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“Ah.” He smirks. “That’s clever actually.”
“Thanks.” I smirk back. “I thought so too.”
“So yeah, again this is your room. You are free to do with it whatever you please. As for the payment, the money in the full amount will be wired to a trust in your name that you will be given full access to with zero strings attached the second it’s one year and one day after our wedding.”
“Only one day after?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“It’s a pretty small window. What if there’s some hang-up or whatever with you gaining access to the shares of your company from that trust?”
He steps toward me, that rare side of him peeking through again. “Why? Did you say something to Matilda?”
“What? No.” I shake my head back and forth rapidly. “I swear.” I hold up my hand for some weird reason. “I didn’t mean like that. I just didn’t know how quickly things like that work, if you’d be given the shares at the same time.”
His expression softens. “Sorry, I understand what you’re saying and no, there shouldn’t be any issues. It’s simply a matter of paperwork. Now as for your life, it will be completely financed by me. You will have a brand-new car, whatever kind you want.” He waves his hand casually like he’s just offered me a snack size of my favorite candy. “Trips, food, clothes, all expenses will be covered as well as an allowance that is not part of the five million lump sum.”
“An allowance?” I don’t even pretend to hide the smile on my face. “Like spending money?”
“Yes.” He reaches out and brushes my hair away from my face. “As my wife, you will not work. I will provide for you.” My heart flutters and my stomach does that drop thing. It’s these moments, these tender, flirty moments that confuse me with him. I know he wants us to be in the habit of making this seem genuine, but it’s confusing. I want to ask if any of it’s real, if him denying himself being with me is truly because he doesn’t want a relationship or if it’s because of it turning into something real. “You are my responsibility.”
“Four romantic words every woman wants to hear.” I giggle and it makes him laugh too. We’re standing close again. Somehow our bodies have managed to move, although I don’t remember either of us taking any steps. It’s like gravity wants to pull us together. His eyes stare into mine. I feel my lips part and I want so badly for him to just give in. I can see it in the quickening of his pulse at the base of his throat. He wants to.
“And lastly, after this, I promise to leave you to your evening.” The moment is gone, disappearing as fast as a warm breath on a cold night. “As I’ve mentioned previously, there will be no sexual relationship between us.”
“Okay.” I shrug, nodding my head.
“You also cannot have any physical or sexual relationships with any other men or go on any dates.”
“Yeah, I understand.” I say, a touch annoyed at the amount of times he’s going to drill this into my head.
“Good.” He stands there briefly, then turns. “On that note, I’ll?—”
“What’s the difference between a physical or sexual relationship?” I ask, confused at the way he worded it. Is he saying I can’t even hug a male friend?
He turns back to me. “A physical relationship meaning you and I will have to have some sort of physical relationship in public; all couples do, but you and I won’t fuck.”
I flinch at the bluntness of his candor. The way he talks about fucking me or us fucking isn’t something I’m used to being said so casually. It’s exciting and feels a touch naughty, but every time I hear him say it, it’s like a lightning bolt straight to my clit. I imagine him saying it to me while he’s thrusting inside me, his voice thick with desire as he tells me all he’s thought about today was fucking me.
“Right, totally, I get it,” I say nonsensically, completely flustered. A few beads of sweat break out across my upper lip and I wipe at it nervously.
“With that, I’m going to head back to my office to get some more work done. If you need anything, just text me.”
I wave at him like a complete idiot, dropping my hand down as soon as he exits the room. I face the mirror, leaning forward as I place my palms flat atop the cold marble. I breathe, leveling my eyes at myself in the mirror.
“You have a year of living with him; you have to get it together.”
His comment about how he and I would have a physical relationship takes over my brain. What does that mean? Hold hands? Hugging? Kissing? Oh my God, will he kiss me?
I feel like a silly teenager, lying in my bed on a Thursday night, looking at my crush’s social media profile and imagining that he’d ask me to the prom. I laugh, shaking my head at how ridiculous and dramatic I’m being.
“It’s a crush, a stupid crush that you’ll get over,” I say. Besides, he’s a man; he’s bound to screw up bad enough to piss me off and make me annoyed with him at least once a week so that will help.
I spend the next hour on my phone, looking at ways to brighten up this room. I take my time scrolling through social media, letting myself spend more time on it than normal since I literally have nothing to do. I can’t call Matilda; she’ll wonder why I’m not spending time with Atlas since she knows I’m at his house. I flip back to YouTube, watching several videos about how to build a business, how to run and own a business, and a few on my favorite jazz artists.
It’s nearing nine, so I reach for the remote next to the bed and flip on the TV. There’s not only cable and satellite but every possible streaming service you could imagine. There’s even access to movies that are in theaters, not yet released.
I jump out of bed, stretch, and decide to go find Atlas. I walk down the long hallway, getting turned around twice before finding the stairs. I hear his voice as I walk down the hallway toward his office; it’s quiet like he’s half whispering. When I reach his door, it’s propped open, and I knock. I hear him say something and then a quick goodbye.
