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When I first met with Abraham O’Neil to discuss arrangements for our future marriage, he’d been forthcoming with the fact that his daughter, Amanda, was more on the wild side. At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it, because as with all arrangements, there would be things that I’d need to deal with that I didn’t care for.
But in the end, our alliance was supposed to bring about a bigger change in our supply chain. Money was more important than me liking my wife.
At least, that’s what I’d believed until I received that first letter and began to see how foolish that line of thinking was.
Finding out that I’d actually fallen in love with Amanda’s twin was a shock, and I stupidly cast her out without sitting down and actually thinking. I’d been hurt and lied to—a deadly combination for me.
Yet despite all that, I’d demanded for the real Amanda to be brought to me, thinking she’d be like her sister and we could seamlessly fall into our marriage.
I’d been dead wrong.
I didn’t know how I was going to fix any of this. How could I build a relationship with my real wife when I wanted nothing to do with her? I mourned her sister while Amanda slept next to me every night, a barrier of pillows between us.
It hurt. All of it.
And now I had to deal with the consequences of my actions.
“Xavier, where’s your credit card?”
I looked up from my desk to where Amanda stood in the doorway. It was uncanny how much she looked like her sister—to the point where I was beginning to think I’d hallucinated even marrying Mia.
“Why?”
She huffed at me. “I need to order some things. You're my husband. The least you can do is provide for me.”
I let my head fall into my hands, a sigh working its way up my throat.
Since arriving, Amanda had been nothing but a straight menace. Nothing was good enough for her, she wanted things exactly to her liking and if they weren’t, she would very loudly tell you.
Her brash personality clashed with mine, leading us to bicker more in the span of three days than I had with anyone else this entire year.
How was I supposed to spend the next fifty years married to someone like this?
“Hello? Did you hear me?”
This time, I actually did sigh. “Why can’t you be more like those letters…”
I hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but now that the words were out there, I couldn’t take them back.
Amanda was silent for once, blissfully. I reveled in it, knowing that soon she’d ruin the moment with something as equally ridiculous as demanding my credit card.
“Are you actually serious? You liked those letters?” She laughed.
Lifting my head, I scowled at her. “I responded to them, didn’t I?”
She laughed more, walking fully into my office. She swung herself into one of the chairs across from me, kicking her feet up onto my desk like she owned the place. “Well, sorry. I thought you just felt bad so you kept responding.”
I grabbed her feet and knocked them off my desk, smirking when she had to grab onto the sides of the chair to catch herself. “No, actually. I liked corresponding with your sister.”
“Then why the hell did you send her back?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
My marriage was to Amanda and therefore my alliance with her family was solidified that way. That’s what our contract stated, and so it was legally binding. Or as binding as two mafia families could get.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.” I grabbed my pen, determined to go back to work.
“I’m serious. Why did you send her back if she’s the one you want?”
