by Bella Grant
“Do you even hear yourself?” Mom spat. “What you’re doing is wrong. What happens when he finds out? He could have you thrown in jail or something,” she huffed and hugged herself as she rocked.
“But what choice do I have? Look at this place! Do you think I want to see you and Teresa suffering every day, unable to get the medicines you need? At least this way, I’d have the money to pay for your medicine.”
“What you get from the Sampsons is just fine,” Mom said stubbornly.
“Come on, Mom. You know what I get is barely enough or I’d have taken you out of here.” I paused and took her hard, calloused hands in mine. “This is the only way,” I pleaded. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll figure something else out. But he has already chosen me. I have to let this play out.”
I couldn’t believe I was so adamant with Henrietta before that none of this would work, and now I was convincing my mother it would.
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all,” she muttered.
“I know. I don’t either, but…it’s our way out,” I replied and squeezed her hand.
She had tears in her eyes when she looked at me. “It was never your job to take care of me—or us—Anna. If things had been different, you would be free to marry someone you love. I don’t like that you are marrying someone out of responsibility to me. It’s not right.”
“Mom, please don’t cry,” I begged her as I felt the lump forming in my throat and my eyes begin to burn. “You did what you could, and now it’s my turn, and you don’t have to feel bad about that. I want to do it.”
I hugged her, but she merely rocked herself and refused to say anything more. Teresa was her usual playful self when she wasn’t sick, and she jumped into my arms when I was ready to leave.
“Can I come with you?” she asked as she toyed with my hair.
“Not today, hon,” I whispered against her ear. “But soon I’ll come back for you and you will live with me.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” I said and kissed her cheeks already stained with dirt.
I had walked into the dilapidated building, my mind wavering as I tried to reconcile what I had to do with what I actually wanted. As I stepped onto the pavement and looked back, my heart was sorrowful, but I had a new sense of purpose. I would be the best bride Raymond Jameson could ask for. I’d be diligent in the remaining days, learning all I could from Henrietta, and I’d blow his socks off.
This was no longer a choice. This was the woman I needed to become. I would be his bride, and I’d save my family.
Raymond
My searches online came up short. All I could find on her was the profile on the site, and a scanty byline on a social media page. It was strange that she didn’t have more. I was hoping I would find something about her business, see what she was made of, and how well she was doing. While I was searching, I realized I didn’t know the name of her business. Yeah, that would have made it a lot easier. I would have to ask her next time I saw her.
I was just jotting down a reminder when the phone rang. I answered without paying much attention to the caller.
“Yes,” I replied curtly.
“So, you found someone to marry,” Mom’s voice came through on the other end.
“Not now, Mom!” I snarled, and hung up before anything else came out of her.
She tried calling back, but I let the calls go to voice mail. Eventually she would give up. She had probably heard through the grapevine that I was getting married because I wasn’t the one who’d told her despite how often she called. I didn’t owe her anything, and I didn’t need her crowding me. I didn’t get it anyway. What was her preoccupation with me getting married? Like it was something she would benefit from. And even though she plagued me so much to get married, I had the feeling she just wanted to see me fail at it.
What good would she be as a grandmother? She didn’t know how to be a mother, much less a grandmother. She didn’t even know love, which drove her and Dad apart, and she had deprived me of a father. My parents never got along, and Mom never failed to show me the evils of marriage and how things senselessly fell apart—though, based on what I remembered, she was to blame for many of the spats. Dad wanted out after a while, and he’d packed up one day and left. Mom never got over the fact that he hadn’t left her much and I’d received the bulk of his estate, so she resented me for accepting it. She’d made it her mission since then to enlist me in her misery. Love, for me, was as mystical as a unicorn, and I didn’t intend to go off on a fool’s errand to find it.
I sat at the desk, tapping the keyboard and staring at the screen. My mind flitted to the red-haired beauty I had chosen for my bride, and I ventured to the site to take another look at her. She was striking, but what was it about her that didn’t sit right? I scanned her profile again but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Except that she didn’t have many photos. That was okay, I thought. I didn’t have many either. Plus, I’d already met her, and she was the same person I was looking at on the screen. For now, this would do.
It was only two days before the formalities, and I had barely spoken with her since I saw her at the Regent. I didn’t have many friends or family I could share the news with, although I knew her future appearance on the social scene would turn heads and send tongues wagging, dripping with gossip. I had to keep reminding myself this was only business because I found myself thinking about her more than I cared to. I had no space for love in my life—not the kind of love that would lead to disappointment and betrayal. I had seen what it was like and had no inclination to feel it for myself. Marrying Anna like this was the best thing for the both of us.
The day before the wedding I still hadn’t found anything substantial under the name Anna Bolton. I did find an oil company under the name Bolton Gas, and a real estate website with the name Bolton Real Estate Zone. I didn’t see her picture under any of the profiles, but not every owner does that. I would have someone check her out later, but for now, I would need a pre-nuptial agreement.
I dug into my pocket and fished out the phone. Jon, my lawyer, answered on the first ring.
