Glancing down at her feet, I arch a brow. “Would you throw those out?”
Lifting her foot, she wriggles it in the air. “What's wrong with my sneakers?”
“They're falling apart.”
“So, they work, don't they?”
Shaking my head, I grip the thin stem of the wine glass as the stewardess passes us our drinks. “I'm going to ruin you, you know that?”
“Oh yeah?” Starla asks, taking a dainty sip of her drink as she raises a pinkie while she tips her head back. “You think you can ruin me?” Her voice echoes around the inside of her glass as she smirks.
“Is that a challenge?” Flicking her brow, she shrugs one shoulder. With closed lips, I nod my head. “Alright, it's on then.”
Starla yawns, stretching her arms above her head. “Good luck, I've been told I'm stubborn as a bull.” Resting her head on her hand, her eyes are heavy as she looks back out the window.
“We'll see,” I say, laying my head back on the seat and closing my eyes.
Minutes later, I feel a light weight pressing on my shoulder. I open my eyes to find Starla sleeping against my arm. I don't move her. She looks perfect there, with her face gently snuggled against me, and her hair falling down across her forehead.
Using the tips of my fingers, I lightly brush her hair away so I can see her better. She's beautiful.
A stewardess stops and smiles, whispering to me, “You two are adorable.”
“We're getting married this weekend.” And as I say it, something comes over me. It's something I can't explain or put into words.
It's a sensation, as if I’ve just breathed life into the words as they left my mouth. The words suddenly have a heartbeat of their own. I can feel them as her cheek presses against my bicep and her chin digs into the muscle.
The plane hits the runway , and jostles Starla awake. Sitting herself up, she wipes her lips and looks at my arm.
“Oh, I'm so sorry.” A flutter of embarrassment skips across her face as she spots the small circle of drool on my sleeve. With quick movements, she tries to brush it off. “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”
“It's all right, don't worry about it.”
Grimacing, her lips crinkle. “I really am sorry.”
Smiling, I look down at my arm and back up at her. “It's fine, I have all weekend to get you back.” Standing up, I reach out and grab her hand. “Let's go have some fun, Wifey.” The word slips through my lips on playful notes, causing her to giggle.
“I'm ready, Hubby.”
Walking through the terminal, I spot a jewelry store. “Hey, I've got an idea.”
“What's that?”
Taking her hand, I grin and pull her toward the store. “We need to get something before we go to the hotel.”
Her eyes follow mine. “Seriously?”
“We need to make this look real, so let's do it right.”
Entering the store, a sales rep is on us like a vulture on a carcass. “Hello, can I help you?”
Wearing a fitted black, two piece dress, the woman has short gray hair that curls up under her ears and an obnoxiously large pearl necklace wrapping her throat. She's holding her hands in front of her, letting them dangle awkwardly in the air, positioned so I can see the rings she was designated to show off today.
“Yes actually, my fiancée and I are looking for the perfect ring. Something that matches her beauty.” Squinting, I read her name tag. “If you even have anything that beautiful, Jennifer.”
“Well, you've come to the right place. Do we have a price range to keep in mind?” Shaking my head no, the woman's eyes light up. “I've got a few I think you're going to love.”
I just wrote her a blank check and there’s no way she isn’t going to cash it. There are a few things people can understand easily, one of those things is no cash cap. I'm curious what she's going to show us.
She walks over to a counter and tells us to have a seat, before disappearing into the back. Starla doesn't sit, she starts walking around, looking into the brightly lit cases.
Pressing her face against the glass, she sets her fingertips down gently. “This one is pretty.”
Walking up beside her, I look into the case. “Which one?”
“That one, with the red stone in the center.”
“Yeah, that's pretty. I like this one better,” I say, pointing at an all diamond princess cut. “It would sparkle on you.”
“I've got a few here that will blow anything else out of the water.” The woman is back, lining up a buffet of different rings.
