If I can find a way to win his love, maybe then he’ll wake up and realise. Maybe then we can be truly happy.
I must become the woman he can love - it’s the only way. I’ll let him dress me and buy me jewellery and tell me how to act and be and I’ll prove to him I can fit into this world of his.
I will prove to him that I’m worthy of being his wife.
It will be hard, I have no doubt - I’ll have to give up on my dream, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay for happiness.
I will be whoever he wants me to be, if that is the only way he will allow himself to love me.
My feet shiver on the marble balcony, as I make my way back inside and sit down on the bed next to Chase. I nestle closer to him until our bodies are as one, his warmth surrounding me in its embrace. I close my eyes and pull his arm around me.
This plan makes sense, I know it does. I may have given him my heart in a moment of recklessness, but if he can give me even a piece of his own, that will be enough.
I can’t live my life without him. I refuse to.
If it meant he would love me, I would do anything for him.
My mind is made up.
I will do whatever it takes to become his princess.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chase
“Damn it! Just do something! He can’t get away with this!”
I slam the telephone back down into its cradle.
“God fucking damn it!” I scream, picking up the telephone and throwing it against the wall. It smashes into a heap of wires and microchips.
But I don’t give a shit.
It’s that bastard Duncan Callaghan’s fault. How dare he think he can get away with this?
It was heinous enough when he swooped in and wrestled a deal for that Australian label before the ink was even dry on our distribution contract. He told the papers it was in the name of market progression, but that was just a facade - he knew I wanted it and was after petty revenge after I bought up the land around his precious vineyard in Sonoma County.
Even worse after he somehow poisoned the investors in my Taiwan deal last month.
He’s nothing but a child trying to play with the men, yet his senseless rivalry boils my blood.
I bet even now he sits atop his baby chair, laughing at my humiliation in Taipei. I bet he can smell it stinking up the toxic air.
And why wouldn’t he? The whole thing was a disaster, from the shareholders absent from the investors luncheon for undisclosed reasons, to the rousing speech I’d given to the workers of the factory unaware they’d been riled up beforehand with lies and idealistic nonsense about their freedom and rights. When they started to throw fruit and shout obscenities and destroy expensive equipment, I knew who had pissed in that well.
It was only a day later that my chief financial officer discovered that someone had leaked my intentions to Shang Tsung, and in fear of protecting his employee’s jobs had sold the factory to Callaghan, tightening his hold on the Asian market.
But this was just a piece of the puzzle. This Taiwan deal put Callaghan in the perfect bargaining position with a New York conglomerate with hedge fund investments in various businesses in New York City and Los Angeles. Nothing suspicious in and of itself, until one takes into account the owner of the Australian label sits on the committee for East Coast Commercial Takeovers. This, and the surreptitious headhunting of some of my most senior staff lead to only one conclusion: Duncan Callaghan was planning a hostile takeover of Harmony Records.
The whole world is falling down around me. I must return to New York and set things right, otherwise I risk losing my life’s work.
I hear a far off giggle and peer through the window blinds towards the pool. Melody is playing with a black and white kitten, as if there is no care in the world. She lifts her hands and the kitten jumps, then she strokes him and scratches his ear.
She’s so caring and wonderful - she’ll be the perfect mother to our child. Over the last few days, I’ve felt a strange ambivalence towards Melody.
I’ve never put a woman ahead of my business, ever. And I knew I needed to return to New York days ago, but I convinced myself to stay so we could extend our honeymoon.
She’s my wife - she deserves at least that.
What is this hold she has over me?
She looks so free playing with the kitten - a sweet and tender look dancing in her eyes. She looked just the same two days ago in the midst of the busy Florence market, when she helped a lost infant find his mother in the bustling throng.
It is the same look she has every night in bed, after we make love, when she speaks to me of our child.
And that is why it’s a shame that she’s in love with me. She tries to deny it, hiding behind her carefree smiles, but I catch those downward glances, almost as if, for a moment, she forgets reality but then suddenly remembers how broken I am. My heart wrenches every time I see her suffer like that, and I wish things could be different. But they can’t.
I just hope that when our child is born, she is able to channel her unrequited love for me into our baby. Once she sets her eyes on our child, her heart will melt and she’ll raise him or her with that motherly tenderness than comes so natural to her.
And I will protect them both.
I have no other option.
Protection is what I promised Melody, and it is exactly what she’ll get, even if that means I cannot return to New York quite yet to save my business from that bastard Callaghan. I hope desperately that things can wait another few days - they have to - Melody is not ready yet to return as my wife.
After we eloped, I knew I had to give her time to complete her transformation into the wife of someone like myself - someone who could be seen on my arm, not because I want her to be that way (God knows I abhor to change her from the sweet quiet girl that made my passion burn for her the first time we ever met), but I know it must be so - she would not survive in my world otherwise. My friends will mock her and berate her, all because of her humble beginnings. The etiquette lessons, the dresses and the jewellery, it’s the only way to make her strong enough to not be emotionally crippled by those bastards.
