ARRANGED

by R. K. Lilley

  I was bored. I’d already sat in the hair and makeup chair for two hours, and I was waiting again, just standing there all made up and bare at the same time. Luckily all of the blaring lighting warmed the room enough that it wasn’t chilly.

  I noticed the good lighting at right about the same time I spotted a floor length mirror.

  I contorted my body into its best angles, hiked my leg up, and banded an arm across my breasts to cover them up. I snapped a few shots like that, then immediately went into my camera roll to check them out.

  They were good. They were flattering without being vulgar, and I loved my glam makeup and flower crown.

  I put my favorite shot up on Instagram. The caption was silly. I posted it because I was bored and I thought it was kind of funny.

  Loving my latest look from Balmain but I think they forgot something. #extraaf

  I was nearly nude, and the picture made it look like I was totally nude, but it wasn’t like anything was showing. All of my essentials were covered up.

  I didn’t imagine anything like that could bother my husband. I modeled for a living. Hell, I’d just landed a lingerie campaign. My modesty had been thrown out the window years ago.

  I posted it then went back to texting with Jovie and watching my current K-drama obsession on my phone while they finished fixing the dress.

  When I was finally dressed, we got back to work. The shoot took another three hours, and by then, I’d completely forgotten about the picture.

  “What do you want for dinner, Duchess?” Chester asked me as he walked me out to the waiting car.

  I sighed. “Do you mind if we go to that salad place you found for me a few weeks ago?”

  He grimaced, handing me into the car.

  I nodded to Vincent, who nodded back.

  Chester walked around to the other side and sat down in the back with me. “I thought you were off that awful diet Asha had you on.”

  “I am. Now I’m on an awful diet I put myself on. I have a shoot where I’m practically naked on Monday.”

  He shot me a look. It was his disapproving father look.

  “What?” I asked him, stifling a laugh. I didn’t mind it when he lectured me. For some reason I found it cute. Probably because I knew he did it because he cared.

  It had been a long time since someone cared about me.

  “Speaking of being naked,” he said in his best dad lecturing voice, “I saw that picture you posted. What was that all about?”

  I was surprised he’d seen it. And a little embarrassed. I shrugged. “I thought it was funny. It wasn’t funny?”

  He ran a hand through his red mane of hair, still staring me down. It became harder for me not to laugh. His face was a perfect combination of amused and exasperated. “It was naked, Duchess.”

  “It felt more like a nude to me,” I said with perfect composure.

  That finally broke him out into a smile. I looked up front. Even stone-faced Vincent was smirking.

  “You do know that nude and naked are the same thing,” Chester pointed out.

  “Not really,” I tried, out-and-out grinning, “nude is classier. Nude is art.”

  I’d gotten him to laugh, and I loved it. I laughed with him. “You know,” I told him honestly. “Having you two around all the time is the probably best perk about my marriage.”

  It was the truth.

  When I’d been told I’d have a full security detail, I hadn’t understood the need for it—still didn’t—but I hadn’t really thought much of it. I hadn’t put any thought into whether I’d like or hate the constant company.

  I hadn’t realized, until I spent so much time with people whose company I enjoyed, just how lonely I was. How alone I’d constantly been for years.

  I was finding out, for the first time in forever, that I liked having company more than I liked being alone.

  It was nice.

  Chester gave me a look that was outright fond. “And you’re my favorite body I’ve ever guarded.”

  I waved him off. “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, I mean it. You’re always polite. You treat us well.” He looked at Vincent. “Back me up here, man.”

  “I agree,” Vincent said simply, eyes on the road.

  “And you’re not terrible to look at, either,” Chester added teasingly. “I’ve been working for the Castelos for almost fifteen years, and I’ve never enjoyed working for them more than I have in the past month.”

  I flushed head to toe in pleasure. “Thank you,” I told him, feeling shy. “Are you not normally . . . friends . . . with the people you guard?”

  He laughed. “No. No one usually bothers to talk to us. And I’ve never had anyone ask me if they minded where we ate.”

  “Are all of the Castelos assholes?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  He waved that off. “Not at all. They’re better than most. They’re just . . . Well, they are what they are. They’re old money, and we’re the hired help.”

  I looked out the window. “Well, I don’t see it that way. You guys are my friends, and I like having you around.”

  “It’s mutual, Duchess.”

  We grabbed a quick dinner at a salad place I liked called Greens. The guys mimicked my order of kale salad sans dressing and all greens smoothies for the road.

  “You aren’t going to like it,” I warned them when we got our food.

  “Oh I know,” Chester agreed. “We did it to see what you have to live with. Maybe it’s more filling than we imagine.”

  “You’re twice my body weight,” I pointed out. “It’s not even going to put a dent in your appetite.”

  “That’s not the point,” Vincent put a rare word in. “If you can starve, so can we.”

  I was amused more than anything. “It’s my job to maintain my weight. You guys need to stop worrying about my diet. I can either count my calories or do coke. Which do you think is better for me, Dads?”

  Chester laughed.

  “Not funny,” Vincent muttered, going back to his salad.