We both sit at the counter while Jennifer sets up the small stands. Each stand has a single ring, perfectly positioned so the light reflects in all directions off the different angles.
“This is from our Elite collection.” Touching the stone, she points at it like a hand model from QVC. “It's two carats, oval cut, with a diamond from Canada.” The woman removes the ring from the stand and takes Starla's hand, slipping it over her ring finger. “Gorgeous, isn't it?”
“Yeah, it's nice.” Starla holds out her hand and peers down at the ring. “But it just doesn't feel like me.”
“Sure, no worries, let's try this one.” Pulling off the ring, the saleswoman replaces it with another. “This is two carats from Argyle mine in Australia. A baguette cut gives this diamond such a sophisticated feel.”
Scrunching her face, Starla doesn't look impressed. I expected her to put on the ring and light up having something so amazing on her finger. But she looks almost bored, as if it's not enough.
“Have anything bigger?” I ask, flicking one of the rings with my finger so it flips on the stand. “These are nice, but I think we need more, something that really stands out against all the rest. I want my future wife to shine.”
“More?” Starla asks, then looks over her shoulder. “What about the ring in that case, the one with the red stone I like?”
“The red stone?” The woman arches a brow and lets out a laugh. “Oh, sweetie, that's a lab created ruby, you don't want that.” Holding up her finger, she slips free from her seat and moves to a case against the wall. “Your fiancé, now he knows what a woman likes. The bigger the better, they say.” Winking, she smirks at me as she opens the back door and takes out a huge rock.
Walking back to us, she sets the small holder on the table. “Cushion cut, six carats, mined from Russia. There are six stones set around the center, each one is half a carat. The center stone is two carats, and there's another carat set in the band. It's a one of a kind.” The woman slips it over Starla's finger and holds it up in the light. “This will make all the other girls jealous.”
“That's perfect,” I say, resting my hand on Starla's thigh. “It looks beautiful on you.”
“It's just too much. I really like that ruby one.”
“This one is perfect. This is it,” I tell her, taking her hand and bending her fingers to kiss them. “This is the ring my fiancée deserves, and the one my wife should wear for a lifetime.”
“I think it's too much, Bolt, I feel like I'm wearing a fishing weight on my finger.”
“Starla,” I whisper into her ear, making sure my lips are almost touching her skin. “This is a ring that will show people we're in love, it will tell people that we're serious. No one will question what we feel for each other if you're wearing this ring.”
A shiver scales down her body as the very edge of my lips brush the shell of her ear. “All right, this is the one I guess.” She doesn't sound pleased, more just agreeing because what does it really matter?
This isn't real. We can't forget that.
The woman lets out a soft squeal as she claps her hands in front of her face. “Should I wrap it up?”
“No, she can wear it out,” I say proudly, wanting Starla to show off our engagement to the world. Because that's what I need. I need people to see us, to start talking, to cement the idea that we’re a couple madly in love.
After I pay for the ring, we walk out of the store hand in hand. St
arla is holding her left hand out in front of her and twisting it back and forth.
“What do you think?” I ask her. “Gorgeous, isn't it?”
“You don't think it's too much, Bolt?” Angling her head, she looks up at me. “I mean this is fake, so what's the point in something so big?”
“Yeah, you're right. But I have standards to uphold, I can't just buy any ring, not if I want this to be believable.”
“But what about me? What if I chose the cheaper ring? Why would that be so bad?”
“It's not that it's bad, but that's not what would happen if this was real. If this was real, I'd buy you that ring, shit, I'd probably buy an even bigger one.”
“And this is what I'm talking about. This isn't necessary, this…” she says, holding out her hand. “This cost more money than I'll make in a year.”
“This—” Taking her hand, I run my thumb over the diamond. “Shows everyone else what you're worth to me.”
“That's sad, it's sad that an object can have so much control in your world.”
“It's not the object, Starla, that has the control, it's me. The object is just the beacon for what I can do.”
