AMARA'S POV:
I was standing inside my bedroom, preparing to sleep, when I heard a loud knock on the door. I walked up, pulled it open, and saw Agnes—my mother’s maid—smiling at me.
Agnes wore a long blue gown. She was light-skinned, young, and about my size. I am also twenty-four years old. At that moment, I was wearing a long blue nightgown because it was already nighttime—around 11:30 p.m. on December 31st.
I had tied my hair into a bun shortly after drying it from my bath.“What do you want, Agnes?” I asked, looking at her as she smiled back.
“Amara, I'm sorry to bother you, but your father sent for you,” Agnes said. I sighed and muttered, “But we just finished dinner in the dining room. What does my father want to say to me again? I’m not interested in the New Year celebration.”
Agnes smiled faintly and replied, “I don’t know, but he’s downstairs with your mom. The guests have all gone outside to prepare for the fireworks.”
“Hmm, okay. Tell my father I’ll be downstairs soon. Let me go and ease myself,” I told Agnes. She smiled and left.
I sighed, returned to my room, and went to the restroom to relieve myself. Afterward, I made my way downstairs through the grand staircase of my father’s enormous mansion.
I live on the outskirts of the city with my parents—precisely in the countryside. My father is a chief there and works in agricultural farming.
At home, I’m like a princess—the center of admiration. My people love me because my mother taught me to be kind and helpful to those around us. We were preparing to cross into a brand-new year, and I didn’t know how to feel about it.
I am my parents’ only child. I’m still single, and they aren’t pressuring me to marry. My father is an understanding man, but many men have come to ask for my hand in marriage—including my crush, Charles Wilfred. Yet my father refused.
I don’t know his reason, but my mother assured me that my father wanted the best for me and wouldn’t give me to just any suitor who might treat me poorly in the future. I understood, sighed, and went downstairs to the living room.
We live in a standard duplex surrounded by lush gardens. My father’s mansion is fenced. Though the celebration was still going on, we had many visitors, and the guest rooms were full with my cousins and aunt.
Finally, I entered the living room, and Agnes stepped out of the kitchen to say, “Your dad requested that you meet him in his office.”
“Okay,” I replied, then proceeded to my father’s home office. I suspected his message was private, so no relatives would eavesdrop.
I arrived at the front of the office, knocked gently, and heard my father respond in a calm voice: “Come inside.”
I quietly opened the door and entered the enormous office, which had two guest seats and a set of four blue couches.
There, my parents sat on a blue couch. My father smiled and said, “Come, Amara. Take your seat before the fireworks start. Your mother and I have something important to tell you.”
“Okay, Dad,” I replied, walked in, and sat on another blue couch across from them. My mother wore a red nightdress, and my father wore a white garment with black trousers. I could see the trousers because he was sitting on the same couch as my mother.
My father smiled again and said, “Amara, it’s time for your mother and me to inform you about our arrangement. We’ve kept it from you, but now it’s time to share our decision. Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with my friend, Mr. Joshua Briggs?”
“Yes, Dad. I know Mr. Briggs—the one who lives in the city and visits here sometimes,” I replied.
“Good. You are married to his only son, Darlington Briggs, and you’ll be going to the city tomorrow to live with him,” my father said.
“What?” I gasped. “Dad, I don’t understand. How can I be married to your friend’s son? When? I don’t remember getting married to any man—or did I suffer a memory loss?”
I stared at my parents' faces in shock. How could I be married without remembering? And yet, I wished to settle down and have my own home. My father sighed, and my mother smiled understandingly.
“It was an arrangement I made with Mr. Briggs long ago. You’re not officially married to Darlington yet, but you’ll go to the city to live with him to see if you can get along and eventually become a married couple,” my father explained.
“Dad, I don’t understand. Do I just visit them, or am I already married to your best friend’s son?” I asked, wanting clarity.
“Amara, as I said, you are married to Darlington Briggs as of now. You must behave well when you arrive at their house. Don’t worry—Darlington’s father has paid all the necessary dues for your marriage to his son. So you’re officially Mrs. Amara Briggs now. The only difference is that Darlington didn’t come here to marry you, and you didn’t wear a wedding dress to walk down the aisle. But by our custom, you are his wife, and he is your husband traditionally,” my father said.
“Dad, I can’t marry a man I don’t know. I can’t go to the city to be with him. Mom?” I looked at my mother, hoping for her opinion.
My mother sighed, looked at me, and said, “Calm down, Amara. It’s for your good.”
“How? I can’t go to the city to live there. Dad, I don’t like the bustling life of city people. I want to stay here, on this side of the country, where there’s no noise and the lifestyle is wild,” I protested, hoping my father would change his mind about these sudden arrangements.
“Amara, I understand your concern, but I trust Mr. Joshua’s son to take care of you. So you’ll be going to the city tomorrow,” my father concluded.
