The White Chapel: Book 2 in the Steamy New Adult Contemporary Romance Series (The Chapel Series)

by Marilyn Cruise

  “Smut? Ha! You didn’t seem to care about that when you were frequenting The Black Chapel,” I say. He’s so two-faced.

  “It was my first time in a strip club, and I only went there because my buddy dragged me there for my birthday,” he says.

  Yeah, right. “Well, so why did you return then?”

  “Because of you, Scarlett.” His eyes are sincere yet accusing, and I feel them penetrating my very being. “Or the other you.”

  I’m dumbfounded.

  He points his finger at me and stands up. “But you, on the other hand, you do that kind of work for a living! I can’t believe you lied to me about it Scarlett!”

  “Are you completely deaf? I only started working there because if I hadn’t, I’d lose my family’s house! The very house my father built with his own hands. The very house I was born in, and because my father was diagnosed with cancer and I needed to find a way to afford his chemo so his life would be spared!” I take a deep breath. “And I didn’t tell you about my job because I was afraid you’d pull the deal.” I feel heat rise in my cheeks.

  His hands hit his hips. “For your information, I think I would have gotten over you working at a strip club for a few months. What I can’t get over is that you blatantly lied to me. And shit, those emails…?”

  I almost lose myself and start to laugh, but manage to maintain my anger. “Oh, is your ego bruised because I actually found out you were cheating on me?” I say.

  “I can’t cheat on you with you. And no, I’m not upset by that. I’m upset because you were dishonest with me.” He huffs.

  “And you, were you so honest Abe all the time? I don’t think so. I doubt you’d ever really understand what drove me to take the job. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, rich boy.”

  His eyes turn black. “You have no idea what my life has been like.” He walks away, his hands reaching for his temple.

  “Well, if you would just open up a little more, maybe I would understand!” I scream.

  “I don’t open up, Scarlett. I don’t talk about shit like that.”

  “Shit like that? You mean the important things?” I ask.

  He’s quiet for a moment. “We’re not a couple, remember?”

  “Well, even when we were…”

  “We never were a couple, understood?” His expression is rigid.

  Wow, he can’t even be honest with himself. That’s where this all stems from. But he has made it clear that we won’t be talking about it, and I won’t push him further. “I’m sorry. I…uh…must have misunderstood.” I look down at my hands again. My voice is soft.

  Michael faces me. “Are we clear on the boundaries?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Good. I’ll have a truck come get your stuff later today. I’ll inform my family we decided to elope because of what my mother did to you—to us. They’ll understand. We’ll have to figure the rest out as we go. I trust you to keep your end of the deal, and you trust me to keep mine.”

  I nod, but can’t get myself to look at him.

  I hear the door slam behind him, and then I collapse onto the table, sobbing.

  11

  The U-Haul truck is there by 4:00 p.m. I haven’t packed too much stuff, and I’ve decided to leave all of my furniture behind. No use in moving a bunch of things when I’ll be moving it back in a few weeks time anyway. If Michael doesn’t like it, too bad for him.

  Once I arrive at Michael’s house, the entire staff has lined up in the foyer, looking attentive and neat. They all greet me by name as Michael introduces me to them as their new mistress.

  He explains that they will answer to me now. I’ve never really been one to give orders to someone else. I have a feeling this is not the only thing that is going to take some getting used to.

  Michael escorts me to our bedroom—well, his bedroom—and introduces me to Lucy, a young blonde servant. Lucy is petite, but the way she moves she’s nothing but a bundle of energy.

  “Lucy will be your personal assistant,” Michael says. “You may ask her for anything day or night, and she’ll be happy to get it for you. Right Lucy?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” Her accent is faintly British, and her posture, that of a ballerina.

  “Thank you, Lucy. You can call me Scarlett, if you’d like,” I say.

  “Oh, I think Mr. Manning would prefer I didn’t. But if you insist, then I will.” Lucy smiles.

  “Whatever you two work out is fine by me. Scarlett.” He nods in my direction. “I’ll see you later, babe.”

