ARRANGED

by R. K. Lilley

  “You like it,” I accused. “I saw the way you smile at him when he says it.”

  She didn’t bother to deny it. Instead she crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared me down.

  “Am I invited to this non-birthday party you’re having?” I tried to smile engagingly as I asked the question. I was pretty certain by the widening of her eyes that it came out as more of a grimace.

  She sighed, stepped to the side, and waved me in. “Why not? I’m warning you, though, you’ll probably be bored.”

  She was wrong. I didn’t find it boring at all. Watching her with her close group of friends—because that’s what they were (regardless of the fact that my family paid half of them)—her friends, was unsettling to me, and far from boring.

  It was a small group that consisted of Jovie, Chester, Vincent, and one new addition.

  It was a rail thin boy who looked all of sixteen, with silver hair, up-tilted eyes, and an impish smile.

  “This is Santi,” Noura introduced him.

  The boy beamed at me. “Nice to meet you,” he said in a soft, musical voice. “I’m your wife’s new roommate.”

  I blinked at him stupidly. “Excuse me? I think you’re going to have to repeat that last bit.”

  Noura tried her best to do damage control. “He’s staying in Chester and Vincent’s apartment while he’s between places,” she said quietly, moving close so only I could hear. “Your father approved it, and Chester did a thorough background check. He’s a really nice guy. Please don’t be mean to him.” She said it all in a furious rush, her eyes on mine beseeching.

  I didn’t begin to know how to say no to her when she looked at me like that. And that worried me. A lot.

  “Can you give us a minute?” I asked the room, but I didn’t wait for an answer, pulling her into our bedroom and shutting the door.

  I studied her intently. She fidgeted, looking anywhere but at me. I felt something move through me, a new and intense tenderness I was quite afraid I’d never felt anything close to before. It was worrisome. And addictive. “When did this new development occur?” I asked her quietly.

  She stopped fidgeting and looked at me. Really looked, like she was trying to find answers as much as I was. “Two days ago.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Well enough to know he’s a sweet boy who just needs a little help.”

  I sighed. I couldn’t turn the poor kid away, not when she looked at me like that, with a glimmer of hope in her eyes like she’d beg me if I pushed her too hard. “Do you have to adopt every misfit you meet?”

  She smiled, looking down at her clasped hands. It was a warm smiled, turned both outward and inward.

  The sight made me a touch dizzy. The power this girl had over me—if she tried to use it even a little—I shuddered at the thought.

  “My mother used to do that too,” she remarked quietly.

  I stared at her. This was new. She never talked about her parents or her family. She never talked about her background at all.

  “Your mother used to adopt every misfit she met?” I asked carefully.

  She chuckled and I felt myself smiling with her. “They aren’t misfits. They’re just . . . different. And my mom was like a magnet for interesting people. People with different views of the world, different things to say. I always loved that. She wasn’t friends with people because they were like her. She brought new things into her life with her friendships, not more of the same. It was one of my favorite things about her.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  NOURA

  I was surprised at what had just come out of my mouth. I never spoke about my parents. In fact, I tried my best not to think of them.

  More surprising than my words though was the way Banks responded to them. He was looking at me with such warmth, with a sort of dazzled, bemused expression in his eyes. Then it changed, his eyes clouding over as some realization dawned. “She was?” he asked.

  I shook my head and changed the subject quickly. “So you’ll let him stay?” I could tell that Banks was baffled by Santi, but he’d covered it better than I could’ve hoped for. I’d assumed he’d freak out when he heard.

  He sighed. “It’s not a permanent arrangement, I assume?”

  I shook my head, beaming because I knew I had just won. “He just needs to get back on his feet. It won’t take long.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “My God, he’s a child.”

  “Only a few years younger than me.”

  He flinched. He hated any reminders of my age. Frankly, it was little bit fun to twist that knife.

  “How’d you find him?”

  I told him the short version of my run-in with Santi a few days previously. It was sadly similar to the way I’d met Jovie. Backstage at a runway show and in a bad way. He was underage, a full-time model, and his much older, fashion designer boyfriend had just kicked him out like last season’s fashion trash. All the beautiful, lost kids in New York wouldn’t fit into my apartment, of course, but how could one more hurt?

  Chester’s response to the new addition hadn’t been any better than Banks’.

  “You’re turning me into the worst body guard in the world, Duchess,” he’d pointed out. “How can I protect you if you invite every homeless model you meet to live with you?”

  I’d smiled at him, knowing from his tone that he wasn’t going to fight me on this. “He couldn’t be more harmless. Surely you can see that.”

  Chester had quickly relented with a few reasonable stipulations that involved getting my father-in-law’s approval. I’d dreaded my husband’s reaction, but hadn’t thought I’d have to face it so soon.

  Back to the present I was unutterably relieved that he’d taken it better than I could’ve hoped.

  I eyed him as I finished my story. He was chewing on his lower lip, his eyes on the front of my sweatshirt.

  “Poor kid,” he murmured.

