The Convenient Wife

by Wylder, Penny

  “There's no way you can know that for sure. She's not one of us, Bolt. She's a poor little girl from the Village, with a father who looks out from behind metal bars. She's a girl with no opportunity in life and no future. She saw you and latched onto you like a damn leach. She's using you, Bolt, that's what these types of girls do. They use blind men to move up in the world.”

  “She's not. Just because her father made bad choices and ended up in jail, doesn't mean Starla is beneath us. You have no right to judge her. You're not even giving her a chance.” My voice is stern, causing him to jerk his head back in surprise.

  Starla isn't using me for shit. I'm the user, I've been the one using her this entire time.

  My inner teenager is crawling up my throat, trying to escape and lash out at the man who has challenged me my entire life. I don't tell him the truth, even though it's right there, sitting on the tip of my tongue, ready to prove him wrong.

  “Did you knock her up then? Is she pregnant?”

  “What?” My jaw drops open as I shake my head. “No—she's not pregnant.”

  Furrowing his brows, he tilts his head. “Then what is it, Bolt, what do you see in this girl?”

  What isn't there to see?

  She's beautiful, she's smart, she's funny. The girl knows her whiskey, and she takes pride in making it too.

  She's special.

  She's mine… And that's how I want it to stay.

  Exhaling a long breath, I rake a hand across the top of my head. I'm not sure how to answer him because everything I want to say are things I'm still trying to figure out for myself.

  My father sees her as a user, like a parasite that's trying to suck me dry. Only I know better, I've gotten to know her, not the person he wants to portray her as.

  It was too easy for him to see her shell. My father only saw the things he wanted to. He was throwing up a wall before seeing what was on the other side.

  She never stood a chance and you know it.

  “I love her, that's all that matters. Not who she is, not where she came from. I love her.”

  The words come out of my mouth and I feel them in my body, in my muscles, in my nerves. I feel them all over my body, as if they suddenly became the only thing I needed to live.

  Oh my God. . . I love her.

  “You don't know what it takes to love someone, Bolt.” Clenching his jaw, he grinds his teeth. “She doesn't belong here. We both know that.”

  “Says who—you?—or everyone else that's looking in from the outside?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “All you ever cared about is what everyone else thinks. Maybe you wouldn't be such a miserable prick if you made a decision on your own for once, and not base it off what it looks like to everyone else.”

  Crooking his jaw, my father's eyes turn to pinpricks. His fists are balled at his side, and I stand my ground, waiting to take whatever it is he's going to throw at me. I expect him to curse at me, to order me to leave her, to demand that I end it right here and now. He even has this flame in his eyes that makes me wonder if he is going to swing at me.

  We are both silent, staring each other down, the energy between us so thick you could cut it with a knife. I’m not backing down, not this time.

  “Well?” I ask, my arms open, exposing my chest. Leaning in, I'm almost taunting him to hit me. My chin is out, my eyes are slits. “Come on, say what you have to say.”

  “Excuse me,” a man cuts in, disrupting the toxicity that's building between us. “Mr. Sheckler, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we really need you in here.” Holding a clipboard, he moves his eyes to the paper and starts to run his pen from top to bottom. “Your wife made a few changes and I'm not sure where to put the ice sculpture or the sushi bar.”

  Nodding his head, my father lifts up his hand, signaling he'll be on his way. “We'll finish this little discussion later, but don't think for a second we're done.”

  Turning his back to me, he flips his fingers at the man to go back into the room and starts for the doors. He never looks back at me. He never tells me exactly what he wants from me. He never comes right out and says it.

  I know the next time I see him he'll tell me what he wants. He’s going to tell me to divorce her. He’s going to expect me to never mention her name again, and hope we can get out as quietly as possible.

  What he doesn’t know is that I already have an answer for him.

  And he isn’t going to like it.