  “Okay.”

  When I don’t approach him, he nears me and plants a tender kiss on my cheek. And for whatever unknown irrational reason, I grab his ass and squeeze it. His eyes flare momentarily, but then he smiles. Oh, I can see the anger billowing deep inside those baby blues. But I don’t care one bit. At least he can’t accuse me of not playing the part of a loving wife.

  After Michael leaves, Lucy helps me with my bags. “Is there anything I can get for you while I’m here?” she asks.

  “No. I think I might just rest for a while,” I say, feeling overcome by the events of the day.

  “Perfect. Dinner is at 7:00 p.m. sharp. Mr. Manning had the cook prepare his favorite meal in your honor,” she says with a smile.

  I should probably know what that is, but I don’t. Lucy must have seen my confused expression.

  “Oh, filet mignon, with au gratin potatoes and creamed asparagus,” she says.

  Almost like on our first date. I should have known. “Should I be dressed in anything particular?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Come with me, please,” she says.

  I follow Lucy into a huge walk-in closet.

  “These have been picked out for you by Mr. Manning’s stylist. They should all be in your size,” she says.

  There are literally hundreds, maybe even thousands of garments in the closet. There are also loads of shoes and a lingerie island with tons of drawers stocked with all kinds of frilly and exotic outfits.

  Outfits I won’t be wearing at all.

  Well...

  Unless…then a thought comes to me. No harm in trying to…seduce my own husband, is there? Shit, but he’s hurt me so much, I don’t know if can manage. I don’t want to. Oh, yes you do, my alter-ego says. His hands, his mouth, his tongue.

  I bite my bottom lip.

  Then again, what’s the worst thing that can happen? He’ll reject me. But as he’s already rejected me, I wouldn’t be any worse off than I am now if I fail. Leave it to me to torture myself.

  “Dinner is always dressy-casual, unless otherwise noted. See you at half past six. I’ll come help you dress,” Lucy says, and then she’s off.

  So this is where I’ll be living for the next however many weeks until my pseudo mother-in-law passes. The room is as lovely as I remember, but it feels so foreign and stuffy. I miss my parents’ couch, the small TV, my bed, the old worn-down wooden floors, and the creaky stairs.

  I’m exhausted and decide to hop into the Jacuzzi/bathtub. There are about twenty different bath oils to choose from in the cabinet. I pick one called Gardenia, and soon I’m relaxing in a hot bath. I wonder where Michael is, but distract myself by scrubbing my skin nearly raw with a loofa brush. Once I’m done, it’s half past six and Lucy shows up.

  I’m wearing a black silk robe and my hair is up in a towel-turban. I select an outfit. “I think I’ll wear this. What do you think?”

  Lucy smiles her polite smile. “I think Mr. Manning will like that outfit very much.”

  It’s a black V-cut tank top with sequins and to go with it I have chosen black leather pants. I try on a few pairs of shoes and decide on the strappy, rhinestone bedazzled ones.

  Lucy walks with me downstairs, and I’m so glad I have her. She’s like an old lost friend.

  Michael is waiting for me at the dinner table. He does a double take on me, and rises to greet me, but then offers me a half a frown.

  “Hello.” He kisses me on the cheek a
nd we sit down. I hope he notices my cleavage, and my ass in these tight leather pants.

  “How is your moving in coming along?” he asks, picking up a newspaper.

  I’m keenly aware that his staff is listening in. This is all for show, the kiss, the questions, the decorum. “Wonderful. Lucy has been so helpful. I took a bath and it felt great. I wish you would have joined me, babe.” I know he’ll be thinking of my wet, silky skin.

  He clears his throat but doesn’t look up from his paper. “Maybe next time, dear.”

  Dear? I wonder if he said dear just to annoy me. There is no appetizer, only dinner and it is served immediately. We eat mostly in silence.

  “So what should we do tomorrow?” I ask, propping my elbow onto the table, resting my chin in the palm of my hand.

  “Tomorrow I’m at work, so I won’t be able to join you.”