“Is it really?” Pulling her hand free, she gives me a smile. “Do you really think you hold the power?”
Her words sweep through my mind and for a split second, she has me questioning myself. Is it the stuff or was it me? What really has the power when it comes down to it?
It’s me. I have the power.
Without my power, that ring wouldn't exist.
Without my power, neither of us would be here.
Without my power, I wouldn't be winning the war my father started.
I have the power because I’m here, with a woman who’s agreed to help me, with a woman who’s taking what I have to offer in exchange for what she needs.
She wants to question my power, and that's fine, but if she looks really hard, there's no doubt in my mind that she'll see I’m the one holding all the cards.
“Come on,” I say, releasing her hand and wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go play house for a bit.”
7
Starla
Standing outside the huge double doors to our suite, Bolt looks at me over his shoulder and asks, “You ready for this?”
I don't know if I'm ready for any of it. So I smile and nod, hoping he won't ask me too many questions about what’s going through my head.
I don't want to care, I don't want to be worried about the boulder sitting on my finger, I want to just go with the flow, but something is holding me back.
I just don’t know what it is.
Swiping the key card, Bolt holds the handle until the green light flashes. With a click of the lock, he opens the door, reaching back to grab my hand.
Pulling me in front of him, he lets me go inside first. The room is huge, with giant windows that overlook the ocean. I’ve never seen the ocean this close before.
“Oh my God, Bolt, look at that.” Walking right to the window, I'm stunned at how incredible it looks.
The water looks like it's sparkling, like there are a gazillion little lights all twinkling just beneath the surface. Wave after wave rolls in, crashing onto the shore as the crest bubbles and turns white. The bubbly foam spreads across the sand, erasing any footprints or marks.
Seagulls are circling in the distance, and there are boats cruising by in each direction. From where I'm standing, the tiny umbrellas speckling the sand look like a colorful polka-dot pattern.
Bolt steps up beside me, wearing a big smile on his face. “Never seen the ocean either, huh?” Shaking my head no, I can’t tear my eyes away from it. “Hungry?” he asks, slipping his fingers into mine. “We need to go show off that rock. I'd like word to get back to my father about us, he's the one that needs to believe this the most out of everyone.”
Remembering the ring on my finger, I lift it up and gaze at it. Twisting my hand side to side, I laugh. “I hope I don't lose anything down the drain, I'll never get my hand out with this thing on.”
“Baby, in my world, you won't have your hand down the drain at all. That's what they make plumbers for.” Pulling me away from the window, Bolt walks us toward another set of doors. “I had Yale take care of everything. This suite only has one bed, but it's in its own room, I'll sleep on the couch—”
“The couch?” Furrowing my brows, I nudge him in the ribs with my elbow. “I thought we needed to make this real?”
I'm flirting, I know I'm flirting, but I don't even care.
“We do, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about sleeping in the same bed.”
“Are you afraid?” I ask, playfully nibbling on my bottom lip.
“Afraid of what?”
“Of not being able to control yourself in the bed with me?”
Chuckling, Bolt releases my hand and runs his fingers down his jaw. “You think I'm weak?”
“I didn't say that.”
“But that's what you're getting at.”
“Call it what you want, but I never said you were weak.” Shrugging my shoulder, I start for the doors that lead into the separate bedroom with a teasing grin on my face.
“Baby, weak isn't even in my vocabulary. I'm nothing but man.” Jerking his hips slightly, my eyes are drawn to his groin.
Snapping my eyes back up, his smile is wider, and his eyes deepen with lust. Swallowing hard, I take in slow breaths, trying to calm the heat in my belly.
I thought flirting would be fun, I thought flirting would make things more comfortable. It doesn't. Flirting just makes my insides scream with desire and my pussy clench.
“What time is dinner?” I ask, scratching my nails through my hair and glancing up at the ceiling. I'm trying so hard to not stare at his package, but it's hard as fuck.
