The days that followed were a whirlwind of activity. The public announcement of their marriage was met with a mix of shock, curiosity, and speculation. The media buzzed with the news, and their colleagues at the company were equally stunned. Some congratulated them sincerely, while others eyed them with suspicion, wondering what ulterior motives lay behind such an unexpected union.
Marie and Welder navigated it all with practiced ease, sticking to the script they had created. They attended company functions together, posed for photos, and gave carefully crafted statements to the press. They were the perfect couple—polished, professional, and united in their commitment to the company.
But beneath the surface, the strain was beginning to show. Marie found herself increasingly on edge, the pressure of maintaining the façade weighing heavily on her. Every interaction with Welder felt like walking a tightrope, balancing the need to appear close with the reality that they were still essentially strangers, bound together by circumstances rather than genuine affection.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the office, Marie returned to the apartment she now shared with Welder. She had agreed to move in temporarily, as part of their public image, but she found the arrangement stifling. The apartment, though spacious and luxurious, felt more like a stage set than a home.
As she entered the living room, she found Welder sitting on the couch, his tie loosened and a drink in hand. He looked up as she walked in, his expression weary.
"Tough day?" he asked, his voice tinged with the same exhaustion she felt. Marie sighed, kicking off her heels and sinking into the armchair across from him. "You could say that," she replied, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, Welder. The constant pretending, the scrutiny… it's starting to get to me."
Welder nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "I get it, Marie. This is harder than either of us anticipated. But we have to remember why we're doing this—why it's so important."
Marie looked at him, searching his face for some sign of the man behind the mask. "And what if that's not enough? What if the pressure becomes too much? We're both walking on eggshells, trying to be perfect all the time. I'm not sure how sustainable this is."
Welder set his drink down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I've been thinking about that too," he admitted. "About what happens if things start to unravel. We need a plan—something to fall back on if this becomes too much."
Marie felt a surge of relief at his words. For the first time, Welder was acknowledging the possibility that their plan might not go as smoothly as they had hoped. "What kind of plan?" she asked, her interest piqued.
Welder hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "We could establish some boundaries—personal space, time apart, ways to cope when the stress gets too high. Maybe even a safe word, something we can say when it's all too much, and we need a break from the act."
The idea of a safe word—something that could break through the illusion and give them both a moment of honesty—was oddly comforting. "I think that could work," Marie said slowly. "It would give us a way to stay grounded, to remind ourselves that this isn't real."
Welder nodded, relief evident in his expression. "Exactly. We can't lose ourselves in this charade. We have to find a way to stay connected to reality, to who we really are."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared burden hanging in the air between them. Marie's mind raced with the implications of what they were discussing. They had been so focused on presenting a united front that they hadn't taken the time to consider how this arrangement would affect them as individuals—how it might erode their sense of self over time.
"I also think we should talk about what happens if… if one of us wants out," Marie said, her voice hesitant. "We need to have an exit strategy."
Welder's gaze sharpened, and for a moment, Marie saw a flicker of something in his eyes—fear, perhaps, or maybe just concern. "You're thinking about ending this already?" he asked, his tone neutral but probing.
Marie shook her head quickly. "No, not now. But I'm a realist, Welder. We need to be prepared for every possibility. If one of us decides this isn't working anymore, we need to be able to part ways without destroying everything we've worked for."
Welder leaned back in his seat, considering her words. "You're right," he said finally. "We should have a plan in place. Something that protects both of us and the company if it comes to that."
They spent the next hour discussing potential scenarios, hashing out details for an exit strategy that would allow them to end their marriage with minimal fallout. It was a difficult conversation, one that forced them to confront the very real possibility of failure. But it was also a necessary one, giving them both a sense of control over their situation.
When they finally finished, Marie felt a strange mix of relief and sadness. They had taken steps to protect themselves, but in doing so, they had also acknowledged the fragility of their arrangement. Their marriage was a business deal, after all, and like any deal, it could fall apart.
"Now that we've got that out of the way," Welder said, trying to lighten the mood, "let's talk about that safe word. Any ideas?"
Marie smiled, appreciating the change in tone. "How about 'red'? It's simple, easy to remember, and it's used in other contexts to mean 'stop.'"
Welder chuckled. "'Red' it is. So, if you ever feel overwhelmed, just say the word, and we'll take a step back."
"Same goes for you," Marie replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between them. It wasn't the connection of a real marriage, but it was something—an understanding, a partnership of sorts.
They shared a look, one that conveyed the unspoken agreement between them: they were in this together, and they would support each other through whatever came their way, even if it meant acknowledging the cracks in their carefully constructed façade.
As the days turned into weeks, Marie and Welder fell into a routine of sorts. They continued to present a united front at work, attending meetings together, making joint decisions, and handling the inevitable questions about their personal life with practiced ease. Outside of work, they maintained a polite distance, respecting each other's boundaries while still fulfilling the obligations of their public marriage.
The media attention gradually waned as the novelty of their relationship wore off, but the pressure remained. Every move they made was still scrutinized, every interaction analyzed for signs of trouble or inconsistency. Marie found herself constantly on edge, worried that she might slip up and reveal the truth behind their marriage.
Despite the stress, Marie began to notice subtle changes in her relationship with Welder. They were still essentially strangers in many ways, but the time they spent together—both in public and in the privacy of their apartment—had created a bond of sorts. They knew each other's habits, their likes and dislikes, and they had developed a rhythm in their interactions. It wasn't love, but it was something.