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Misha’s jaw tightens. He springs to his feet and storms around his desk to get up in my face.
Great. That’s just what this fire needs.
Proximity.
When he’s close enough to kiss, he snarls, “Where’d you learn that? At the trailer park?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I snap. “I may have grown up in a shithole, but I have my pride. Even poor people have integrity. More of it than you rich assholes, actually, in my experience. Growing up the way I did gave me the drive to work for what I want in life.”
“Well, you’re the wife of a don now,” he counters. “There’s no need for you to work at all.”
“We’ve already had this discussion—”
He holds up a hand. “And I’ll keep to my word. You want to work? Go right ahead. But I will make sure you’re provided for all the same. It is my duty to make sure you want for nothing.”
I swallow hard, trying to figure out how to navigate through this minefield I’ve just walked into. It’s every human’s dream, right? Complete and total freedom. Money will no longer dominate my every waking thought. I’ll never be homeless again.
So why does it feel sowrong?
“Misha,” I say softly, taking a step forward. “Listen… I can’t have you bankroll my entire life. I can’t be dependent on you for everything.”
“That’s how marriage works.”
“Oh? Does that mean you’re dependent on me?”
The look in his eyes gives me my answer.
“That’s what I thought.” I shake my head in frustration. “I need to have some autonomy. I need to feel good about myself. And if you keep shoveling money into my account, it’ll just make me feel like… like…”
“Yes?”
I exhale slowly. “Like I’m being bought. Like I’m being kept.”
“Tell me, Paige,” he says, his silver eyes punching with brightness, “what did you expect to feel?”
The breath catches in my throat. The worst part about it is that he has a point.
A marriage with benefits.That’s what I signed up for.
But it isn’t what I want.
Equality. That’s what I want. Whether our marriage is real or not, I want to be equals with my husband… But how on earth I can achieve that when he’s so far above me remains a mystery.
“Excuse me,” I mumble, already backing out of the room.
His hand lifts towards me. For a moment, I think he’s going to stop me from leaving. But then his mouth shuts and he lets me go.
37
MISHA
It’s been days and I still haven’t shared a bed with my wife.
After Paige fell asleep in the greenhouse hammock the night we were married, I spent most of the following hours sitting in the dark at her side, sipping the last of the champagne and watching her naked chest rise and fall.
Her eyelashes fluttered every so often. She sighed a lot, too, almost as if even the act of sleeping couldn’t offer her relief from the heaviness she carries around at all times.
I wonder if some of that heaviness comes from the man she thought she married.
