Charming Husband

by Celia Crown

  I find my clothes neatly folded, but there is a dress that is placed next to it. I can’t seem to find my panties anywhere, and I need it to wear the dress. The clothes that I had on yesterday don’t seem that appealing when there are clean clothes waiting for me.

  Maybe I can sneak out his room to mine and get the panties that he bought for me.

  I wasn’t expecting on staying when I came with Katerina, but things got out of hand. I have been living in a dream that everything is a blur, and Kace is the only one that is clear in my head.

  My feet touch the ground where a pair of flats is waiting for me; they are a perfect fit when I put them on. It doesn’t need adjusting, and the form embraces the shape of my feet like gloves.

  Something red catches my eyes when I look down at the shoes, it’s a small box at the nightstand that stands out.

  This uneasy feeling stems from the bottom of my heart as my stomach rolls in unease. It’s a box for proposal, anyone with eyes can tell what it is. As if I have no control over my body, I pick it up and open it in a matter of seconds.

  The ring is beautiful; it’s a silver band with a big diamond in the center that is lined with smaller diamonds at the side. It’s an enthralling design that makes me breathless, but what punches me in the gut is the engraving.

  My beloved wife.

  My throat tightens, and my nose itches. My hands tighten around the box in suffocating anxiety.

  08/12

  August of twenty-twelve.

  Oh god, this is his wife’s ring.

  I drop it back on the nightstand as if it burned me, and in a way, it did. It scorched my heart with the truth that I am wrecking the home of a perfect couple.

  What am I doing? What the heck am I doing?

  I’m in the home of a married couple, fraternizing with the husband who is happily married to a woman who is no doubt a gorgeous woman inside and out. Kace has a keen eye for people, and if he married her, then she is either the luckiest woman on Earth, or she is perfect in every way.

  How can I compete?

  I run out of the room, tears rimming the redness of my eyes as I hastily wiped them away. I need to get away from anything that has a strong reminder of him and lock myself into my room.

  I wipe the tears, but they are constantly falling down my cheeks and ruining the silky dress that he got me. I don’t have the heart to take it off because I have to hold onto whatever I have left of him before whatever made-up fantasy I have ends.

  It’s coming rather quickly; it’s almost the end of summer and the beginning of a new semester for school.

  I search my phone through my bag and come up with a choked hiccup when I find Katerina’s number. I don’t know where she is right now, but when she picks up, it’s the groggiest greeting I have heard from her voice.

  “Kat?” I choke through the receiver when I hear her sleepy groan.

  “Can you come to pick me up?”

  I don’t bother explaining the situation because she already knows most of the details and she knows that I’m still in France, but she doesn’t know the reason behind my tears.

  I have no right to be crying when his wife is the victim here. She doesn’t know that I have been flirting with her husband and going on dates with him.

  No woman deserves that. I wish to apologize to her in person and to tell her that I have no excuse for what I did. Somehow it just got out of hand and snowballed down a steep hill too quickly.

  Katerina promises me that she will have me picked up before the next morning. I will have to get through today and bring up the fact that I’m leaving to Kace who has no idea how I’m feeling.

  However, I need to make myself decent. The dress is lifted up to my hips when I put on a pair of underwear, and it’s soft too. Nothing about my clothes are hard stitches and scratchy materials; Kace’s taste is great in fashion; I think as I smooth down the front of the dress.

  I jolt when a knock at the door comes, it’s loud and definitive. There is only one person that is allowed near the vicinity of my room because it is right next to his. Kace said it was for my protection because this is a big manor and he doesn’t want his guests to be harmed.

  I have not seen a single soul in this manor other than the two of us and his butler. The only time I saw someone else was that pair of siblings, but I never heard from them again.

  I didn’t get the chance to thank the woman for trying to save me.

  There’s another knock on the door, and I quickly open the door to see the ever handsome man of my dreams. He’s a handsome man with a sculpted body made from marble; his black hair is darker than the night, and his green eyes put mother nature to shame at how vibrant they are.

  His height of him takes over the doorway, that big hand goes back to his side as he greets me with a smile.

  Disarming and casual, my heart involuntarily hops a beat and sings to a tune of love for him.

  My nails dig into my palms as I still my breathing. I have practiced this while I was changing. Kace isn’t going to make me forget my objective. He needs to know the truth, and it’s going to kill me when he confirms that this had been a fun way to pass the time.

  I don’t know his reasons for stringing me along, and I am ashamed to let myself get played when I knew from the beginning that he isn’t mine.

  He is never going to be.

  “Everything alright, my love?” he asks, concern writing on his face as he tips my head up with a finger under my chin.

  “Fine,” I curtly said.

  Talking to him is hard when I have my feelings at the tip of my tongue. One wrong move and this can turn into a disaster.

  He doesn’t believe me as he looks me in the eyes; my indecisiveness pulls at my hesitant smile. Kace does not point out that fact, and I thank him for that. I wouldn’t know what to say to make this better, so it’s best if I don’t say anything at all.

  “It is a beautiful morning,” he begins with a chuckle, holding my hand in his as he pulls me out of the metaphorical divider from the door.