  “Be honest,” I said when we were in the car again, headed home this time, “you’re both going to order takeout now, aren’t you?”

  “Damn straight,” Chester agreed instantly. Just then his cell rang, and he checked it. His brow furrowed, his eyes shooting over to meet mine as he put it to his ear.

  He answered with, “Chester here.”

  I was stunned when I realized it was my husband calling him.

  He hadn’t called me directly, but I could hear his voice through Chester’s phone.

  Because he was shouting on the other end of it. I couldn’t make out the words at first, but I could still tell it was him.

  “That was just what she was wearing as she was waiting for some repairs on the dress she was modeling, Mr. Castelo,” he was explaining in a formal tone. “She wasn’t modeling nude.”

  “—telling me she just hangs around the set like that?” Calder’s voice got louder, enough so that I could make out some of his words. “She’s just walking around naked? How many people were in that room?”

  Chester glanced at me.

  I held up six fingers.

  “Six,” Chester said into his phone. “And she wasn’t actually nude.” He was looking at me sternly. “She had a thong and pasties on.”

  “Were you in that room with her dressed like that?” my husband shouted.

  “No,” Chester answered. “I was waiting right outside for her. I stay away from the backstage once I know the area is secure. There tends to be a lot of scantily clad women running around at these things, and I prefer to give them some privacy.”

  Calder said something I couldn’t make out, and Chester handed me the phone with a clenched jaw.

  “Hello,” I said, and it came out more hesitant than I meant for it to.

  He didn’t yell at me as he had Chester, but his tone was mean enough that it didn’t feel much better, “Why did you do that?” He bit each word of the question out with acute ho
stility.

  “The-the picture earlier?” I asked. I knew that’s what he was asking about, but I was stalling for an answer. I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Yes,” he snapped. “The picture you posted online a few hours ago. Why did you do that?”

  I couldn’t figure out why he was reacting like this. Had it really been such a shocking picture? “I-I thought it was funny. Everything was covered up.”

  “Funny?” he ground out. “Everything was covered up?” His deep voice was inching toward a shout. “I’m looking at a lot of bare fucking skin right now. My wife’s bare fucking skin. No one but me needs to see this much of you, Mrs. Castelo.”

  “Okay,” I said woodenly. His mean tone was having an unexpected effect on me. I was shocked at myself, I rarely cried, but it was an effort for me not to burst into tears. “I’ll take it down.”

  “I already took it down,” he shot back, voice calmer now, though nowhere near friendly, “but it’s out there forever now. I’m sure I’m not the only one with a screenshot of it.”

  “I didn’t realize it would displease you,” I told him stiffly. “What can I do to make up for it?” I had to choke the words out.

  My husband’s voice was biting and strident. “Here it is: No more naked pictures online.”

  “I was not naked,” I couldn’t help but point out.

  He ignored that. “No more changing in front of everyone. No more hanging out in your panties with six fucking other people in the room. Who were the six people, by the way?”

  I had to think about it. “Hair dresser. Makeup artist. Lighting guy. Photographer. A designer and a tailor.” Yep, that was six.

  “How many were men?” he growled.

  My brows rose. “Three.”

  I listened to him breathing through the phone for a solid minute. He was really going through something on the other end. A rage or a temper tantrum, I couldn’t decide which and I wasn’t sure what the difference was.

  “Only one of them was straight,” I finally added.

  “It doesn’t fucking matter,” he snapped. “I want you to start showing some decorum on the job. Some modesty. Change behind a curtain, wear a robe when you need to. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  I hung up and handed Chester’s phone back to him.

  “So now I have a changing room dress code?” I asked sarcastically. I wanted to cry, but I thought I was hiding it well.

  Chester sighed. “You do, Duchess.” He didn’t have to say it but we both thought it. This was the life I’d signed on for.

  It was hours before it dawned on me what it all really meant. What I’d done and my husband’s reaction. It had been hostile, volatile, and quick.

  He couldn’t stand me, but he wasn’t immune. He kept closer track of me than I’d realized, and he’d just shown me how to get a rise out of him, one that made him incapable of ignoring me.

  It was an advantage.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  When the day came around I was in no mood to go out with Millie Bancroft and a bunch of rich girls I didn’t know and had nothing in common with.

  I was dreading it, but I knew I had to go. It had been a direct order.

  I’d been trying to rally myself to get ready for the evening ahead for the last half hour.

  I was sitting in my living room watching E! with Jovie and the guys when the doorbell rang.

  Vincent answered it, and I was surprised when three familiar faces filed in.

  My husband had sent my regular hair and makeup girls and my personal shopper with an outfit picked out specifically for this outing.

  He didn’t want me to embarrass him by looking a mess in front of his friends. I supposed I couldn’t blame him since I’d been planning to do the very bare minimum to get ready.

  My glam team did the opposite of that. They did me up like I was about to walk a red carpet.

  My hair was twisted into an artfully messy topknot. My foundation was light, my eye makeup heavy, and my lips were painted a soft matte nude.

  My outfit was a tiny, high-waisted, cream micro mini skirt paired with a boat-necked gold sequin crop top that bared my midriff. Gold hoop earrings and tan stilettos finished the look.