“I need you to draw up some documents for me,” I immediately told him.
“Sure. What will it be this time? Taking over another company? Or a merger?”
“No, something else entirely,” I replied and sighed. “I need a pre-nuptial agreement.”
“A what?” Jon practically shouted in my ear. “You’re getting married?”
“Don’t get so worked up Jon. It’s just business,” I replied casually, although I could feel the weight of it on my mind.
“Just business,” Jon asked incredulously, clicking his tongue. “Can never tell with you folks. Alright. I’ll have them done by tomorrow.”
“Great. I’ll drop by and get them.”
“Don’t sound so happy,” Jon remarked sarcastically. “Can’t be that bad.”
I chuckled lightly and hung up. Jon knew me enough to know this decision was probably forced. I hadn’t been in a serious relationship in a long time.
My feelings of uncertainty about her background carried through to the wedding day, which was a private ceremony witnessed by members of the notary’s office and a few strangers. She appeared nervous, and I felt her tremble when I slipped the gold band over her finger. Signing the marriage certificate was like signing any other contract I’d had to over the last couple of years. A few pen strokes, and she was my bride. We didn’t even need to kiss.
Before the ceremony, I had handed her the pre-nup, which she read carefully. She paused longer than I’d expected when she read the terms of our marriage, and I saw her face droop. I had already given her an idea of what our marriage would be like: it was simply a business deal – she was to provide me an heir, attend social events, and accompany me to meetings where the family estate was involved; she wasn’t to question or try to change the terms of our marriage, and under no circumstance was she to tell anyone it wasn’t a real marriage. As far as the
outside world was concerned, it was real.
After everyone had gone, she stood rooted to the spot in the hall like she was wondering what to do next.
“You all set?” I asked her and looked at her quizzically.
She nodded and croaked a response. “Yes.”
“Are you really this shy?” I ventured to ask.
She smiled. “I am, but this is understandable. I barely know you, yet here we are. Married.”
“I guess I can understand that,” I replied. “If it’s any consolation, it happened to me too.” She seemed to relax a little more as I led her to the car. “You can have your things sent over if you like, or you buy what you need.”
We reached the car and my driver opened the door. She was even more timid inside the vehicle. She placed her hands in her lap and toyed with her fingers. She didn’t look at me but either kept her eyes forward or stared at the nothingness on the other side of the window. I was half expecting she would run away when we reached the estate, but she was calm when we arrived, as if she was used to this sort of living. All my doubts about her not being who she was went out the window, and I relaxed. I would ask her about the Bolton estate another time. Tonight, I would settle into my first night as a married man.
I led her to the library where I handed her a platinum card. “This is yours,” I told her and held it out to her. “Your own line of credit.” I figured, since I didn’t know her that well, that was better than giving her direct access to my bank accounts. At least this way I could monitor her spending occasionally. The statements would still come to me.
Her eyes widened with surprise, and she took the card gingerly from me. “Thank you.”
“I’ll let Grace show you the rest of the house and the grounds another time. For now, I’ll show you the master bedroom.”
I walked past her, and she followed me up the winding stairs and to the landing on the second floor of the east wing. I had never used this room but had reserved it for such a time as this. It had a California king-sized bed, so we wouldn’t need to touch if we didn’t have to. It also had two separate closets. The room was perfect for two people who would share the same space but didn’t want to be overly intimate.
She stood by the door and her eyes swept the room like she was surveying it. But she didn’t enter. “This is where I sleep, or where you sleep?”
Her question caught me off-guard. “It’s where we sleep,” I emphasized.
She walked into the room and traced her fingers on the contours of the vanity chest. She wandered over to the bed and ran her hand along the linen—testing its softness, no doubt—and looked at me.
“If this is all business, we don’t need to share a room,” she said softly but firmly. “You can find me as easily when you need me if I’m sleeping in another room.”
I was thrown off. I didn’t expect her to express this concern, but she was right. Staying in the same room would only lead to complications, and my ego was bruised that the idea hadn’t been mine.
Without another word, I walked out of the room and to the other bedroom across the hall. “This should work nicely for you, then,” I told her grudgingly.
She walked across the hall, not looking at me, and nodded. “This is good.”
We stood facing each other across the hall for a few seconds longer, neither of us knowing what to do next. This was awkward, and before it could get even more so, I nodded to her and walked away. When I got to the stairs and looked back, she was nowhere in sight. The idea crossed my mind that this was one gigantic mistake.
The next few days didn’t bring much more conversation between us, and I was surprised at the few possessions she owned. I thought maybe she chose to leave the rest of her belongings wherever she came from, and I dismissed the thought once more that something was oddly different about her. Until I noticed her with the feather duster, doing her own cleaning.
I didn’t want to ask her about it, so I approached Grace. “Have the banisters and the window sills been dusted?” I wanted to know if she was on top of her game and why Anna would feel the need to dust them herself.
“Yes, sir,” she hastened to reply and clasped her hands before her.
