The Seven Day Fiancée

Franklin stood in his plain white t-shirt and torn boxer shorts, staring at a woman in an elegant dress and frilled blouse. He had somehow transitioned from a ten-by-ten room with stark white walls to a massive, two-story lobby with dark wooden pillars and red, embroidered rugs.

The woman, Terra, gave him a wry smile. “I imagine you have some questions?” she said, in an understatement that threatened to crash through the polished hardwood floor.

Before he could ask any of them, the blonde Host continued. “We should probably get you better situated for the introductions, and this should be an easy way to rip the band-aid off in any case.” With that, she scrawled a note on the clipboard she was holding, and as she wrote, Franklin felt his clothes…moving.

His thin t-shirt thickened a bit, the sleeves moving down his arms and darkening just a bit until it formed a grey turtleneck sweater. Over the top of it, a dark grey jacket simply…appeared, and was then joined by matching slacks. He even felt his boxer shorts repair themselves, turning silk in the process. Franklin was so surprised by the change that he didn’t notice the shard of glass he had been holding had evaporated in his hand.

“How…”

“Magic,” Terra stated, simply. “I think you’ll find that also covers ‘How did I get here’ and ‘Do you really think you can keep me here?”

Franklin stared the Host down, considering his next move. Between the bizarre puzzle room and this latest display, he was either dreaming, hallucinating, or facing down a stoic blonde with a magical clipboard. Despite the former options being far more likely, something in the back of his mind was telling him this was real. “Ok. Should we just go down the list then? Where? What? Why?”

“Good man,” Terra smiled. “I do love getting to the point.” She took a step back and spread out one arm, gesturing toward the grand lobby. “Welcome, Franklin Porter, to Harem Hotel! The multiverse’s hottest reality dating show.”

Harem Hotel. Franklin remembered the note he read. “Right, you must be with Dee and Vee, then?”

Terra made a sour face. “Let’s not worry about them. They work behind the scenes.” Hopefully. “On our show, several lovely contestants will be competing for your affections and a place of pride in your Harem. You have been selected to be this season’s Master.”

The inflection she put on the word Master caused a spark to run up Franklin’s back. “I generally prefer Sir, and are these contestants going to be brought here the same way I was?”

Terra raised an eyebrow, “Well, look at you. They picked someone with a spine, didn’t they?”

Franklin gave her a confused look. “They? Dee and Vee? I thought we weren’t worrying about them.”

Terra scoffed, “We aren’t. The only ‘them’ you need to worry about is the audience. Our viewers. They call the shots around here. Plucked you right out of a universe of possibilities.”

Franklin took a look around the lobby. He didn’t see any cameras or any other staff. The thought of being watched by an audience made him a bit nauseous, but he tried to put it aside. “How did they even know about me?”

“That’s…a bit complicated,” Terra explained without explaining. “Let’s call it a proprietary matchmaking process. We can get into the nitty-gritty details later.”

Franklin frowned, unamused. “You didn’t answer my question. These contestants, did they volunteer for this or are they going to be brought here like I was?”

“Not exactly like you were,” Terra evaded, “They won’t have to solve any puzzles, thankfully.”

Franklin took a step toward the Host, “That’s not going to fly. I don’t play games without boundaries. Safe, sane, and consensual. That’s basic stuff.”

Terra wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. She drew a quick X on her clipboard, and suddenly, Franklin found himself fixed in place. With a neutral expression, she walked around the rigid figure of her captive. “As much as I’m glad to hear that you’ll be treating your Harem well, Master Porter, this show specializes in pushing boundaries. I assure you that if you wish to refrain from contact with any contestant who isn’t interested in your talents, that is entirely up to you. The contestants, like you, will be chosen by our viewers, and their preferences are paramount.”

Franklin tried to move but could only manage a burning stare aimed at the confident Host.