Bolt is steadily watching me, his eyes sharpening as he puffs his chest in victory, as if he won some small battle between us. “Whenever you're ready.” Holding out his arms, he takes a small step closer.
“I'm ready now,” I say.
Shaking his head, he tips his chin into his chest and clicks his tongue. “Uh uh, this place has a dress code. I took the liberty of having Yale bring a few things for you in case we needed them. Tonight you need one. Unless you packed a dress in that tiny thing you call a suitcase?”
“I don't wear dresses.”
“You do tonight.” Jerking his head, he flips a finger. “I'm starving, so try not to take too long.”
“Unlike the girls you might be used to, I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”
Bolt looks down at his watch and says, “Go, you've lost twenty seconds already.”
“That's not fair, I didn't say start.” Closing the door quickly, I turn around and I'm amazed with how big the bedroom is. This single room is bigger than the entire upstairs at my grandparent's house.
A king sized bed sits in the middle of the room, with four tall wooden posts reaching for the ceiling. The posts are all etched with intricate designs that spiral up the beam.
Touching the wood, it's smooth and cold against my fingertips as I stroll around the frame. The blankets feel like silk filled with feathers as my hands move across the surface, and the pillows are stuffed to the brim, ready to explode.
Slipping my sneakers off, I hold on to the bed and tug off my socks one at a time. My feet sink into the plush carpet, and all I want to do is walk around shuffling my feet so I can feel the fibers tickle between my toes.
“Eleven minutes left!” he calls out, putting the focus back on what I should be doing, getting ready for dinner.
Finding the closet, I open the doors and see three dresses hanging there. I snatch the first one, because I don't really care what it looks like, I just don't want to lose this race.
Tearing off my clothes, I decide to wipe myself down so I don't stink like airplane air. Using a facecloth, I run it under warm water and quickly clean up.
Stepping into the dress, I pull it up over my hips and slide my arms into the
sleeves. The fabric is soft and luckily it's my favorite color—black. It seems like it will fit perfectly. The curves in the skirt wrap my hips tightly, the hem sits just beneath the dip of my ass.
I was never a dress kind of girl, but this dress is slowly changing my mind.
Reaching around, I grab the zipper and try to zip it up. It goes about two inches, but then I lose it.
Damn it.
Attempting to grab it again, I can't. No matter which way I try, I just can't stretch enough to get a hold of it.
Come on.
“One minute left!”
“That's not fair!” I yell back, spinning in a circle and trying to see the zipper in the mirror.
It's this damn monstrosity on my hand. Pulling the ring off my finger, I set it on the nightstand and try to reach the zipper again.
Fail. It doesn’t make a difference, ring or no ring, the zipper was becoming my enemy.
Bolt lets out a loud laugh as he speaks through the door. “Hey, you said it. This is your challenge.”
“Yeah, but you want me to wear a dress. I don't normally wear dresses, it's not my thing. I can't get the stupid zipper.”
“Need some help?”
“No,” I tell him, pulling on the bottom of the dress and trying to stretch it down in an attempt to reach the little metal tag.
“Are you sure? Because I don't mind.” His fingertips dance across the door one after the other, tapping it in succession. “To be fair, I won't even count it against you. I'll put minutes back on the clock and everything.”
“Seriously, this isn't fair. I think you rigged this dress.” Trying to peek behind myself to find the zipper, I drop my arms, and hang my head. I'm not even close. “Okay.” I don’t have a choice, there’s no way in hell I’ll ever be able to reach it, not without turning into a contortionist. And I've never been that flexible.
I hear the door creak open, but I stay facing the bed, twisting my head just enough to see his shape as he moves through the room in my peripheral vision. “I can't get this fucking thing.”
“I've got it, no worries.” His finger softly touches my shoulder as he untwists the strap. Adjusting the other strap so both are even, he starts to pull up the zipper. Bolt goes quiet, and I feel the tips of his fingers trace the top of my left shoulder. “You have goosebumps.”
The Convenient Wife Page 6