  Just then I realize we haven’t discussed what to do for our honeymoon. “Any news on when you can take me on that honeymoon you promised, babe?” I smirk.

  He looks at me and cocks his head to the side. “Not yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. How about you take a friend shopping tomorrow or something?”

  “That’s a fabulous idea,” I say. Anne would love to be doted upon.

  After dinner, Lucy takes me on a tour of the mansion. It’s so much larger than I had thought, with four floors, two basements, twenty bedrooms, a ballroom, three kitchens, twenty-two bathrooms, five living rooms, a library, and two offices. There are beautiful paintings everywhere. Some I recognize, some I think might be antique European paintings, which probably are valued at even more than this entire mansion. The garage is huge also, and there are sixteen cars parked in there.

  “Wow,” I say, too impressed about all the cars to be hiding my excitement.

  “Ma’am?” Lucy says.

  “It’s just—Michael never showed me his garage,” I say.

  “Well, Mr. Manning never was one to flout his wealth. I’ve worked for him for five years now, and he’s as humble as they come. You picked a wonderful man to marry, if I may say so.”

  “I know,” I say with a slender smile.

  Back in the bedroom, I’m alone again. Michael has vanished and this new married life just sucks. I feel more like I’m being held hostage than anything. I call Anne.

  “Hello,” Anne answers.

  “Hey, it’s me. We need to talk. Lots of stuff has happened, but I don’t want to tell you over the phone.”

  “Oh?” she says.

  I know Anne is going to drive herself crazy trying to figure out what has happened. “Can you come to the mall tomorrow and hang out for a while?” I’m not going to tell her I’m taking her shopping. I want it to be a surprise.

  “Sure. I don’t have to be at work until 6:00 p.m.,” she says.

  “Okay, meet me in front of the food court, by Panera, 10:00 a.m.”

  “Alrighty! See you then,” Anne says.

  I hang up the phone and just then Michael walks in. My heart leaps out of my mouth.

  “Good evening,” he says. His stand-offish vibe is hard to miss, and he doesn’t even look me directly in the eyes.

  Just to think…a few hours ago…nope! Not going there. I paste on a smile even though I don’t feel like it. At all.

  “Hi. Lucy took me on a tour of the house. It’s lovely Michael,” I say.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles, glancing at me.

  “Your car collection is impressive.”

  He unties his shoes and slips them off. I can’t help but let my eyes linger on his tight ass.

  “You know, I wouldn’t mind if we didn’t have to deal with all the niceties. This is a business transaction, need I remind you.”

  “Well, don’t you treat your business associates civilly at least?” I ask.

  His lips squeeze together.

  “Listen, I’m just trying to make this bearable for the both of us. Can we at least agree to be civil?” I say.

  He looks at me again, and exhales slowly. “Good point, Scarlett. Civil it is. But don’t expect anything more.”

  “Of course not. Why would you think I expect or even want anything more?” I smile to soften the comment.

  His eyes go insecure for a moment, but then he’s back to his cold, closed up self again. “I’ll sleep on the floor. You can have the bed,” he says, grabbing a pillow and cashmere blanket.

  I nod. “Perfect.” I get up to change into my sleepwear. There are many varieties of sleepwear to choose from. From something I might see my grandmother wearing, to lingerie that would get me a standing ovation at The Black Chapel.

  Should I go bland, or sexy? If I go too sexy, he’ll figure out what I’m trying to do. But if I go too bland, he won’t notice me at all. I decide on a silver lacy silk nightgown—it looks more like a slip—with spaghetti straps and a skirt that reaches right above my knees.

  When I come out, Michael’s already on the floor, texting someone on his phone. Well, at least I know he’s not texting the stripper.

  I hop into bed and then look down at him. “If you are very uncomfortable, I wouldn’t mind it if you slept in the bed with me. We are clear about our boundaries, and I don’t think either of us is going to try anything.”

  He looks up at me. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I like it down here.”

  “Okay. Good night, then.” I hit the lights and soon I’m fast asleep.