  “We will have breakfast in the garden.”

  I don’t agree or disagree with him, but I do give him an answer with a hum.

  Breakfast seems to be an inappropriate time to bring up that I called Katerina to pick me up. The afternoon is usually the time he checks up on his wine collection and sees their progress of aging, and he has meetings to deal with for his business while entertaining his guests. It’s not a common occurrence when he has meetings in the manor as it’s most likely in the two-way glassed greenhouse where there is only a collection of wine to discuss business with.

  I thought greenhouses were for plants, but then Kace has never been the one to follow the norms.

  The evening is spent with me; there’s an intimate dinner, a walk to the garden for fresh air, and a kiss goodnight on my forehead. That is the nightly routine that we have developed over time; we haven’t planned on it, and it’s the only thing I care about.

  I want his lips on my skin; that special feeling warms my heart and my bed during the night, knowing that Kace cares about me.

  If he does.

  Kace is a man with too many layers. I don’t know if he’s genuine in his affection or if what he’s doing is a part of his process of figuring out whatever disagreement of his marriage.

  “Please talk to me, my love,” Kace pulls me to him as I have stopped walking.

  “I am worried,” he discloses with uncertainty in his voice.

  Expressing concern on his face, he is tugging at my heartstrings, and I don’t know where to begin telling him the wide range of emotions that is eating at me.

  “Just a bit tired,” I say, avoiding his eyes as he holds my waist with warm hands.

  He splays his fingers around my hips, trapping me to his hard body, and fusing out scent together.

  “I never want to go against your wishes, but I will use whatever means necessary to get the truth out of you.”

  It’s a threat that he is adamant he does
n’t want to make true, but I’m stubborn when I don’t want to talk about it. It’s my fault, and he shouldn’t be dealing with my clumsy emotions when he’s got more things to worry about.

  “Please, don’t ask me again,” I beg him, eyes watering at the inconsistencies of my vocals.

  The way he looks at me—a man of disturbing charisma, of assertive wealth, and of dark accented curl of his tongue—it’s a press of blistering heat on my skin that forces me to pull away.

  I can’t be touched by him. I am going to go back on my words, and then I will mess up more than I already have.

  His eyes focus back onto mine, oppressing and suffocating as the barest skim of his green eyes pierces through the pathetic walls that I have been trying to build.

  My confidence wavers, and he’s smooth when he takes hold of my hand. The calloused thumb runs down my ring finger with a curious curl of his eyebrows; he studies my hand and frowns.

  “Did you not like my gift?”

  He doesn’t ask about the change in me. It’s what I wanted him to do, but I am in a stump now. A flicker of disappointment clouds over me. I think I wanted him to get the truth out of me, and he would explain that what had conjured up in my mind is not true.

  Real-life is a brutal thing, and I am a girl living in a fantasy.

  I don’t want to know the truth. I will rather be ignorant and be judged for having my heart stolen by a man out of my league.

  “No, I did. Thank you, I love it,” the lie comes out before I know it, but I do love the feel of it on my skin.

  The dress is a beautiful design, and the fabric is too soft that it feels like butter.

  It eventually stops being a distraction and turns into a reminder that has the crackling voice in my head, whispering insecurities into my ears. Having been completely blocked out by the voice, Kace’s voice doesn’t reach me.

  “Malia.”

  It’s neither a challenge nor is it a threat. It’s the dark sneer of my name on his lips, it’s the promise of pain in his domineering tone, and it’s the deliberate lighting in his silence that breaks the seal that I put on my lips.

  “I’m going home.”

  “You are not returning to the States.”

  He takes a step towards me, and I take a step back. The distance and my apprehension do not go well with him as he barks out an order for me to stay still.

  He doesn’t blame himself for my need to leave; there is no unnatural discomfort of asking me whether if he had done anything wrong or if he had been a terrible host. Kace knows that he’s been nothing but accommodating and perfect in every sense.

  “I am, Katerina is coming to pick me up,” I shake my head; the redness of my hair contrasts with the dress as I look down on my fiddling fingers.

  “Why do you wish to leave?”

  I want to leave because this guilt is eating me up. I have no idea whether to believe that she is coming back or she is deceased, and he cannot move on. I hope for the sake of Kace that she is not deceased; he doesn’t deserve that kind of pain, and I never wish death upon anyone.

  Even if it’s the woman who has Kace.

  I will try myself to not bring it up to stir the bad memories that he probably keeps close to his heart.

  “I-I have school and I—I can’t stay here.”

  I just need to get away from him and hope that with time, I will be able to move on. He will be a memory in my head, a brand in my heart, and a torn piece of my soul that will be cherished.

  “Is it because I asked you to marry me?”

  Yes, and no. It’s a complex situation that needs more than a simple answer.

  “It’s…” I don’t know how to finish that sentence when my brain is scrambled.

  “You don’t want to marry me.”

  He is angry.

  The venomous twist of his green eyes and the cold hiss through his clenched jaw push pass my defense and strike an arrow through my heart. Kace tilts his head down; a reflection of crisp pain shines through his green eyes, and madness presents at the corner of his lips.

