by Sierra Rose
Marj had married him to defeat the Wicked Queen and for the satisfaction of millions settled upon her after they divorced six months in. Now there was no divorce planned, nothing but a lifetime of happiness together. And while most couples had a wedding reception to share that bliss with their loved ones, she and Brandon had gone about this backward, so she thought a more intimate party was called for. Just the two of them, a night on the town. A candlelight dinner for two at an exclusive restaurant, cocktails, and dessert at the fanciest hotel bar, a romantic posh suite with a balcony, a profusion of rose petals and champagne and kissing.
She searched the local hotspots, seeking out the ones with the fever pitch buzz and set about trying to gain entrée. In the old days, this would have involved a top that showed cleavage and perhaps a twenty for the bouncer. Now it entailed calling the club and saying her married name once distinctly in order to gain VIP admission. The velvet ropes, it seemed, would be raised for her anytime she decided to drop by.
She settled on Locust, which was much more glamorous than its unfortunate name. The up and coming club, with its unique door, made to look black from the street and to gleam an iridescent aquamarine up close and its art installation chandelier that appeared to be composed of short infrared tubes dripping from the ceiling was a study in theming and design. It looked dazzling on the web page, and there was a certain visceral thrill to bypassing the queue to take precedence. She hadn’t spent much time at the front of the pack in her life, and the novelty of entitlement had a certain shine to it.
Marj caught herself browsing on Rent the Runway, where she used to fill a cart with aspirational designer gowns that were available for one wearing before return. She’d never actually checked out, never invested the money in a borrowed gown or jumpsuit, but she loved to look at them and read the reviews and imagine what it would be like to wear one of those dresses or even to have an occasion for one.
Now as she scrolled through Tracy Reese and Jenny Packham gowns, she realized that she didn’t have to rent a dress. She could totally buy one for herself. As much as she loved the clothes she’d bought and worn in heavy rotation as Brandon’s wife, she was still reluctant to indulge in over the top glamor. She didn’t want to be labeled a gold-digger (although she had technically married him for money initially) or called tacky for her conspicuous consumption.
She was hardly a Kardashian walking around in a nine thousand dollar jacket or anything, but she was still a mite squeamish about a top-flight dress for going out. Until now. This, the occasion of their triumph and the evening of celebration, merited new fancy lingerie and a dress worthy of concealing it until the opportune moment.
She combed through pages of absolute eye candy, ogling ladylike silk Oscar de la Renta gowns and racy Herve Leger bandage dresses. She loved the look of everything, the supreme creativity it took to render a simple dress unique and memorable. At last, squinting at the price and chewing her lip, Marj zoomed in on the latest from Burberry Prorsum, a label she’d admired on the red carpet when her favorite daring starlets wore it. This was a delicate slip dress with panels of sumptuous satin, lace, and ruching creating a bodice that was both intricate and somehow edgy. It appealed to her on every level—it was tough and feminine, lush and yet pure in its perfect creamy whiteness.
She took out her tape measure and figured her size according to their charts. Then she ordered it, overnight express, and a pair of sky-high nude Jimmy Choos to go with it. She felt a giddy rush as she charged the dress, picturing how thrilled and aroused Brandon would be to see her in it, how she’d take his breath away in more ways than one. Then she located the perfect sheer blush bra and suspender set from Agent Provocateur, that perfect mix of saucy minx and sophisticated lace. She flirted with the idea of high black boots and a riding crop, but she decided that it wasn’t Halloween, and she didn’t want to frighten him. Laughing, she ordered the lingerie and looked forward to the treat she’d give him after dinner together.
Marj spent the rest of the evening imagining the wonderful night they’d have together. She texted him to make sure his schedule was clear because they had dinner reservations for a very special occasion. Then she lay back and just thought about how far they’d come and how wonderfully, ecstatically happy they were. Lena might try to sow discord between them or make them look bad in the public eye, but all that really mattered was what they meant to each other and that they knew their truth. She felt profoundly lucky to have found such a man, to have managed to convince him to fall in love with her as well.