  13

  Starla

  Rolling onto my back, the sun warms my face and it feels good. From my chair at the pool, I can see the ocean, and feel the salty air as it blows across my cheeks. My skin is sticky from sweat, causing the salt to coat my body like grains of sand.

  Grabbing my bottle of sunscreen, I squeeze some into my palm and start to rub it over my legs. The salt is rough against my fingers as I massage the lotion in circles until it's gone.

  The pool isn't too busy yet, there are a few people, but most of them are walking through and heading for the beach. I'm enjoying the private pool all to myself, so I decide to stay right where I am. It's quiet and peaceful, the seagulls are singing as they soar high above my head, and the way the waves hit the shore with a calming whoosh makes me relax easily into the white lounge chair.

  Everything around me is crisp white, from the chairs to the tables to the long flowing sheer scarfs that dress canopies by the doors.

  The wind whips across my face, blowing hair in front of my eyes. With the edge of my nails, I peel the strands away that are stuck to my cheek and forehead, pushing them back behind my ear.

  I hope it doesn't take Bolt too long.

  Digging around in my bag, I check the time on my phone. Bolt promised to join me once he's done helping his father, I just don't know how long it'll take. I can't imagine it being all morning, because it doesn't seem like his father is the type of man to do anything for himself. I'm sure he has a team of people doing everything for him while he walks through, giving orders and pointing out what they've done wrong.

  Stretching my legs, I lay back and put on my sunglasses. Pulling a book out of my bag, I start to open it up when I see Yale wandering through the outside deck area.

  He looks confused, maybe even a little lost, so I drop my book into the bag and stand up. “Yale!” I call out, waving my arm wildly.

  Placing a hand over the top of his eyes, he squints through the bright sun. I see the recognition on his face as he gives me a light wave and heads in my direction.

  Slipping my feet into my sandals, I walk around the pool to meet him. “Hey, Yale, you look lost.” Setting my hands on my hips, I turn my back to the sun so I can see his face.

  “Not lost, I'm looking for Vincent. I have the seating arrangement for tonight, and I can't find him or Claudette anywhere.”

  “Oh, Bolt's meeting with him right now. He's supposed to come here when he's done, so they're probably still together, maybe in the banquet hall?”

  “Great, thanks,” he says quickly, then turns to leave.

  “Actually—” Reaching out, I grab his arm at the elbow, causing him to sway slightly. “Can I talk to you for a minute first?”

  “Yeah, but make it quick, we're down to the wire for tonight.”

  “It won't take long.” Taking in a slow breath, I exhale and ask, “I'm just wondering why you said that about me to Bolt's parents?”

  “Said what?”

  “That I was the intern, and that I grew up in Crest Village.”

  “They asked.” His lips turn up as his eyes settle on mine. “And it is the truth, I don't see what the issue is.” His voice is nothing but fact, like he filled in the blanks to some questionnaire.

  “Yeah, but that's not the point. It wasn't your place to tell them any of that. The way his father looked at me after, it hurt. That wasn't how I pictured it going at all.”

  “Yeah, so?” Yale cocks his head, his face flat and emotionless.

  “Yeah so? How c
an you say that? It was the first time I ever met his parents. I wanted to make a good impression, I wanted them to like me. But after you told them—I don't know, they just looked at me like I was beneath them. Both of them stared at me like I crawled out of a garbage can.”

  “Starla,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue like he has a bad taste in his mouth. “This marriage is fake. You do remember that, right?” Arching a brow, he lets his head tip from one shoulder to the other. “None of this is real. You're not Bolt's wife. You never were Bolt's wife, you'll never be Bolt's wife, it's as simple as that.”

  Hearing the words sends a sharp pain through my heart. I know he’s right, I guess I lost sight of what I was doing, and I was playing the part maybe a little too well. But that doesn’t mean I want to be embarrassed in front of Bolt's parents or feel like a piece of shit.

