Chapter 3

**Amara Nicholas**

We entered my bedroom, which was very large, and my mother accompanied me to pack some of my things. She reminded me that the Briggs family was wealthy, and I didn't have to stress about arranging everything I owned.

We finished packing all the boxes around 1 a.m., and my mother was exhausted. She stretched, yawned, and told me, "I have to go back to my room to meet your father. Good night, my princess."

"Okay, Mom, but I am still not happy about this marriage. Can't you speak to my father again about it?" I asked, looking at her face with my blue-shining eyes that glimmered with hope at the thought of her agreeing.

"No, Amara. I want you to marry and give me a grandchild. I cannot speak to your father about this again. Not to worry—when you get to the city, I will call you from time to time to see how you're doing," my mother told me, and hot tears streamed freely down my cheeks.

I didn't understand why I wasn't happy about getting married and going to the city. It had always been my dream to marry a handsome, good man, but I felt scared, and anxiety coursed through my veins.

I asked my mother, "Mom, what if the man does not like me? I don't know him, and I haven't seen him before. If he truly wanted me, he should have been here since I was already married to him and before I became aware of it."

"Hmm, he will love you once he sees you. I don't know if his father has told him, but this was an agreement between your father and his father. It would be best for you to be a good wife to him and not discard your home training. I know that the first year of marriage isn't easy, with you adjusting to your new home and your husband's way of life. As you know, he grew up in the city and isn't here with us. But I am certain that he will love you very much. So don't be negative about anything; always maintain a positive mindset," my mother told me, but I stubbornly disagreed.

I asked her, "Mom, what if he already has a woman in his life? I know all these city men can be shallow; when I was there, the way they gawked at me was as if they wanted to eat me raw. I wouldn't say I like the idea of going to the city. I want a man from here," I protested again.

"This is unlike you, my princess. Not to worry; I doubt Darlington would be involved with anyone else, as his father would have told him about you. He's your husband, and you shouldn't worry too much. Now come, go to bed and get a good night's sleep. You have a long journey ahead tomorrow," my mother said as she approached and escorted me to bed in my room.

I went to relieve myself again in my restroom. I stepped out of my bathroom and thought my mother had returned to her room, but she was still there, waiting for me to lie down like I was her baby.

My mother carefully covered me with the bedspread while I slowly drifted to sleep, knowing I would miss the warm comfort of my parents' home the following day. I would be going to a man's house whom I hadn't met before. I knew nothing about him. I wondered if he would accept me or throw me out, reminding me that he never came to my family's house to marry me.

All these thoughts lingered in my mind. However, I had a dream, and in my dream, I saw a man—a tall man. I couldn't see his face, but he was attractive and stared at me with curiosity. He looked familiar to me, as though I had seen him before.

He approached me and pulled me into an embrace, but as I tried to look at his face, I couldn’t see who he was or whether he was my husband—the new man I was going to live with. I woke up and saw my mother in my room.

"Amara, are you still in bed? Get up; it's almost 6 a.m." My mother walked over to pull open the curtains, and I yawned and stretched as I sat up carefully on the bed.

I got out of bed and greeted her, "Good morning, Mom."

"Morning, my sweet pie, go take your bath quickly. The car driver will soon be here. Let me go prepare your breakfast," my mother told me as she quickly exited my bedroom, not giving me a chance to protest again.

I sighed and went into my bathroom for a quick, refreshing bath. When I stepped out, I found that my two large boxes of clothes were already out of my room, and I saw a yellow dress on the bed that my mother had chosen for me to wear.

I wasn't good with fashion, and my mother prioritized picking a yellow dress. She was so good at fashion that heads would turn to stare at her twice. I think that was how she won my father's heart—with her high fashion style and formidable looks. But me? I felt too local to be considered fashionable.

I am cute, anyway, so why must I dress provocatively to entice a man? I prefer wearing baggy dresses to hide all my curves and shapes. When I go to the market to select a dress, I buy what makes me comfortable.

After studying in the city, I hated how any man would gawk at me, so I made it a priority to buy loose-fitting dresses that reached my height but were too baggy to show off my curves and large chest.

I didn't find pleasure in looking cute. I remembered one of my roommates once telling me that if I wore seductive clothing, I could get the president's son to fall in love with me, and I could be a perfect seductress!

But no, I wanted to look decent and not overly flashy. I didn't appreciate drawing attention to myself; it made me feel vulnerable, as though I might be kidnapped by one of those predatory men whose eyes monitored my every move.

I sighed, drying my wet body. I rubbed on my orange cream and, after that, picked up the yellow dress and put it on. My mother was finally back in my bedroom again.