  The overall effect was very over twenty-one sex kitten.

  “I’m coming with you,” Jovie said. Our eyes met in my oversized vanity mirror. She’d been there the whole time, nicely distracting me while my team got me ready.

  I loved having her around in general, but I’d noticed an added perk to it recently. Asha seemed to disappear more when Jovie was around. It was wonderful.

  “You can’t,” I told her reasonably. “You’re not old enough.

  “Neither are you.”

  “Yes, but Chester will get me in, and he’s already specifically told you no.”

  “You shouldn’t have to face those barracudas alone.”

  “I’m not altogether sure that they’re barracudas.” I was pretty sure though.

  “Fine. You shouldn't have to face those prissy society princesses alone.”

  They were that. “They might be nice. It’s not their fault they were all born rich.”

  She begrudgingly agreed but her parting words were, “My phone is glued to my hand. The second you text me for help, I’m coming, even if I have to wrestle a bouncer to get in.”

  That had me walking out the door with a laugh, but it died as we took the elevator down to the garage. I was still unaccountably nervous about getting in the door due to my age. It would save me having to go, though, so it wouldn’t be all bad. Just embarrassing as hell if I was turned away.

  “What if there are paparazzi, and they catch me going into an over twenty-one club?” I asked Chester as he handed me into the car. “Won’t that look bad?”

  He got in beside me before he answered. “Your husband’s friend owns the club,” he explained to me. “And there’s a back entrance. You don’t need to worry about stuff like that, Duchess. That’s my job.”

  “I’ve never been to a club before,” I confessed. “The closest thing I’ve done were a few modeling parties, but they really weren’t for me. They were all about networking and they’re intense. I started avoiding those things early on.”

  “Just try to relax and have fun,” Chester encouraged. “You’re off the clock tonight.”

  I couldn’t think how to respond to that. This outing was not about me having fun. I’d basically been ordered to go hang out with strangers. And didn’t he know by now that I was always on the clock?

  We arrived at the venue and Chester escorted me easily through the back door security and straight to Millie’s VIP booth. It was a big booth, with enough room for at least twenty people.

  And there was no one there.

  A dark-haired waitress was waiting there. She greeted me with a big smile, introducing herself. She was wearing black boy shorts, a white crop top that hit her mid-boob, and platform boots that had to be at least six inches high. She was pretty, but her makeup was caked on and her fake tan was a few shades beyond excessive. She asked me what I wanted to drink.

  I couldn’t think of a thing. “Champagne,” I said automatically. It had become my go-to social drink. When in doubt, champagne.

  I didn’t sit down, instead hovered right outside the booth. I locked imploring eyes on Chester. “Since no one else showed up, I can leave, right?”

  He sighed. “I think they’re going to show. You’re just the first one, but you can do whatever the hell you want, Duchess. Just tell me what that is, and I’ll lead you to it.”

  The waitress brought me a drink and I thanked her. I sighed, then took a long sip.

  “I’m going over my two drink limit tonight,” I said grimly.

  “I don’t blame you,” Chester remarked from somewhere close behind me, then added, “I believe some of your friends have arrived.”

  I turned to look. It was an effort not to point out that they weren’t my friends, but I managed
to keep the words in.

  Millie was striding toward us with three women I’d met at my wedding and two more I didn’t think I’d ever seen before. They all looked like carbon copies of each other with only slight variations.

  Like they’d all come from the same intimidating rich girl factory: Same height, same shoe styles, pretty faces, similar black mini dresses. Even their hairstyles were cut into similar bobs, though two had blonde hair, two light brown hair, and two were brunettes, and they all had varying skin tones.

  I wondered if they all looked alike on purpose, or if they were just that influenced by each other.

  Millie spotted me and gave me a huge smile and wave.

  I smiled and waved back shyly. I had no idea if Millie actually wanted to hang out with me, or if she’d just invited me because of my husband, but I strongly suspected the latter.

  She gave me a big hug when she drew close, then pulled back and introduced everyone.

  I studied each briefly as she went down the line.

  “I know you met some of them at your wedding, but you met so many people that day, so I’ll give you a refresher course.” She pointed to the two brunettes, who were standing side by side like they were choreographed by hair color. “That’s Veronica, Camilla.” She pointed to the two light brown-haired girls. “Beatrix, Hadley.” She pointed to the other half of her own blonde pairing. “And that’s Addison. We all went to school together, and we’ve all been friends since we were kids. Me, Hadley, and Veronica are married and all of our husbands are friends with yours. We’re a very tight-knit crew. You’ll fit right in.”

  I smiled as politely as I could, but I knew I wouldn’t fit in with them. I would just be happy if I could remember most of their names.

  And of course, I was instantly out of place—I was the wrong height, wrong pedigree, wore white while they all wore black— I was flashy instead of tasteful. They were everything I wasn’t, and vice versa, and I felt it keenly, but I was used to hiding that sort of thing. Every ideal is a judge, and insecurity was a monster that my occupation made me battle daily. I’d gotten quite adept at stomping it before it sank its claws too deeply into me.

  They all sat down, huddling together in one small corner of the big booth.