Is this part of being “indifferent”? I thought he wouldn’t notice—or care even if he did.
I pick up the sleek teal phone, already in a case and with a clear protective cover on the screen. My heart flutters at finally having a tool in my hand that can help me connect with the world. The credit card he mentioned is a black American Express. I run my index finger over his name: Ares Huxley.My husband. The thought sends a warm ripple through me.
I know Ares asked me to text himif I need anything, but I have to text him my gratitude now. If he questions me, I’ll tell him Ineededto say, “Thank you.” Besides, being polite isn’t clingy. It’s respectful, which is one of his requirements for our marriage.
–Me: Thank you so much! I love the phone and breakfast! You’re amazing!
I stare at the screen for five heartbeats. He doesn’t respond. Probably busy. And if he’s in the office, so is Jeremiah.
I, on the other hand, am alone in this big house.Nobody to hover over me, watch me, report my every move or try to force me or manipulate me. Even the air is lighter and more wonderful in Ares’s house.
For six months, this could be mine, as long as I toe the line. He wants me kept busy with a life of my own. Probably doing something that doesn’t overlap with his in any way, shape or form. Easy. I’ll just paint for the next six months, since it isn’t like I can put together a résumé and start a job anytime soon. I don’t even know how to drive, so it’ll be best to do something that doesn’t require commuting.
And what else did he want…? Caring without being nosy or controlling. Based on his tone, he seemed to value the boundaries more than the caring, so when in doubt, pull back.
Dinners can be arranged… But who’s going to prepare them? If I’m supposed to be busy with a life of my own, I can’t be expected to cook, right? I’ll ask him, but takeout or eating outmight be best. Actually, takeout or delivery, because he might get weird about my need to swap plates. When I was in Nesovia surrounded by household staff who treated me like dirt—not realizing that the money that paid their salaries came from me—I stole their food without a twinge of guilt or awkwardness, since I didn’t give a damn what they thought. But I care about Ares’s opinion of me.
Anyway, no annual vacations, since I’m not going to be around for a year. He didn’t even sound enthused about the divorce-cation. No kids, obviously. That’s for him and some subsequentrealwife. But oddly enough, the idea pierces my heart like a needle, making it ache.
I don’t understand.Why do I care?Ares is a super-nice guy, but he’s only going to take up a short chapter in my life. Given how he told me I don’t offer any of the things he needs in a wife, I need to make sure I don’t get too attached. Even if he’s going to be my first. It’s only logical I want my first time to be with a man I find attractive and who is good at sex. And squirmy salamanders are the last thing on my mind when Ares kisses me.
I take my time finishing the cereal, then head to the living room. Ares has a beautiful, albeit boring, home. Didn’t anybody tell him he can have colors other than white, black and gray? Despite large windows and skylights to take advantage of the California sun, the dreary color scheme makes the place feel as cool and austere as a monastery. At least the leather chairs look plush and expensive, but also exude an air ofdon’t evenimagineparking your unworthy ass on us.Actually, everything in his house has an aura of look,but don’t touch.
Probably not intentional. Just look at all the beautiful red, pink and purple blossoms in the garden surrounding the house. I glance down at my phone, at the pretty teal.
The sunken living room is enormous, with four sectionals and two fireplaces. In the center is a huge pile of boxes. Nextto them are multiple clothes racks, where hundreds of dresses, shirts and pants hang. Are they what Ares referred to as “clothes and shoes” for me?
I thought he ordered a couple of T-shirts and shorts and shoes, not cleared out a department store. Granted, I came here without anything but the clothes on my back, so I need more than most people. But…this is going overboard.
Shaking my head, I rummage through the boxes and find a pair of super-comfy flats in blue, then pick out a pink baby-tee and denim shorts. Ooh, a cute tote in lavender! And a wallet! I pull out a few pretty pieces of lingerie. I’ve never owned anything this fancy before. Doris might’ve spent money to put me in a “nice enough” dress to avoid speculation and gossip, but she always bought the cheapest and ugliest underwear for me, since nobody was going to see it.
I pull out a silky emerald gown and a cute red dress with spaghetti straps, then change my mind about the latter. The back is too low, and it’ll show the scar. I select a burgundy dress that stops an inch above my knees with decent back coverage in case Ares and I need to put on something a bit more formal.
As I walk by the kitchen with my new clothes, shoes and so on, I pick up a pair of shears. Then I stride past Ares’s bedroom and choose a guest bedroom two doors down. It has a fully stocked en-suite bathroom with fresh towels and toiletries. I hang my new stuff in the empty walk-in closet, then gleefully proceed to cut the wedding gown Doris chose for me into ribbons.
Buh-bye, past! Don’t let the door slam you in the face, Doris! You either, Rupert and Vernon! Actually, I hope it hits you and breaks all your noses! I won’t be paying for your rhinoplasty! Whee!
The tatters of the dress lie at my feet. I kick them away, then decide to keep kicking, just because I can.Ah! Doesn’t that feelgreat!
Finally free of the godawful dress, I shower using the orange-scented soap and shampoo, and put on the clothesI’ve selected. Although I’m in a simple shirt and shorts, the pretty underwear makes me feel sexy. And only the Chosen One will be able to see what’s underneath.
I smile saucily at my reflection in the huge mirror in the closet, then shove the black card into my wallet. Time to busy myself shopping for rings like Ares wanted. Except…he didn’t tell me how to get to a mall or anything.
–Me: How should I get to the jewelry store and get the rings?
–Ares: Take the Maserati in the garage.
–Me: Not a good idea. I don’t know how to drive.
There is a pause.
–Ares: You don’t?
–Me: My aunt didn’t even let me wear shoes in case I’d run. She wasn’t going to teach me how to drive.
Another pause.
–Ares: All right. A driver will pick you up in an hour.