Sighing, Terra decided to keep things moving. “You’ll have to save the fire for your contestants once they’re willing, Master Porter. **** against Harem Hotel staff is strictly prohibited, even for the Master, and you can help your Harem far more by focusing on what you can do than the very few things you can’t.” With that, she smudged her X mark, and Franklin felt his body release its tension.

Franklin straightened his jacket, more to occupy his hands than anything, as the creeping feeling in the back of his mind urged him to keep going. “Fine. Let’s get on with this.”

Terra looked down at her notes, seeing they had updated with the audience's first choice of contestant. As the information about the young woman flooded through her mind, she held back a wince. Really going to test the Master’s anger right away, aren’t we? She thought.

She turned to the cameras, trying to project some excitement and pomp into her voice. “Our first contestant is someone the Master knows very well. They connected in college and got very close. Unfortunately, things didn’t quite work out the way we’d hoped, but now they’ll get another chance at a love for the ages! Let’s take a quick look into the past before we meet this buttoned-up biochemist!”

Franklin grimaced when he heard the Host, before being launched into a vision of a time he had hoped to forget.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday, December 9, 2019

The clinking of silverware against porcelain, the murmur of other diners, and the warm golden light of the restaurant faded to a dull hum as Franklin knelt. One knee on the worn wooden floorboards, he held up a small velvet box. Inside, a simple silver band with a single diamond caught the light. Dara's breath hitched. She could feel her heart thudding against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone and skin.

"Dara," Franklin's voice, usually so sure, was strained. "I know you're leaving. I know Berkeley is… a long way from here. But I don't care. I'll wait. I'll do whatever it takes. We can make this work, as long as we know we're working towards the same thing. Towards each other. Will you marry me?"

A gasp from a nearby table. A wave of heads turning. A collective held breath. The spotlight, sudden and blistering, found them. Franklin's dark eyes were wide, pleading, a little ****. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple. He was so young, so earnest. So wrong for her, a tiny, cruel voice whispered in the back of her mind. But he was also kind, and he loved her, and he was here, on one knee, in public, offering her everything he thought she wanted.

Her gaze swept the room. Curious faces. Amused smiles. A few older women with damp, sentimental eyes. The pressure was immense, a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders. She couldn't say no. Not here. Not now. It would be cruel, humiliating. It would be a scene. And Dara hated scenes.

"Yes," the word escaped her lips, thin and reedy. "Yes."

Franklin's face blossomed with pure, unadulterated relief. A grin split his face, wide and brilliant. He slid the ring onto her finger.

It was a little loose.

*****

Tuesday, December 10, 2019

"You said YES?" Gemma shouted as she looked at the ring on her roommate's finger.

Gemma's blonde ponytail whipped around as she paced their small dorm room, her socks silent on the thin carpet. "Like, 'yes, I will marry you' yes? Not 'yes, I'll think about it' yes?"

Dara sat on her bed, the worn comforter bunched around her knees, feeling the ring's unfamiliar weight. "It just… happened."

"Happened? Dara, proposals don't 'just happen.' They’re not like a sudden rainstorm. They're planned! And answers are supposed to be planned too! Did you even talk about this? Did he talk about this with you?"

"Not really," Dara admitted, her shoulders slumping. "It was a surprise."

"Bit of an understatement, Dar!" Gemma stopped pacing and planted her hands on her hips. "Okay. Okay. Let's be logical. Logistics. That's your thing. So, is he moving to California with you? Transferring to Berkeley? That business program he's in is pretty good here, but I doubt it stacks up against Haas."

"I don't think that's the plan," Dara said slowly, tracing the silver band with her thumb. "He said… long distance."

Gemma stared at her. "Long distance," she repeated, her voice flat with disbelief. She let out a short, sharp laugh. "Franklin. Porter. The human electric blanket. The guy who practically melts if he doesn't get a hug every twelve hours. The guy who holds your hand across the table in the dining hall like he's afraid you'll float away. That Franklin Porter? He suggested a long-distance relationship?"