  12

  “Seriously?” Anne says when I tell her I’m treating her to a shopping spree. I have just filled her in on my all-too sudden, depressing marriage ceremony, and have managed not to cry about it. I feel pretty good about my conduct considering my foreboding circumstances.

  “Won’t Michael be upset that you’re spending his money on me?” Anne asks.

  “No, he gave me his credit card with a 100,000 dollar limit. He says I can spend it on whatever I want. Makes our simulated marriage look all the more real. And besides, I want to spend it on you.” I feel good, because I know how much Anne needs a new wardrobe. “Plus, this is payback from when you bought me a dress, and I haven’t even given you a Christmas present yet.”

  “Honey.” Anne gets this serious look on her face and takes my hand across the table. “How are you holding up, really?”

  “I’m okay. I just—wish it could be different, you know? We really did have something special. Well, at least I thought we did.” I feel the lump in my throat swell so I stop talking.

  “You really fell for him hard, didn’t you?” she asks, her eyes caring.

  “Yes.” Oh no, I feel the tears emerging. “But it’s best this way. I’m moving ahead and—” I stop.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, to be honest, I’m kind of trying to remind him of how great we are together, hoping he’ll change his mind about us.” I hear how desperate that sounds, and I moan.

  “You’ve always been so faithful, Scarlett. Always trying to make things work. When are you going to make yourself happy?”

  “I’m happy when everyone else around me is happy,” I say.

  “You truly are an angel, Scarlett. Michael doesn’t deserve you.” Her eyes turn angry.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “And why not? Can you tell me one reason why he deserves someone like you?” Anne’s baby blue eyes are wide, and her hands flail as she speaks.

  “I don’t want to make a list.”

  Anne sits up straighter. “Well I do. No, wait, I can’t because there is nothing that goes on that list.”

  “Come on, Anne. He’s a great guy. I mean, he’s a perfect gentlemen—” I say.

  “Hell-no.” Anne shakes her head liberally.

  “Well, he’s given me this opportunity where I can save my father’s life,” I say.

  “Yeah, but he only proposed it so he could get his money, his own inheritance. Doesn’t count.” Anne shakes her head again.

  “Well, he’s donated a lot to church.”

  Anne looks at me like I have lost my min
d. “What does that have to do with you?”

  “He’s a god in bed?” I say.

  Anne laughs. “I guess that counts for something. But can’t you see that he’s no good for you? He didn’t marry you because he loves you unconditionally. He married you so he can get his inheritance money. One doesn’t get any more shallow than that.” Anne slams her palm into the table so it makes a loud noise and then sits back in her chair. “Just follow through on the deal, get your money and then get as far away from this guy as you possibly can.”

  I think about what Anne just dumped on me. Has Michael not done anything out of love toward me? I can’t think of anything at the moment, and now I’m starting to think Anne might be right. But still, there’s just something between us. It’s almost like magic, and if I hadn’t experienced it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. And part of me knows that if he just gives us another chance, everything will be different.

  I’m such a hopeless romantic.

  My phone rings and I rummage through my purse and see that it’s Michael calling. I turn it off. I want our shopping spree to be uninterrupted. The wifely duties will have to wait.

  “Ready?” I say.

  * * *

  “I didn’t realize shopping was so much work,” I say, collapsing on a bench in the mall’s hallway after five hours of intense spending.

  “Me neither,” Anne says, plopping down beside me. “Man, it’s even harder than stripping!”

  We both laugh.

  “It is. Many more costume changes, too. Ready to call it a day?” I say, feeling a whole lot lighter than this morning when I left Michael’s house.

  “Yes,” she grunts. “I don’t want to try on another article of clothing for at least a year.”

  “Well, you had better want to. As long as I’m married to Mr. Manning, you’ll be shopping with me. Besides, we have New Year’s Eve coming up, and you’re invited to one gigantic party.”

  “Really?” Anne says.

  “Of course! I wouldn’t dream of not having my best friend there,” I say.

  She leans over and gives me a great big hug. “Thank you for today. Remember, if you need anything, day or night, just call me.”