THE WEDDING
On the wedding day, the guests couldn’t stop whispering.
Clara stood glowing in her wedding gown—radiant and composed—beside Don Baste, who was drenched in sweat, gasping for air, with a spaghetti stain on his tuxedo.
“Poor girl,” someone whispered.
“She’s only in it for the money.”
“She must be disgusted at the thought of sharing a bed with him.”
Clara heard everything.
But she lifted her chin with pride.
She took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the sweat from Don Baste’s forehead.
“Are you alright, Don Baste?” she asked softly.
“Would you like some water?”
Don Baste froze.
He had expected disgust — but instead, he saw compassion.
Care.
“Water,” he whispered.
Throughout the ceremony, Clara stayed by his side.
When it was time for photos, she didn’t step away.
She held his hand—large, rough, and trembling.
THE TEST
After the wedding, they were taken to Don Baste’s mansion.
“You’ll sleep on the sofa,” Baste ordered inside the bedroom.
“I’m too big—you won’t be comfortable in the bed. And one more thing…
Clean my feet before I sleep. And feed me.”
Don Baste was testing her.
He pretended to be lazy.
Messy.
Rude.
Cruel.
“This food is awful!” he shouted, throwing his plate.
“You’re too slow! Wipe my back!”
For three months, Clara became his caretaker.
And yet, she never complained.
“I’m sorry, Don Baste. I’ll try harder tomorrow,” was always her gentle reply.
Every night, while Baste slept—or pretended to—Clara softly spoke as she massaged his swollen feet.
“I know you’re kind,” she whispered.
“Maybe you’re hurt because people wounded you with their words. Don’t worry. I’m here. I’m your wife. I won’t leave you.”
Baste heard every word.
And beneath his thick “skin,” his heart slowly softened.
THE GRAND CHARITY BALL