"He said he was fine with it," Dara mumbled, a defensive note creeping into her voice. She couldn't explain why she was defending it, except that Gemma's incredulity mirrored a tiny, growing panic in her own chest. "As long as we're committed."

"Right. Committed." Gemma flopped onto her own bed, the springs groaning in protest. "And the wedding? Before or after the move? Are your parents going to fly out? Will they even let you? Have you thought about student loans? Or the fact that you'll be a married woman in a PhD program while your husband is finishing his junior year of college two thousand miles away?"

Every question was a tiny dart, landing with unnerving accuracy. Dara hadn't thought about any of it. In the warm, flattering light of the restaurant, with Franklin's hopeful face upturned to hers, all those complications had seemed distant, abstract.

Gemma sat next to her on her bed, "Girl, you can't just close your eyes to this."

*****

Wednesday, December 11th, 2019

The blindfold was snug against her face as Dara pulled against the silk ropes that bound her wrists to the headboard.

"Stay still," Franklin whispered, and she did, letting out a shaky breath as she felt the bed shift under his weight. His breath was warm against her ear, then his lips, soft and sure. His hands were everywhere, exploring her skin, finding the places that made her gasp, her back arch off the bed. He knew her body so well, could play it like an instrument. He kept her teetering on the brink, a breathless, aching suspension, a sweet **** that made her forget everything else.

In the darkness, there was no Berkeley. No skeptical Gemma. There was only the sensation, the building tension, the promise of release. This was the one place where she didn't have to think, where she could let go of the tight knot of control she carried with her every day. Here, she wasn't Dara Li, the overachieving biochemist with a five-year plan. She was just a body, responding to touch. She loved this feeling, this freedom from the weight of her own thoughts. He pushed her higher, higher, a delicious, mindless climb, and when she finally tumbled over the edge, it was with a cry that was half surrender, half exaltation. For a few moments, there was nothing but the rush of blood in her ears and the steady beat of her own heart.

Later, they lay tangled in the sheets, the city lights painting stripes across the ceiling of Franklin's apartment. Dara turned her head, watching him. He looked younger in sleep, his face relaxed, his mouth slightly parted. The serious, composed Dara Li would have been making a list in her head. Pro: He loves me. Con: He's nineteen. Pro: He makes me feel good. Con: He makes me feel good in a way that feels like an escape. But tonight, the other Dara, the one who was still humming from the pleasure he'd given her, just watched him breathe and imagined there was no one else she owed an explanation.

*****

Thursday, December 12th, 2019

The phone screen was bright in the dim light of her dorm room. Dara's father's face, pixelated but stern, filled the small square.

"Married?" Aijun Li's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. It was far worse than shouting. "Dara. We have not even seen you graduate."

"It was a surprise, Baba," she said, her own voice thin. "Haven't you always said that's how it was when you met Mom?"

"I already had a job when I met your mother. A career. I was established. This boy… he is still a boy. He is in business? What kind of business? Selling cars?"

"He's smart, Baba. He's doing well."

"Smart is not a career. Smart is not a prospect. Berkeley is a prospect. A PhD is a prospect. A wedding is a distraction. A liability."

She could almost hear the gears in his mind turning, calculating the cost, the risk, the impracticality of it all. He wasn't angry, not in the way other fathers might be. He was disappointed, and in her family, disappointment was the deepest wound of all. She tried to explain Franklin's plan, the "long distance" part, but it just seemed to make it worse.

"He will wait for you?" her father scoffed, a rare crack in his composure. "For what? So he can say he is married to a doctor? You are not a prize to be won, Dara. You are becoming a scientist. That is the prize. Do not throw it away for a boy with a ring."

After he hung up, the silence in the room felt heavy, accusatory. She looked down at her hand, at the silver band that now felt less like a promise and more like a brand. She thought of her mother, the ophthalmologist, happily married to her Optician husband. Clean, easy, a perfect match with 35 years of marriage to prove it.