  I nodded emphatically. “He had no one to turn to. Nowhere to go. And he’s an absolute sweetheart. I couldn’t help it. I had to help.”

  His eyes were on my face now, filled with something that made me ache, made me start to melt, made me look away. His hand chased the motion, cupping my jaw, and turning me back to look at him. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re just too good,” he murmured, drawing me close. “I can’t take it.” With barely leashed ferocity, he kissed me.

  Sometime later, his mouth on my neck now, I came back to myself enough to say, “Can we turn on some music or something?”

  We were still clothed, but he’d pinned me to the bed, his weight heavy on top of me as he rubbed himself restlessly against me.

  He rasped something unintelligible and bit my earlobe.

  I repeated myself.

  “What?”

  “We have kids in the house,” I pointed out reasonably. “I don’t want them to hear us.”

  “Are you telling me I have to be quiet in our marriage bed just because you’ve decided to make this the apartment of misfit models?”

  “I’m just asking you to turn on some music. It’s a full house tonight.”

  He pulled away and studied me. “Do you want to go back out and finish your party?”

  I looked away. “Do you mind?”

  “My dick does, but it won’t kill him to wait a few hours.”

  I smiled and I couldn’t help it, I glanced down. He was straining the front of his slacks. “Are you sure?”

  “Not if you keep looking at it like that, I’m not.” He took my arm in a gentle grasp, tugging me toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go hang out with your friends.”

  My small birthday party wasn’t anything exciting, but it was just perfect for me, surrounded by the people I enjoyed the most. We watched DramaFever and ate cake. I tried to have one tiny bite of it, but Banks cajoled me into more.
<
br />   He was a bit stiff with my friends, and he didn’t say much, but I still appreciated the fact that he was there and no one had forced him to be. And through it all, it felt like something was happening between us, something that had nothing to do with our fake marriage and everything to do with something more authentic than a contract. A budding but genuine affection. And of course desire.

  We slipped in and out of the living room a few times to make out like high school kids. The third time we did it, Jovie shouted at our retreating backs, “Figure yourselves out!”

  Much, much later we retired for the night. He undressed me slowly and took me to bed.

  He rocked into me, eyes on mine. Each jarring thrust moved my whole body, making my breasts bounce with each plunge. His gaze moved down to my chest, then back to my face with each movement.

  “Should I call you Duchess while I fuck you? Would you like that?”

  The question made me stiffen mid-thrust. He kept jarring into me without pause. I’d forgotten about his jealous fit earlier. He’d been so sedate and agreeable since then, but it had obviously upset him much more than I’d thought. I wasn’t sure how to handle him like this, jealous Banks was even more of a stranger to me than normal Banks, so I didn’t answer.

  Once again, my silence didn’t help.

  With a growl, he started rutting with a purpose, fucking me harder.

  I went mindless for one beat, two, and honestly forgot about his temper for a time.

  That is, until his harsh voice sounded in the room, loud enough to be heard over our panting breaths and my pounding heartbeat. “Do you want me to call him in while you’re like this? Do you want him to see what I do to you while he’s out there at your beck and call?”

  I couldn’t answer. I didn’t have the breath to speak. He was ardently fucking it out of me.

  Again, it didn’t help.

  He hissed at me through his teeth. “He’s probably fantasizing about you right now. Do you like that? Do you like having that effect on him? Do you get off on the fact that you have that effect on every man?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut tight, mind too hazy to respond. Frankly, I was closer to coming than answering him, but that didn’t seem to occur to him.

  Abruptly, he stopped moving. My eyes snapped open. “Don’t stop,” I gasped, straining against him.

  “Maybe I should call him in,” he growled from atop me. “Let him see me balls deep inside of you. Let him see that I own this.” His hand snaked down, fingering my clit, his cock buried to the hilt. “That it’s mine.”

  I finally managed to get out a breathy, “No.”

  Faint as that one word was, it seemed to calm him, or at least it didn’t set him off more. He started moving again.

  I must have fallen asleep after with him still on top of me because I roused when he moved away.

  He was hitching his pants up over his hips when he asked me over his shoulder. “I’m grabbing water from the kitchen. Do you need anything, Duchess?”

  “Don’t,” I said faintly, turning my face away.

  “What?”

  “Don’t call me Duchess, please.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re making fun. When he does it, he’s just being sweet.”

  He was in my face again in a heartbeat, body covering mine, madness in his eyes, voice hitched low but furious. “He doesn’t get to be sweet with you. You need to get that through your head.”

  Oh this again.

  “Are you jealous because I said he was my friend?” I asked carefully. It was actually kind of sweet. “You can be my friend, too. It’s not a mutually exclusive thing.”

  “For the record, I don’t want to be your friend,” he growled. “I want to make you come and watch your eyes roll up into your head. I want to fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”

  I was blushing as I replied stubbornly, “You can do those things and be my friend.”

  “Okay. Fine. That’s the kind of friendship I want, but you don’t get to have that with anyone else.”

  I just blinked at him. “Well, of course not,” I replied simply.

  It seemed to mollify him if the way he kissed me was any indication.

