't matter if you don't want to get married. I just want you to be happy. You need to be sure about what you're doing. Don't make rash decisions."

Tearing up at her words, I replied, "I've thought things through, Mom. You guys can proceed with the wedding preparations."

Mom knew I was upset. After a moment of silence, she started comforting me, saying, "Your dad and I have always known that your relationship with Isaac wouldn't last.

"You've been with him for so many years now, but he has refused to make things official between you two or even let the families meet each other."

This time, her words cut me like a knife. Alas, everyone else could see the situation clearly. I was the only clueless one.

"Your dad and I both agreed that Henry Langford would make an excellent husband for you.

"While we can't make guarantees about everything, at the very least, we can assure you that he is a fine young man of decent character and comes from a distinguished family, too. You deserve the best, Vicky."

Taking a deep breath, I replied, "Thanks, Mom. I trust your and Dad's judgment."

"Shall I arrange for you and Henry to meet each other sometime soon?" Mom asked.

"It's fine. You guys can just go ahead and plan the wedding," I answered.

Once the call ended, Isaac Emerson appeared behind me with a small cake in hand. He asked me curiously, "What wedding? Who's getting married?"

It was my wedding. I was getting married.

I silently responded to his question as I couldn't bring myself to say the words out loud. Shaking my head, I replied, "It's nothing. A friend of mine is getting married."

Once I said that, I saw the way his expression relaxed noticeably, and that made me feel bitter.

Had he been nervous because he thought I was going to force him to marry me, or because he thought I found out that he was going to marry his secretary, Jenny Stone?

"I brought you your favorite cake from that bakery you like. Do you want to have it now?" Isaac asked.

For a while now, Isaac would always come home from work with a delicious snack for me. Even though most of the things he brought back didn't suit my palate, his gesture made me feel giddy with love.

The feeling of being thought of and cared for by the man I loved was far more important than the taste of the food.

But now, as I stared at the cake box, I felt nothing but mockery.

Not too long ago, I saw Jenny sharing several Instagram stories, turning their settings from private to public. After flipping through the first few, I couldn't take going through any more of them.

Only then did I realize what a joke I was.

It turned out the cake was Jenny's favorite—and that wasn't all. All of the snacks and desserts Isaac brought back for me were all her favorites.

What saddened me the most was when I realized that Isaac's habit of coming home from work with a snack for me only began after Jenny started working for him.

Who was he thinking of when he gave me all that food? Was it still me, Victoria Carter, or did he imagine I was Jenny?

Swallowing the bitterness I felt, I responded coolly, "I don't have a sweet tooth. Sweet things are too cloying. You can stop buying them for me."

Isaac didn't expect me to react this way. Startled, he said, "How so? You've always eaten them."

We had been together for many years now. If he truly cared about me, why wouldn't he have noticed my likes and dislikes when it came to food?

Alas, it was tiring to repeat myself too many times. Compromising was easier.

I didn't bother to argue with him. Instead, I simply said, "My palate has changed recently."