“So, why is Anna dusting?” I knitted my brows and waited for what I assumed would be negligence or a weird reply. I got the latter.
“Sir, she insisted. Said she had nothing to do, and I didn’t want to argue with her because she’s the mistress of the house,” the middle-aged woman replied.
I sucked in a lungful of air and glanced in Anna’s direction. “Next time, see that the dusters and cleaning supplies are locked away. I don’t want anyone coming here and seeing her cleaning.”
“Yes, sir,” Grace bowed and departed.
“By the way, Grace,” I called her back when a thought occurred to me. “Does she ask for anything?”
“No, sir, not a single thing. She gets what she wants and does as she pleases.”
“Hmm. Thanks, Grace.”
This was indeed an odd woman. Why would she want to clean? Or get her own meals when she had a staff that catered to her every need? She hadn’t been shopping, and as for her business, I didn’t know when she went in or what exactly she did. My curiosity got the better of me, and I walked the halls, hoping I’d get a chance to observe her without her noticing me. I couldn’t find her, and no one had seen her. I eventually found her in the sun room, watering the plants.
I stood by the door, watching as she sprayed water gently onto the leaves and sprinkled more onto the roots. She fit right in with her yellow summer dress that flowed over her slender body, revealing soft curves and making a silhouette against the cotton fabric. Something inside me reacted, and I began to get uncomfortable with this woman who wasn’t supposed to evoke anything within me. My body disagreed, so I looked away hastily, redirecting my vision to the row of flower pots she tended.
She was so focused on her task she didn’t hear me enter, and when I cleared my throat, she jumped. She clamped her hand over her chest and rested the watering jug on the window sill with trembling fingers. “You… don’t do that.”
I was slightly amused, but I kept it in check. “So, Grace told me you insist on doing these things by yourself?”
She looked embarrassed for a few seconds, and she turned to the plants once more. “I’ve always liked doing things myself,” she said softly. She looked out across the fruited lot on the western side of the property, a look of nostalgia on her face. “My mother used to have a garden, and I loved to water the plants. I don’t know, something about it makes me feel peaceful.”
I watched her as she went back in time, and I envied her the peace she referred to. I had never known it—had no idea what it felt like—but in that moment, for the first time, I wanted to feel what she had felt before. She was not so odd, after all, and it appeared she had found comfort in helping around the house. There were some things money couldn’t buy, as I had come to realize over the years. It had gotten me a bride, but the love others often talked about wasn’t mine to claim. And I was careful to avoid it, too, because I had seen the flip side.
“Will you be home today?” she asked suddenly.
“No. I have to go to…to the office,” I replied. I was sweating, and I realized that being too close to her was getting dangerous. I had to leave, even if I had nowhere to go. I turned and walked away before she could think of anything else to say or do that would begin a battle inside me.
All through the day, I was troubled by this delicate flower, the bride I had chosen who was supposed to only have been a business contract but who, by her complete willingness, avoided me more than I did her. We hadn’t kissed or touched once since she moved in, and the home I had lived in for years suddenly began to feel empty. I was caught in my own trap, and I had no way out.
That night I stood by her door, listening to her hum a song I didn’t recognize as she prepared for bed. I reached out and touched the lock but pulled away and returned to my California king-sized bed, w
here I’d never felt more alone.
Anna
Since the day in the sun room, when he had caught me watering the plants, I was careful to go about my business when he wasn’t around. He had decided he wanted a bride he wouldn’t have anything to do with. But when he had stood outside the bedroom, across the hall from me, there had been something in his eyes—pain?—that I didn’t understand. I almost asked, but he walked away as if he suspected I would. There was a lot about Raymond I didn’t understand, but he was determined to shut me out. Although his wife, I felt like it wasn’t my place to ask him about his personal life—a life I should automatically have been a part of when we got hitched. But I didn’t ask because I feared he would have questions of his own I couldn’t answer. So I stayed away, locked in my room, until he wasn’t around.
I was still in bed one morning when Henrietta called.
“Hey, Henrietta,” I mumbled through the sheets.
“Are you still in bed?” she asked.
“I might as well be. I have nothing to do, and it’s starting to look suspicious when I do chores.”
“Do chores?” she asked incredulously, her pitch rising with every word. “Anna, you can’t do that. Plus, didn’t you say on your profile you have a fashion business or something like that?”
“Yeah, but you and I know that’s not true,” I replied and shimmied from under the covers.
“He doesn’t. He will expect to see you doing something or going somewhere. Maybe you could stage a conversation with a buyer or model or something that won’t make him look at you like a phony.”
“But I am a phony,” I cried. “How can I keep this up forever? It’s bound to come out one day, and I don’t even want to think about what will happen then.”
“Then don’t,” she snapped. “Get it together and stop worrying so much. He doesn’t expect much, so don’t over think it.”
“Are you sure I’m the older one?” I asked with a groan.
“I’m not so sure sometimes,” she replied smugly. “But I know you said fashion for a reason. I’ve seen you do drawings that are way better than mine. At least get a sketch pad.”