If only she had that level of clarity.

*****

Friday, December 13th, 2019

Franklin: We should probably tell Flo first when we get there. She'll flip if not. lol

Dara tapped her phone screen, staring at the little bubbles appearing and disappearing. Flo, Florence, Franklin's older sister, wild and rebellious. The first one to celebrate, the last one to worry about who'd do the cleaning.

Dara: Ok. Are your parents going to be weird about it?

Franklin: Nah, they'll be thrilled. My mom's been asking when we're gonna make it official for like a year. My dad just wants me to be happy.

Dara sighed, tracing the cool glass of her phone screen with her thumb. His family was so different from hers. They were a blended, messy, loving collection of relationships formed and reformed over the years. Franklin's parents, young when they had Flo, had divorced. Each had remarried, producing half-brothers and half-sisters, and a stepsister from a stepfather's previous marriage. To them, perhaps, one more rearrangement of the family structure was no big deal. A new marriage was just another branch on a sprawling, chaotic family tree.

To Dara's father, a man who had had one wife, one job, one house for the entirety of his adult life, it was an unacceptable risk.

What if her father was right? What if they were both just kids who thought love was enough to conquer geography and age and disparate life goals? What if Franklin, confident now, would one day wake up at twenty-five and realize he was tied to a woman who was still in school, whose life was a series of experiments that didn't always work?

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. She typed back.

Dara: Can't wait to see them. xx

She put the phone down and stared at the ceiling, the ring on her finger feeling heavy, a tiny, cold anchor tying her to a future she suddenly couldn't picture.

*****

Saturday, December 14th, 2019

"Are you sure you're considering the big picture, Ms. Li?" Dr. Miranda Bloom asked, her tone indicating she already had an answer recorded in her notes. "I've seen it happen too many times. A promising mind, a brilliant future, all derailed by… entanglements."

Miranda's office was a fortress and a trophy case that Dara had always found intimidating and still did, even over the video call. Framed journals, awards, even a picture of her on stage with Elizabeth Blackburn from some speaking engagement.

"This PhD program isn't like your undergraduate studies," she continued, steepling her fingers. "It is a real commitment. It demands everything you have. I was personally championing you for a position in my lab. I see in you a rare potential. And I would hate to think that potential would be… diluted by distractions."

"He's not a distraction," Dara said, her voice quiet but firm. She straightened her glasses, a familiar nervous gesture.

"Is he not?" Miranda raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "A long-distance relationship with a nineteen-year-old boy who is still in a different part of the country, pursuing a different degree, with a different timeline for his life? That sounds, to me, like a definition of a distraction. A significant one." She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping. "I'm not speaking as a friend here, Dara. I'm speaking as a scientist who is investing in your future. I need you to be ruthless with yourself. When you're at the bench at two in the morning, staring at a gel that isn't running, or a culture that's failed, will thinking about your husband in Minnesota help you find the answer?"

The question hung in the sterile air of the screen. No, Dara thought. It wouldn't.

"I just want you to be sure," Miranda said, her tone softening almost imperceptibly. "I've been where you are. The pressure is immense. The desire for something stable, something that feels like 'real life,' can be overwhelming. But you are on the cusp of something extraordinary. Don't let the fear of the unknown make you grab onto something familiar, something easy, and mistake it for the right thing."

After the call ended, Dara closed her laptop, stared up at the ceiling, and let her arms fall heavily to her sides. The small, loose ring slid off her finger and fell to the floor.

*****

Sunday, December 15th, 2019

"Franklin," she said, bare fingers clasped around a little silver ring, "we need to talk."