  Couldn't I pretend to be some wealthy princess from a royal family? Couldn't I create a version of myself that would hold up to their standards?

  Why couldn't they just get to know me, the real person and nothing else. It shouldn't matter where I come from, how much or how little I have. All his parents should care about is how I treat their son.

  “Yes, I know, I just. . .” Pausing, I let my arms fall loosely by my side. “I just wanted them to like me. I don't know, it might sound dumb, but I wanted them to accept me.”

  I don't know why them liking me feels important, but it does. Bolt has become a major part of my life, whether I want him to or not. This fake marriage has led to real feelings, real emotions, real need. And I'm not sure how to shut them off.

  They're there, twirling in my belly like a hoard of locusts, making me smile from the inside out. I feel warm and fuzzy when Bolt walks into a room or touches me. His kisses burn my skin, leaving a mark I can still feel hours later.

  If this is all pretend, then I should win an award, because it feels real to me.

  Reaching out, he grips my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Don't worry, this is all part of the plan, Starla.”

  What the hell is he talking about?

  Plan? No one told me about a plan.

  Jerking my arm away, I take a step back. “What plan? What the hell are you talking about, a plan for what?”

  I know this is all fake, but there's a plan?

  Yale says it like I should know, like I'm inside the same circle and know what the hell he's talking about. I don't.

  All I know is what Bolt told me, and that only included me pretending to be his wife. There were no other instructions or expectations, just me on his arm as his wife.

  There's more?

  Yale's quiet, flirting a smirk across his face. “Are you serious right now?”

  “What plan are you talking about?” My voice is curt, my eyes dead set on his. “I want the truth. What do you know that I don't?”

  His smile thickens as a pleased look sweeps across his face. He's happy to tell me the details, to let me in on the little secret he knows and I don’t.

  “The only reason Bolt asked you to do any of this was to embarrass his father, that's why he chose you. This fake marriage is just to humiliate Vincent. That's your real role here.”

  “What?” My voice cracks as tears bubble over my eyes. I'm doing everything I can to hold them back because I really don't want to cry in front of him. “He used me to embarrass his father?”

  Yale lets out a chuckle and opens his eyes wide. “Are you kidding me? You really thought his parents would accept you?” Snickering, he shakes his head as if I should have known all this to begin with. “You're not one of them, you'll never be one of them. You would never be accepted by his parents, not ever. They're wealthy from the North Side, you're a low level girl from the Village. It would never work; you have to know that.”

  It feels like my heart is being torn out from inside my chest and stomped into the concrete. I can't breathe. It stings every time I try to take in air, and feels like I'm inhaling hot needles. “I don't believe you. You're lying. Why would he use me like that?”

  “Starla, honey,” Yale says, making his voice pronounced and clear. “Vincent wants something Bolt doesn't, and he's using money to get it. Bolt played his little game, he picked a girl his father would hate, a girl who is better kept a secret than become a name in the family. He chose you, a blue collar girl, from a blue collar family, with blue collar money. Bolt's father is going to demand you guys get a divorce. Shit, he's probably telling Bolt that right now. And when he does, Bolt can use this whole thing to keep his money, keep the business, and stay single. It's a win win.”

  Tears start to roll down my cheeks, and there's nothing I can do to stop them. I feel stupid and used. I should have seen this; I should have known that there was more to this scam than just a simple pretend marriage.

  And I was stupid enough to think Bolt actually liked me. I thought he respected me. I thought we fit together perfectly.

  I was wrong.

  Was everything between us just an act?

  The laughs, the smiles, the sex? Was it all as fake as our marriage?

  Bolt took who he thought I was and twisted it to manipulate his own father. The thought makes me sick. It makes me hate everything about him. I resent sharing one piece of my life with that jerk. How could I be so stupid to let him this close to me?

  I took down my walls. I brought him home, into my world, to meet the people I loved and cherished. I opened my heart.

  I fucked up.

  “I can't believe I didn't see this. I thought there was something between us.”