Their life together would be nothing short of magical, she knew. All the media furor would eventually dissipate, and someone else would have a scandal instead. Then she and Brandon could relax and enjoy the fantastic way things had worked out for them. Sighing, she went to sleep with a smile on her face.
Chapter 9
Friday afternoon, Marj went to a day spa Lena had recommended. She asked Lena’s advice in a keep-your-enemies-closer strategy and got a forty-five-minute diatribe about which spa facilities had health code violations and which put disgusting slices of cucumber in the spring water and which had a ‘funky aroma’ in the sauna.
Grateful for the recommendations, if not for the lengthy rant, Marj had reserved treatments for herself on the day of her big night out with Brandon. After a long workout, she’d gone to the spa. She had a facial and a massage and a blowout, her hair gleaming, her pores clear. She’d lain in the sauna, which smelled perfectly fine and more like cedar than anything else, and felt the toxins and stress just melting out of her body.
Her manicure and pedicure were fierce—a sheer blush pink with a sparkly champagne gilt at the tips. It would look killer romantic with her stunning lingerie. Everything had arrived and looked like an absolute dream when she tried it on. The entire ensemble came together easily, was surprisingly comfortable and showed off Marj’s long, muscular legs and her ample cleavage without looking vulgar or sleazy in any way. Proof, she assumed, that you could actually buy class and sophistication.
If that dress had been polyester and cost forty bucks at the mall, it would damn sure look trashy and revealing. This designer label somehow transformed it into a work of art, a deconstructed, lacy ultra feminine masterpiece that flattered without debasing. She wore her hair down to show off that glistening blowout and silicone shine treatment. Her eye makeup was dark and mysterious, her earrings long and expensive. Even the skyscraper stilettos were comfortable. Everything was perfect. All the potions and serums from the photo shoot were still in active rotation, so her skin was luminous, her makeup flawless from meticulous practice.
When he arrived home, she had been waiting expectantly, holding herself still to keep from mussing her appearance, for nearly twenty minutes and was ready to jump up and down in excitement when she heard him open the door. She leapt to her feet, beaming.
“You’re positively beaming today, Marj,” he said, hooking an arm around her waist.
“I’m a little excited, what can I say? And beaming was not what I was going for with this dress,” she protested. Brandon drew back to admire her lace and ruched white confection and the long legs that led up to it.
“I admire your choice. It looks fantastic. Sexy as hell. Almost as good as it would look on the bedroom floor. Alas…”
“No!” she interrupted, “do NOT alas me. We’re going out tonight, and giving ourselves the celebration we so richly deserve,” she said.
“It’s more of a fabulous news/terrible news scenario.”
“Give me the bad news first,” she said reluctantly, sinking back down onto the velvet midcentury modern couch in dejection. She didn’t even give her customary gloat of pleasure over the modern midcentury part of it.
“I’ve got to go to Dubai tonight. Now if not before. The entire deal’s falling through and I’ve tried to handle it every other way first. I sent two vice presidents there yesterday and they’re literally sitting at the hotel, having been refused so much as a meeting. The guy will only
talk to me, and I don’t mean Skype. So I’m for the Emirates. That’s the bad news.”
“Okay, I completely understand,” she said carefully, trying not to show her deep disappointment, trying not to cry on her now-wasted Burberry Prorsum dress. Maybe she could return it, reattach the tag, hope she hadn’t sweat on it or gotten any pickle-scented skin serum on the fabric. Because it was ruined for her now. It was just the fancy dress she was wearing when Brandon was too busy to bother with her again.
“The fabulous news is twofold. First of all, I came here to tell you in person because I knew you’d be upset and I didn’t want to be a coward and just email you while I was on the way to the Middle East. The second thing is that I got you this.” He held out a flat velvet box to her. She took it, not even wanting it one bit. Marj didn’t want lavish gifts. She wanted his time, an evening together, one night out of dozens that he worked until midnight and after. His was a demanding job, and she didn’t want to be a demanding wife but…she missed him.