No one else would have married their pregnant mistress. They would simply have paid her off, maybe even pressured her to resign and move across the country.
God knows, I’m guilty of that too.
But not when I found out about our child.
I know the pain of growing up with a destructive and abusive father, and I swear I will never become like that. I refuse to make that my fate.
My child will be loved. He won’t be a piece of trash, thrown away at the earliest opportunity, so daddy can go fuck another doe eyed freshman and release another unloved bastard into the world, just because he can. Just because that’s what get’s him off. And all because those idiot girls knew no better.
Love is a cruel mistress, capable of ripping away all sense and reason.
I will not fall into that trap again, not like I did with Sylvia.
After my mother died and my father absconded with his newest conquest, I met a beautiful girl at Harvard; smart and sharp, she ran rings around me and I was instantly infatuated with her. I was only a shy freshman virgin, my days spent studying for a degree in business and economics, and my nights filled with singing in the local karaoke bar. God, how I loved to sing. I met Sylvia one night and I was entranced: she had a voice like an angel. We sang a duet, happy and laughing, which swiftly lead to drinks, and then back to her dorm room.
She begged me to make love to her, and, like any kid my age, I jumped at the chance. But we were so caught up in the moment, I didn’t think to wear a condom and she didn’t think to remind me.
After so many years of waiting, the sex blew me away. It opened my eyes to a world I’d been missing and filled me with a rapturous joy that, from that moment on, I found impossible to live without.
And then a week later, she told me she was pregnant. It was a shock, especially since I had to cope with
mountains of debt left by my missing father. I was forced to drop out of Harvard and get a job as a personal assistant in a local record store. But it didn’t matter - I was to be a father - and that alone made me happier than I ever thought possible. Sure, times would be hard, but I’d scrimp and save and work harder than I’d ever dreamed, and I’d love that child more than my father ever loved his own. I promised Sylvia that one day we would live like kings, in time.
I bought a cheap ring at a pawnshop, and brought her back to that karaoke bar where we first met. She was so much more silent than she’d been up until that point, and I knew something was pressing on her mind, but I was an idiot and kept silent, hoping whatever the problem was, it would disappear and we’d be together and happy.
I began to sing to her, fell to one knee and reached into my pocket, but she stopped me all of a sudden.
“Don’t do this, Chase,” she said, a tear in her. “Please, don’t.”
“But why?”
“I don’t want to hurt you, you’re so sweet and nice, but I can’t marry you. I can’t live like this.”
“It won’t always be like this,” I said, “You’ll live like a princess, I promise you. Just give me time. Money will come, but we’ll always have each other. And the little one.”
She started to cry. “You don’t understand. You’re not the father.”
It felt like a wrecking ball had smashed into my chest and blown all the wind from my lungs. “What?”
“You’re not the father. I lied. I was pregnant when we first slept together, and the guy - he’s married and he won’t leave his wife, and you were so sweet and nice, and I knew you’d be the perfect dad to my baby, so I lied and I’m sorry. But I can’t lie anymore. With everything you had going on a Harvard, I was sure you’d graduate and have lots of money, and I’d have nothing to worry about, but you’ve fallen for me, and you’re happy to be poor. But I’m not. I can’t bring my child up like that.”
I had no idea what to say.
“I need to find someone else. I’m sorry.”
And with that, she was gone from my life forever.
And I swore to myself, I’d never be made a fool of again. I’d never allow myself to be the victim of lies. I’d never let love make me its bitch. I’d never sing again.
I’d never trust another woman.
That was, until I met Melody.
“Chase?”
I spin round and see Melody at the door to the study. “I thought you were by the pool, playing with that kitten?”
“Keeping tabs on me,” she says, strolling up to me in the most sensual walk I’ve ever seen. Her hips jut out and her plump breasts spill out over her tiny bikini, and I’m hard instantly. How could I not be when I’m confronted by those curves?
She smiles in such a way as if she has no idea of how her body affects me, but she knows.
“Of course,” she says, “there are other things I’d like on me.” She strokes my hand and brings my index finger to her lips. She gives it a slow and deliberate lick with the tip of her tongue and I find it impossible to breathe.
It’s only been a week since we married, but she’s become quite the sexual minx.
She throws me a trickster’s grin, as she guides my hands over her swelling pregnant breasts.
My erection feels like it’s going to break through my jeans.
“If you’re finished with work,” she says, “I can think of something we can do to pass the time. Again. And again.”
She bites her lip and it’s the last straw.
I cup her face and pull her mouth against my own, taking her lips in a soft passionate kiss, the warmth of her tongue gliding and stroking and touching, and my body is alight.
