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I grin.
“You haven’t seen anything yet, honey. Let me show you around.” As the captain pulls the ship away from the pier, I give Sansa a tour: there’s a dance floor, a bar, two lounge areas, a game room, and even a swimming pool complete with hot tub on board.
“Wow,” she breathes, eyes sparkling. “Who would have guessed?”
I lean down to nuzzle her ear.
“Well, after what you’ve done for me these last three days, you deserve it, honey. You’ve taken me every which way and given me every inch of that beautiful body.”
She blushes but then smiles wickedly my way.
“Oh I still have tricks in my bag, Mr. Carson,” she teases. “Don’t think you’ve seen it all already.”
My eyes grow heated and I want to bend her over a guard rail and flip up her skirt before going to town. But I restrain myself because this cruise is supposed to be a reward for Sansa.
“You’ll have to show me more from your bag of tricks when we get home, baby girl,” I whisper hotly in her ear as my hands circle her hips. “Can’t wait, sweetheart.”
She merely giggles and spins away, tugging my palm with her.
“Oh my God, you’re so bad, you big beast,” she teases. “But come on. I smell something good, so let’s go find it.”
Ah, my girl always has an appetite, and I love that about her. I let her lead me to a dining room, and sure enough, a table for two with a white tablecloth and a rose has already been set up. Soft jazz is piped in, and the silverware gleams.
But as we take our seats, I switch to business mode, startling my new wife. “So, I thought tonight would be a good night to talk logistics,” I say in a forced tone.
“Logistics?” she responds, confused.
“Yeah, of our marriage. If that’s okay with you? I figured I’d get the hard stuff out of the way first.”
Her expression is startled, but immediately she hides it.
“Oh, of course. We can definitely talk business,” she says quickly. “I don’t mind at all.” I study her features for a moment, trying to discern if I’ve upset her or not, but Sansa merely nods. With that, I proceed.
“Now that we’re married, I assume that my father will step down soon, and I’ll be named CEO. After all, what else is Frank waiting for? I’m the heir apparent,” I say in a gravelly tone.
“How long do you think it will take?” she asks in a soft tone.
I shrug.
“Frank is Frank, but I think six months? Maybe a year, if he drags his feet. He’s already seventy, and I know the board is nagging him to retire. Regardless, we should wait a period of time before announcing our split. We shouldn’t do it immediately after I become CEO because it’ll look fishy. So in all, our marriage might last somewhere between a year or even longer.”
Sansa nods slowly, saying nothing, and I continue.
“Of course, during our marriage, you’ll live in my penthouse, and even afterwards, I’ll ensure that you’re taken care of. It wouldn’t look right for a CEO’s ex-wife to be living in penury.”
Sansa is thoughtful.
“You mean, I’ll get alimony? On top of the two million?”
“Yes,” I say. “You deserve it. You’ve been a wonderful fiancée, and a wonderful wife too, and I want to make sure you’re compensated for your time.”
Sansa winces and I curse myself. These words are coming out a bit more business-like than I intended, but then again, there’s no sense in shying away from a difficult conversation. It had to happen at some point or another.
“I didn’t know our honeymoon would be used to discuss our impending divorce and alimony,” she says in a dry tone.
This time, it’s my turn to wince because she’s right. These words don’t belong in the romantic setting of a candle-lit dinner. They belong in the impersonal confines of a conference room, with attorneys at our sides.
Maybe you should make it real, a voice in my head whispers. If Sansa’s such a wonderful wife, then why not keep her?
But I shake the thought from my head. We’ve never discussed making this real, and it would be a thousand times more complicated than what we have at the moment. Yet, it feels right to be sitting across from this gorgeous woman, even if right now, we’re tackling an uncomfortable topic.
But it doesn’t have to be this way, the voice whispers again. You can make her your real wife, if you want. You can make this into a genuine relationship, Brent.
But I push the thought away because my mind dizzies at the onslaught of what-ifs surrounding that idea. Confused, I try to drive the conversation to more general topics, but we somehow continue looping back to the idea of marriage and divorce throughout the entirety of the meal. At one point, while pushing grains of rice around on her plate, Sansa catches me off guard and looks up with a playful grin.