  “What can I get you for your birthday?” he asked me some time in the night.

  My mind shot to one idea immediately. It would make me vulnerable to ask him for something like that, I thought, mind moving furiously. It would hurt if he turned me down.

  But if he said yes it would be worth it.

  If he said yes it might change everything.

  “I’d like you to start talking to me directly. No more Asha.”

  He stared at me for a long time. “You want me to fire her?”

  I shrugged. “I just want her out of my apartment. I wouldn’t be sad if you fired her, but if she just wasn’t in charge of me that’d be enough.

  “And you really want to deal with me directly?”

  “Yes. I want to deal with you directly.”

  “Okay. If that’s what you prefer, that’s what we’ll do,” he said instantly.

  Was it that easy? I wondered.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  The next day Asha was gone. She didn’t even bother to say goodbye, she just disappeared from my life. I wasn’t sad, just the opposite, though I did wonder briefly how I was going to figure out my schedule. I was off today, and I could recall perhaps the next two days’ schedule from memory, but after that I’d be in Paris, and I had no clue about my itinerary there.

  I didn’t have to wonder long as Chester updated me as soon as he walked in the door. “I’ve taken over your schedule, Duchess. We can go over everything and enter it into your phone so you can keep track of it yourself, as well.”

  I was good with that. And the pleasant surprises just kept on coming. Jovie just happened to have the day off as well, and Santi was free all morning. We binge-watched Goblin on DramaFever and at about 10 a.m., I received a text. A pleasant one. From my husband.

  BANKS: I heard you had the day off. I hired a team to come over to pamper you and your friends. Happy Birthday, Duchess.

  I’d no sooner read the text then there was a knock at the door. A small army of spa attendants were let in.

  The three of us spent the next five hours getting facials, manis, pedis, and massages in front of the television.

  Santi talked us all into watching some strange videos on YouTube that had titles like Jet Fuel Doesn’t Melt Steel, Why the Denver Airport is a Portal to Hell, and The Moon Landing was Faked.

  Santi, turned out, was an avid conspiracy theory nut. I was a bit troubled about it, but Jovie thought it was hilarious. She shamelessly egged him on.

  Vincent surprised me by agreeing with Santi with more than half of the theories.

  At first Chester was adamantly disapproving of our choice of viewing subjects, but as Santi pivoted from the crazier conspiracy videos to the lighter ones, such as one where Shane Dawson focused on a Chuck E. Cheese pizza plot, eventually even he could admit begrudgingly that it was all pretty entertaining.

  After much effort I even talked Chester and Vincent into getting scalp massages and wearing avocado sheet masks.

  We couldn’t stop laughing, and I managed to get some photographic proof, threatening to use it for future blackmailing.

  When Santi finally ran out of his conspiracy steam, we switched to watching bad reality TV. Jovie and Santi had a running disagreement about Life of Kylie.

  Santi thought it was awful.

  Jovie didn’t see it the same way.

  “I stan her,” she said stubbornly.

  That comment got Chester involved. “What does that even mean?” he asked her.

  “It means she’s a big fan of hers,” I explained.

  “Like obsessed,” Santi added. “I don’t get it. Kylie’s a mile wide and two inches deep. I think Jovie just likes her because they’re both shallow.”

  Jovie was far from offended. “I’m not sh
allow, I’m vain,” she shot back, laughing. “And she’s a self-made billionaire because of makeup.” She gave a big sigh. “My dream.”

  “You can’t be self-made when you start out with money!” Santi pointed out.

  Chester shook his head, muttering something along the lines of ‘kids these days’ which made us all laugh.

  We were taking turns picking shows to watch, and on one of Jovie’s, she chose RuPaul’s Drag Race.

  “You just like this show because their hair’s as big as yours,” Santi remarked.

  Jovie, as usual not taking offense, patted her hair with a smirk. It was a striking dark blonde that was a trim shade paler than her skin. Her corkscrew curls were particularly voluminous with all the spa treatments adding a warm humidity to the room. “Don’t you know my hair is where I keep all the secrets? It’s not getting any smaller, honey.”

  * * *

  It was impossible to keep secrets from Jovie forever. Even big ones.

  The day before I left for Paris, I broke down and told her everything about my marriage. Every little deceitful detail.

  “It’s all fake,” I reiterated after I was completely finished unloading.

  “Bullshit,” she said succinctly.

  I stared. “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh I believe you about the arranged marriage, the Bride Catalogue, Banks being an asshole, all of that. But calling it fake? Whatever that thing is between you, it’s not fake. That man is crazy about you. He loses his mind every time he looks at you.”

  I mulled that over. She was exaggerating as only a teenager could, of course, but it made me wonder. How did he look at me? Did it mean anything? I pushed the thought away. There was nothing so painful as false hope. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

  I knew I was lying to myself. It was a fact that I lied to myself all the time, but at least I never believed me.

  From the look she was sending me, Jovie didn’t believe me either.

  “Now let’s go back to that Bride Catalogue,” she said, bringing me back to the present. “Tell me everything.”