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Terra cast her hand towards the grand staircase, where a figure now stood. Franklin looked up, where the woman he hadn’t seen in almost 6 years now stood, in a lovely black cocktail dress that matched her raven hair. The Host announced, “The first contestant on this season of Harem Hotel, as chosen by our amazing audience, Dara Li!”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, in the Imps office, Dee was happily gloating. “Hah! I knew they would choose the ex-fiancée. Give the audience a choice, and they’ll favor the most dramatic option every time. Pain, heartbreak, embarrassment, ooh I can’t wait to see how the audience helps Franklin pay her back.”

Vee sat with his arms crossed, unamused at his brother’s antics. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m sure they just liked the scientist angle…or maybe the glasses. Besides, second-chance romance is very popular!”

“Don’t ruin my good mood like that,” Dee scoffed as he tossed the two other folders to the red Imp. “You’re just mad that I threw a softball knowing you’d follow suit, and then I could send that trainwreck down the tracks. Impulsive public proposal, what a moron. Franklin Poron!”

“Ugh, you’re the absolute worst,” Vee admonished his brother. “That means I get to go first this time. What’s the next category for contestants?”

Dee relaxed with his arms behind his head. “Coworkers. A classic indeed.”

Vee considered things and ran his eyes over the wide list of fetishes the Master had thanks to their audience’s eclectic opinions. Coming to a decision, he snapped his fingers, and two folders appeared on the Imp’s ornate desk (which was not at all the size of an end table). Dee added one of his own, and the Imps readied their pitches.

Vee opened his first folder, and the figure of a mature woman with short, ash-blonde hair materialized. She was tall, wearing a navy-blue skirt suit, with tasteful makeup and jewelry that provided a flash of wealth and taste.

“Colette Lavigne,” the red Imp explained. “The Curator of the Minnesota State Museum of Art. She may be a 42-year-old divorcee, but if you ask her, she’s living the dream. Known for her discerning eye, her support for modern restoration techniques, and her remarkable memory, she runs the show at Franklin’s workplace, but maybe she’s looking for someone to take the lead in matters of the heart?”

“Interesting. MILF, huh? It was in the top 20, but then so was Humiliation.” Dee opened his folder and waited for a younger woman’s visage to show up beside Colette’s. “And for that, you need a fiery personality.”

“Lyra Katsaros,” the blue Imp announced. “She would tell you she’s the Assistant Curator of the Museum, but she’s officially an Assistant to the Curator. Primarily responsible for researching and communicating with other museums regarding loans, transfers, and exhibitions, she’s desperately trying to make a name for herself before she turns 30 this fall. She was not impressed with Franklin’s amateur knowledge of ‘proper exhibit composition,’ and wrote him off as just one of the schmoozers, but I’m sure he can put her in her place.”

Dee turned to his brother, “I’m thinking brat? Maybe an inferiority complex?”

Vee sighed, “Or maybe she could become just as passionate about creating the perfect Harem as she is about creating the perfect exhibit?”

Dee shrugged, “She’s controlling enough for it. Who’s our third candidate?”

Vee opened the last folder, and a striking woman with dark skin and curly black hair appeared. She wore a dark suit over a lavender dress shirt, with her nails painted a deep purple and a serious expression on her face.

“Franklin’s direct supervisor and the Museum’s Director of Development, Ruth Devereaux. An impressive woman with a driven personality and a fierce loyalty to her small circle of friends and family. She is 34 years old and the single mother of a 15-year-old son. Despite the unexpected pregnancy in college, she kept her nose to the grindstone, earned her degree and now provides for him and her parents, who helped her raise him. She put aside romance to focus on her family, but now we can give her it all!”

Dee gave a low whistle, “Sure you want her to risk it? The audience hasn’t exactly been worried about collateral damage. Go ask a certain human resources manager.”

Vee shook his head, “I believe in them!”

With another shrug, Dee said, “Alright then. Hope you don’t split the MILF vote.”

Vee scoffed, “Unlikely, because we’re going to run this one as a ranked choice ballot. Vote at the link below!”

Vote Here for Contestant #2: The Coworker

Voting is now closed.