  I force myself to fortify my resolve, “Yes.”

  He doesn’t fight it like I thought he would. Everything from his past behavior has prepared me for a bull-headed and constricting control of a man with too many resources, and I expected him to fight for me.

  Wishful thinking on my part.

  “I see.”

  He lets me go just like that.

  Game over. There is no reset or a pause button; he’s not trying to save what we have because this was just a game to him, a game in which I lost my heart as a wager, and he gets to keep his own with his dignity intact.

  It’s humiliating to think that I mean something to him.

  I clearly don’t when he easily gives me up.

  I should fight for him. I really should, but how can I fight for a man who doesn’t belong with anyone else other than his wife. In fact, I think he doesn’t want me to fight when I look at him with the closed-off façade and the distance he has emotionally withdrawn from.

  If I didn’t understand him before, now is a road down the abyss.

  I didn’t know him to begin with. The Kace I knew is a face that he carelessly ripped off.

  “Very well. I will have my driver escort you to my private jet where you will be returned home.”

  The way he coldly tosses the word home makes me want to cry, but my tears are shed when he is calloused in the way he speaks to me.

  I don’t want that.

  I don’t want him to hate me, but I have to do this or else I won't be able to walk away.

  He has a wife.

  I keep reminding myself of it. That is the only thing that’s wrong about this, and I wish from the bottom of my heart, with no ill-will towards his wife. I wish that he didn’t fall in love with her the way that I fell in love with him.

  He doesn’t see the way I look at him, but sometimes I see myself in the mirror when I think about him. There is so much happiness in me that is making greedy for more.

  I’m not Malia anymore. I’m a woman obsessed with this man and just a little bit too much in love.

  “Kace—” I want to reach out to him, but his arm hand pushes mine away with an unaffected smile.

  It hurts more to see that he isn’t affected.

  “It is… unfortunate. A shame, really,” he remarks with a bitter and desolate tone that pushes me further away.

  He doesn’t elaborate as he spins around, waking away from me and out of my life.

  What did I do?

  I sob into my hands; pain is an undefined cripple that nails me to the ground when Kace disappears from my sight.

  Chapter Ten

  Kace

  Papers were thrown, bookcase toppled over, desk kicked, the bleed of wine soaks through the whiteness of the walls with shattered glass glistening in the bright sunlight.

  I press a hand to my forehead; a dull throb bounces on my skin as I find the resemblance of peace in the midst of all this rage.

  She doesn’t want to marry me.

  A laugh stumbles out of my lips, unplanned and unsettling as the scorching fury burns white behind my eyes.

  I have left the engagement ring at my nightstand, and I had hoped that when I see her again, she would be wearing it as an elaborate step of my possessiveness.

  Perhaps I went too quick.

  That does not matter anymore. She rejected me now, and she will reject me in the future if I had waited.

  My skin is cold, impeccably rough when I scrub the predatory growl that reaches through my throat.

  I do not understand whenever it went wrong. I was sure of myself that I had read the signs correctly; she was attracted to me, the love in her eyes is more real than the irresolute pain that comes with it, and I truly believe that she would put on the ring.

  Never in my life have I been more confident about a thing.

  A startling destructive rush of insensibility shrills through my blood, pumping and vibrating with white wrath
that obliterates the bottle of wine that I had picked up. The cool liquid seeps into the wound that I had created, the indifference of my pain slides away with the blood and wine.

  The two has no distinctive color shadings as they all become one color to me.

  I throw the broken bottle away, settling on an unnerving thrumming of my fingers down on the chair arm. My back throws ground from the cushioned chair as I scan the paintings in my main office.

  I have chosen them to bring relaxation into my office when I get abnormally stressed, but they are mocking me with the peacefulness. I am not happy, and I haven’t had the faintest clue as to what is the right way to deal with this broken wave of emotions.

  I used to be immune to this sort of ridiculousness, but emotions are a fickle thing that Malia had brought out of me.

  My little Malia.

  What am I doing?

  I jump up from the chair; it scratches heavily across the floor as papers scrunch under the wheels. Gritting my teeth, the instinctive and natural response to this pathetic moodiness is an embarrassment.

  My control had been out of my hands a long time ago. Only Malia can command me to feel anything other than the bloodlust that is simmering in the blood at my fingertips.

  Whatever is swimming in her head, I am going to kill it.

  I ignore the blood dripping from my palm as I pick up my phone; my only thought is for the caller to pick up the phone the second it rings.

  The phone misses three rings before it is answered with my title and a respectful greeting. I press the device to my ears, listening and studying the noises from the other line where I hear faint but noticeable cries of my beloved Malia.

  It is easy for me to be angry—not at her, no, never her, but at the driver. Irritation suffocates the air in my lungs as I cannot make sense of the off-balanced thirst for his blood in my hands.

  I know it isn’t his fault that she is crying. I have no one but myself to blame; I am the one that she is crying over. A sick part of me twists with glee as I can only imagine her tear-stricken face, but then vexation seethes at me because my driver is able to see that hypnotizing expression that is meant for me.