She held the flat box, suddenly and deeply uninterested in whatever was inside. It was some piece of jewelry, some present to take the place of his presence. Some sparkly apology. She had several of those already—earrings, a bracelet, even a silver pin studded with black diamonds from the time he missed her after-school program students’ year-end party. She had so wanted to introduce him to them and let the two most important things in her life meet and overlap. Instead, she’d stood by herself, telling the kids to have a great summer, that she’d see them in the fall, and when they asked why her husband couldn’t make it, she had glared at the damn pin.
The pin probably cost enough to keep these kids in pizza all summer, but to her, it was nothing more than an expensive reminder that Brandon mostly didn’t have time for her. She went through periods like their time in Mexico when they could be together, and it was so great. Then there were the in-between times when it was less than great. When it was lonely and frustrating and all the velvet box would do was unveil another shiny bauble to symbolize how far apart they mostly were.
She tipped up the lid and regarded the large diamond pendant, a square shape flanked by tapered baguettes in a rectangular border. It was like an angular version of those halo pendants that were so popular. This one had a slightly Deco feel, and it was truly unique and gorgeous and probably something she’d choose for herself if she picked out jewelry. What she really wanted to pick out was a night at Locust with Brandon, stealing behind those iridescent doors and into the VIP lounge. She thanked him, let him fasten it around her neck. It probably looked stunning with that dress. She didn’t even bother to go to the mirror.
“You pinned one on your favorite things board on Pinterest,” he said proudly.
“I love that you check my boards to see what I like. Did you see where I pinned Locust’s menu? Because what I wanted was for us to be together. It would be a lot cheaper for you to show up to dinner once in a while and save the diamond budget for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency. I have a fire to put out at work, and I know this night meant a lot to you. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
“I wish you would. I have this Pavlovian response to velvet boxes now. They make me break out in a sweat of dread like, oh crap, what’s the letdown this time? I know that’s ungrateful or something, but it’s how I feel. Like I get a gift instead of time with you.”
“It won’t always be this way. When the stockholders calm down, and Lena backs off…”
“Is that going to happen? In the near future?”
“We only have to stick it out six months if you can’t handle it,” he said. “You knew I had to run a company.”
“What? I thought we agreed that this was real. Not a six month arrangement,” she said, very hurt by his flippant suggestion, “I know you don’t like that I’m mad about being ditched for work. I guess I’m supposed to sit here and wait. But I get it. You have an emergency. So be good and stay safe. I love you.”
“No swiping on Tinder. Go out, keep the reservation, see if your friend Britt can join you,” he said, obviously done with the topic.
“Britt is in California. Which you would know if—you know what? Never mind. Just go. I’m not having this fight. There’s no point.”
Marj dropped the velvet box and its contents on the couch and stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door. She heard him leave. She removed the dress and placed it carefully on the hanger, looking at it a little sadly. Instead of diamonds, she wished he’d given her an actual apology. The worst part was, she knew he wasn’t sorry. It was just a fact of how he lived his life. His dad’s company came first, and he had a demanding career. If she fell by the wayside, he figured she could deal with it until he had time for her.
On one hand, the mature response would be understanding and sympathy that he, too, was missing out on fun together time due to this unexpected business trip. On the other hand, she didn’t feel all that mature, and he didn’t seem all that disappointed either.
Marj knotted her silk robe at her waist and scrubbed her face clean of makeup. She made her way down to the kitchen and snagged a bottle of Chardonnay from the cooler and a single glass.
She sat on the terrace, drinking crisp, buttery wine and listening to the sounds of other city dwellers going out for the evening. The terrace looked down on a private courtyard, an oasis of slender trees and flower boxes, but beyond that, she could hear the bustle of Friday night going on without her. Three glasses in, she wandered back to the kitchen and found some olives and manchego and made herself a picnic with a sleeve of crackers. She sat outside, snacking and drinking, and tears slipped down her cheeks. She scolded herself. Self-pity, total first world problem. Rich husband was too busy to take her out, so she had to soothe herself with expensive wine and cheese on her gorgeous private terrace. Still, shaming herself didn’t make her feel any better.