  Yale fiddles with the paper in his hand, his eyes softening. “You didn't stand a chance from the beginning. This was never going to go anywhere. He's not a kept man, sweetheart, and he never will be.”

  Tears are slipping freely over my cheeks, the cement around my feet is spotted in tiny droplets. I know once I move the sun will hit my fallen tears and dry them instantly. A part of me wants to watch them disappear, hoping that if I see the sun erase them, everything I feel inside will vanish too.

  But I know that won't happen. The sun can't reach the tangled web of pain clenching my stomach and suffocating my lungs. Staring down at the deep gray plops, my legs are trembling and my hands are shaking.

  I want to go home. This was a mistake.

  I'm a fucking idiot.

  “Bolt would never actually marry a girl like you. You have nothing to offer him.” The last few words come out of his mouth for no other reason than to insult me. The twitch at the corner of his lip, the way his lids crinkle into the smirk creeping up his face, it infuriates me instantly.

  Before I can stop myself, I slap Yale across the face with an open palm. Shaking my head, I wipe my eyes and try to pull myself together. “Fuck you, Yale, and fuck this family.” Walking swiftly back to my chair, I stuff my towel into my bag, and throw it over my shoulder. “I'm fucking done with this shit.”

  I’m not going to stay here and be made to look like a fool. Bolt might have had a plan, but this little game wasn't in mine.

  I'm not a fucking idiot and I won't let any man make me feel like one. Storming off to the room, I lock the top latch so Bolt can't walk in. I don't want to see him. I don't want to be near him.

  He doesn't deserve another second of my time. I don't even want to share the same air as him anymore. As far as I'm concerned, he can go fuck himself.

  Bolt had no right to judge me, who I was, or where I came from. My family has worked hard for everything they have, and they deserve to be proud of it.

  If he wants a girl his father will hate, he'll have to find another one, because I'm out.

  I won't walk with my head down because of where I came from. I walk with my head held high because of who I am.

  His wealth means nothing to me. I deserve better.

  Because I'm worth it.

  14

  Bolt

  “Starla, let me in. The door's locked, I can't get in.” Pushing on the handle, the door won't open more than an inc
h. I can see the metal lock is flipped on the inside, but I have no idea why.

  Is she in the shower?

  Knocking again, I stick my face against the thin opening and call to her. “Starla! Let me in.”

  Silence.

  “Starla!” Pressing my ear against the door, I listen to see if the shower is going.

  Silence.

  “Starla, come on, I'm starting to freak out, talk to me.”

  The worst things start to run through my head. She's hurt, someone broke in and they're doing horrible things to her, she's dea—

  No, stop thinking like that.

  “Star—” I start to say when I'm suddenly cut off.

  “Fuck you and fuck off! How's that? Can you hear me now?”

  Sucking in a ragged breath, I crinkle my brows. She's pissed, I can't imagine why, but a sense of relief washes over me knowing she's all right.

  “What's wrong? What happened?” Slapping the outside of the door again, I wriggle it back and forth. “Can you just let me in? Let's talk about this inside. Come on, babe, let me in.”

  “How about no. No, I'm not letting you in. No, I don't want to talk to you. I already told you, you can fuck off.” She's holding back, her voice coming out through gritted teeth. Starla wants to yell, but she doesn't. “And I'm not your fucking babe.”

  She attempts to shut the door, so I push my hand against it so she can't. “What's going on? Why are you so pissed at me? What did I do?”

  “Just leave me alone, Bolt, I don't want to talk to you.”

  What's wrong with her?

  “Are you upset that it took all morning with my dad? I'm sorry, I didn't know—”

  The door whips open suddenly and Starla stands in front of me with a handful of clothes. Throwing them into the hall, she thins her lids and flares her nostrils. “Go fuck yourself, Bolt, seriously. I can't even look at you right now. You know what you did, don't play dumb.”