I throw her on to the desk and her hands grab my belt. We scrabble at each other’s clothes until they’re nothing but a pile on the carpet, our naked bodies grinding and writhing against each other.
She guides me into her and throws her head back, mouth open with a muted gasp.
“Oh, Chase,” she says, as she takes me.
Her fingers tangle through my hair, gripping and pulling, almost to steady herself as the force of our bodies makes the hard desk rock back and forth with each furious burst.
I bury my face in her chest, breathing in her heavenly scent, blood pounding in my ears.
I bring my head up and I see the most beautiful and carefree smile across her lips.
That look of pure joy - I would do anything to make that possible, to make sure it never leaves her face. Her pleasure is the only thing that matters to me.
Not only her pleasure - but the pleasure we experience, together and as one. Our two bodies, like this, entwined, is how the world should be. Everything makes sense.
And I never want it to stop.
***
“What you do to me...” I say, pulling up my pants.
Melody is lost in thought, staring at the wall.
“Melody?”
“Your phone - it’s in bits on the floor over there.”
“It’s nothing. A business matter back home went awry. It’s none of your concern.”
She sits up and pulls me closer to her, our gazes fixed. “If something’s wrong and we need to go back to New York...”
“It’s nothing, like I said. Duncan Callaghan up to his usual tricks.”
There’s a hint of something in her look, but I can’t place it. A sense of unease, perhaps. I don’t blame her - the mere mention of Duncan Callaghan makes me want to wretch.
“We should go back,” she says firmly.
“Not yet.”
“But you’re business is in trouble. And I know how much it means to you.” She climbs off the desk and straightens my tie. “Plus, I want to go back. Things are getting a bit boring here.”
“You know, most people would give everything to live here.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” I say, “No, you’re not.”
She takes a step back and admires my fully dressed form. “Plus,” she says casually, “I’m really looking forward to meeting your friends.”
“We’ve talked about this, Melody.”
“No, you’ve talked about. I’ve sat by and shrugged, but I’m not shrugging anymore. Unless you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you.”
“Of course not.”
Her eyes fix to the floor.
I take her hands in my own and she glances up at me. “My friends are bastards. Horrible horrible bastards.”
“Don’t sugar coat it,” she says with a half smile.
“They live their lives in nothing but a bubble of schadenfreude. If for even a second they find a weakness, they attack it, mercilessly.”
“They’ll attack me, you mean.”
She sulks and it makes my gut ache. I bring her hands to my lips and kiss them lightly.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just want to protect you.”
“You can’t protect me from everything. I’ll have to meet them sometime. You say it’s only going to be another day or two, but what happens when it’s a week or a month? What happens when you leave me here because you have to return?”
“That would never happen.”
“Wouldn’t it? I’ve done nothing but nod and agree to all your lessons and dressing up and trying to be the wife you want me to be, the wife you need me to be. But how can I be that if you won’t take me back with you?” She looks up at me with pleading eyes. “Just give me a chance, Chase.”
I’m helpless against those eyes.
“They’ll attack you,” I say.
“Let them.”
“And they absolutely will not stop, ever, until-“
“Until what? I’m dead.”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry. It’s just words. And I can give as good as I get.”
I nod. “I bet you can.”
“So it’s settled then. I’m coming back with you. We’re going home.”
I just pray to God that it won’t eat her alive.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Melody
“Are you alright, madam?” says the waiter, as he peers down at me over the specials menu.
“She’s quite alright,” says Chase. He rubs my shoulder. “When one’s expecting a child, it comes with the territory.”
I give a half smile, trying to hold back the faint waves of nausea.
My face feels like it’s turning an earthly shade of green - hardly the best behaviour in such an exquisitely fine Manhattan restaurant.
The eyes of the others at the table gawk and stare at my little show. It’s almost like Chase’s friends have never seen a pregnant woman before. Either that, or there’s something else I’m doing wrong that disgusts them.
“Maybe it’s the fish,” says Cordelia, patting her husband Duke Earlington on the knee. “God knows, Cedric and I have had a dickity tummy on occasion.”
“Nonsense,” says Delilah, whipping a strand of her impossibly blonde locks behind her ear. “Some people just have trouble adjusting to such a rich palette.”
I stand up suddenly and hold on to the table.
“Melody?” says Chase.
“I just need some air,” I say. Without looking back, I rush towards the exit, but another unexpected wave hits me and I push past the crowds waiting for a table and into the cool November air.
It washes over me, and I try to steel myself, but my stomach lurches in spite of itself. I can’t be sick, not here. Not with all these people watching.
I lumber around the corner and sit down on the curb, rocking back and forth to try and calm myself. But I fail.
After expelling the entire contents of my stomach into the gutter like a strung out junkie, I rest my head in my hands and try to catch my breath. A bead of sweat trickles from my temple and hits the concrete with a thud.
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