It is bad that I hooked up with the prince of another kingdom the night before getting married?

Some would say so. I know I’m supposed to feel guilty about it, but it’s almost like I’m not. Maybe it’s because it’s only an arranged marriage. I didn’t wanna marry that princess, but I had to. My parents don’t care that I’m gay, they just need a good picture. In my opinion, having a gay prince would bring more attention and popularity. But I get it, I have to keep the tradition of a prince-to-be-king alive.

Now it’s my wedding. And he’s here, in the crowd, looking incredibly attractive. He’s wearing this dark red velvet blazer with a black shirt underneath, and matching pants. He had a nice necklace on and his hair was slicked back. He was sitting with his family as he leaned forward and watched me.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant says.

Now I’ve gotta kiss her. In front of many people and him.

I press my lips against hers and she kisses back passionately, except I’m not kissing with the same kind of affection. Mine is more forced, more strained.