The Trophy

Short Story

The twirling continues to the never ending music and his infinite energy. He smiles and pulls me closer. I know he wants me to smile, loosen a bit, look around, pretend to enjoy. My eyes take a sensuous sheen when I relax, he says. I have had a couple of glasses of wine, one more than what I usually take, at his insistence. But it doesn’t help, knowing…

Knowing that the show will end, when the guests depart, the chandeliers are switched off, and the red dress will be off. I will be left alone in the gilded palace, lonely on the four poster bed, cold silken sheets… listening to my own yearning breaths, aching. 

My fingers tighten on his, to bind him to me, and never let him go. He flashes his handsome smile again, but the next second, glances at the figure near the pillar, to the one who holds his heart, his devotion, his soul. I ache… oh how I wish…

Bringing his gaze back to the audience, he steers me around the periphery of the dance floor to show me off to his friends, relatives and the world. His trophy wife; envied by thousands, ignored by the one, perfect on the outside but broken inside.

Yet, I have lost my right to protest, the day I made the pact with him. This is my choice, my destiny… for it was I, who once rejected true love and coveted the golden cage. 

It was I, who chose to be a trophy… 

For the Picture Prompt by The Book Club

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