Page 90 of Invisible Bars
I side-eyed him. My mouth moved before I could filter it.
“Y-You tell your women you were getting married today?” I joked awkwardly.
“I don’t have women… much less awoman,” he replied casually, not even turning his head.
My brow jumped. That answer caught me off guard, and for some reason… I didn’t like how it made me feel.
Then what will I be to you?
I didn’t say it; I just pressed my lips together and looked back out the window. Another tic buzzed in my throat, a muttered curse barely audible. My hands curled into themselves, trying to ground me.
That week had flipped my whole damn life upside down. One minute, I was in my space that I called my room, sipping tea and watching reruns—bored, but peacefully. Next, I was playing house with a chef who could cook a mean steak and a man who could crush my bones with probably one snap.
And now I was on my way to marry him.
Imanio said the only people in attendance would be me, him, the officiant, and two witnesses—who he refused to name. But he did make one thingveryclear: “One of them isn’t Chi.”
As if that was supposed to calm my nerves.
However, the fact Imanio even felt the need toclarifythat, let me know Chi had probably volunteered—loudly and more than once. Still, something about none of his friends or family being there gnawed at me more than I cared to admit. It wasn’t like I wanted a bouquet toss or bridesmaids in matching dresses… but a part of me couldn’t shake the weirdness of it, and that part wanted to know if it was at leastreal.
I was about to sign my name to somethinghuge; something that could end up temporary, or permanent, and nobody who knew him—or me—would even be there to witness it. That made the whole thing feel less like a ceremony and more like a secret. Even if it wasn’t built on love, I believed it deserved more than silence.
Maybe he was embarrassed. Maybe I was still a prisoner… just in a prettier box. Maybe I was a secret meant to be locked up forever and never spoken about.
We arrived at a house—a small, secluded one tucked into the trees, like it had been hidden there on purpose. The driveway was long and curved, flanked by trimmed hedges and a low wrought iron gate that creaked slightly as it opened. The exterior was warm beige stone with dark wood shutters, the kind of place that whisperedmoneybut didn’t scream it.
A single black SUV was already parked out front, engine off but still warm.
Our driver got out and opened the door for us. Imanio stepped out first, then extended his hand toward me. I hesitated before taking it, tensing as his fingers closed around mine.
“Relax,” he said softly. “You’re not walking into a trap… at least not today.”
“Y-You suck at c-comfort speeches.”
“Wasn’t trying to be comforting.”
We walked toward the door, and I noticed cameras—small ones, almost invisible. That’s when I realized that wasn’t a house someone lived in; it was a safe house.
I must say, I wasn’t expecting a string quartet or rose petals leading to an altar, but damn… he could’ve at least lit a candle. Even criminals light a damn candle when they’re trying to make things sentimental. That felt like a hostage trade, not a marriage ceremony.
When we entered the room where I assumed the ceremony would take place, my eyes immediately locked on two people sitting near the far wall—a black couple, who looked like they’d just wandered in from a subway bench.
The heat hadn’t been kind to them.
The man’s tattered denim jacket hung open over a sweat-drenched T-shirt, the neckline stretched and stained like it’d lived through too many summers. His mismatched shoes—one worn-down sneaker, one busted dress shoe—looked like they’d been battling the concrete for years. Sweat beaded along his temples and ran down the side of his neck as he dabbed himself with a crumpled fast-food napkin that wasn’t helping anybody.
The woman fanned herself weakly with a laminated takeout menu, her faded floral dress stuck to her thighs. Her slip-on sandals flopped every time she shifted in the chair, and her bra strap peeked out like it too, had given up. They both looked nervous, sweaty, lost… and a little scared too—just like me.
I glanced at Imanio, who stood beside me, composed and chill, like that wasn’t even the weirdest part of his day.
“Who a-are these people?” I whispered, clinging to him.
His voice didn’t even dip w8hen he responded, “The two witnesses.”
I pulled back. “Y-You know them… personally?” I was still talking in a low tone.
Imanio stared at me like I’d just asked if he wore wigs on weekends.