Marj thought about looking for a new volunteering opportunity, but what she wanted wasn’t a way to pass the time. She wanted her marriage, wanted a relationship where she saw him every day for more than ten minutes, wanted to be in the same room with him instead of having messaging and emails.
She took her glass of wine up to the bedroom and took out her tablet. Maybe she’d read those Fifty Shades books everyone was talking about a while back. It had to be better than moping about how she wasn’t getting any. Her impulse to send jokey texts to Brandon while he was on the plane—a way she usually kept connected with him—withered when she recalled his disgusted comment that she knew he had to work and she could leave him at the six month mark. That didn’t make her feel very playful.
She cued up the magazine article about them with its flawless pictures. They looked like the perfect couple, so beautiful and at ease with one another. She scrolled down, staring at each photo for a long time. Swiping the screen she found that there were over four hundred comments on the article. She started to scroll through, and her eyes bugged open in shock.
This is total bullshit. He only married her to get the $$. Guys like that don’t go for women like her. Look at her! Totally cheap, trashy looking.
They are about as believable a love match as Trump and his hot wife…only this is the reverse, the hot guy is rich and the troll is poor.
Ever wonder what it would be like if Prince William had married the fat redhead from the View? Me neither but this shows me the answer anyway. No one as hot as him wants some obnoxious bitch taking his phone away.
She’s ugly AF and he only wants the $$
Obvs paid the writer to say it looked real. Anyone who sees these pictures knows the real deal: he had to marry some desperate cow to get his daddy’s company back. And this ho got her claws in him good, looks like.
They fell in love at first sight in Vegas? Alcohol! I’m guessing he was drunk and desperate and she was easy. It’s like watching one of the Teen Moms marry into the Kennedys. So sad.
I bet she’s been on the Bachelor like five times looking for a rich guy.
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br /> Wanna know something disgusting? I found her Tinder profile…still ACTIVE and this ho been swiping on dudes all along. Didn’t even quit when she married Prince Charming here. Bet he don’t know she’s F***ing around! Hope he finds out and leaves her nasty ass.
Looks like he picked up an extra from Real Housewives of the Trailer Park to me.
I hope Brandon Cates don’t let her touch him with that nasty mouth. He will get STI’s from her for sure. Total slut.
I heard she grew up poor and lived in a trailer park. She’s definitely not socialite material.
Marj scrolled down. It seemed like every single comment was worse than the last one. Anonymous trolls got in arguments about which Golden Girl she looked like (Bea Arthur FTW) and there were plenty of filthy suggestions about where her mouth and other parts of her had been and how she was too ugly/trashy/inferior for someone like Brandon to want her.
If it had been five or ten people who said that, she’d think they were jealous or they were just haters. Hundred. Actually, hundreds of Americans had taken time out of their days to go online and trash her. She had a psych professor who once told the class that if you keep hearing the same story about yourself, it’s time to listen to it. Here she heard the same story again and again. Not good enough. Only for the money. Slutty and ugly and unwanted.
It wasn’t the wine talking. It was the truth. There was no way a man like Brandon Cates really wanted a woman like her. Witness the amount of time they spent together, the frequent references to the six-month time limit. She read them all again, like drinking poison. Then a new one popped up. Because apparently she wasn’t the only person awake and alone late on a Friday night and obsessing about billionaire and society page staple Brandon Cates.
This is so sad. I remember seeing his picture when his mom died. He was small then and looked so lost. I guess that stepmother wasn’t much help if he ended up slumming around Vegas looking for a woman to pay attention to him. It’s such a shame that a fine young man with all the advantages ends up chained to some sleazy little social climber. I bet if his mom had lived, she would never have let it go this far. Shame on that Marjorie for taking advantage of a lonely ‘poor little rich boy’ who had no one to turn to and was about to lose all he had left of his poor father as well. I pity him and hope things work out for him after all, despite this foolish marriage, which hopefully will be short-lived.