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“Good thing I come from old money and I’m rich enough to outshine a few countries’ GDP.”
“I’ll drive you crazy.”
“Nothing new there.”
“I don’t like you.”
“That’s because you love me.”
“In your damn dreams. I’m way out of your league.”
“I can rope you back in if I choose to.”
I’m fuming. My fingers tingle with the need to throw the phone at his stupidly gorgeous face and ruin it once and for all.
“Are we done?” he asks in a bored tone.
“No. I still don’t understand why this marriage happened.”
“Because it’s beneficial for both of us. Now quit the pointless dramatics.”
“In…what sense is it beneficial for both of us?”
He releases an exasperated sigh. “I needed a wife for my image and you needed a husband to safely leave your parents' orbit and hide your self-destructive nature, reckless behavior, and alarming mental breakdowns. Does that answer your question?”
He jerks the phone from my slack fingers as I stare at him, speechless.
A hollow, bitter taste sinks to the bottom of my stomach and nausea climbs up my throat.
I knew things didn’t add up, but I hadn’t thought I’d make a deal with the devil to put a stop to the ticking bomb in my head.
My marriage, just like my life, is one big embarrassing sham.
The restof the drive is spent in tense silence. Eli never looks up from his stupid phone and I look at everything but him.
The familiar yet strange London streets. The driver and the assistant, who I realized belatedly probably heard everything, including my humiliating realization of what went down in my life.
Two years later and it’s still the same mess from my last year at uni.
According to Cecy and Ari, I married Eli the summer of my graduation and haven’t done much since.
It was their way of insinuating that I’m still the fuck-up I remember. I haven’t participated in any competitions since the one I ran offstage from. Haven’t gotten any contracts or invitations to any orchestras or even events. I simply withdrew from the music scene as quietly as a dwindling star.
And just like that, I set my talent on fire and drowned in copious amounts of alcohol as it turned into a huge rubbish can.
Brilliant.
Apparently, I still play sometimes, but what’s the point if I’m my only audience?
I’m on autopilot when the car stops and my door is opened. I step onto the property’s asphalt entrance, and my Jimmy Choo heels release a squeak when I come to an abrupt halt.
The grand Edwardian building sitting in front of me looks imposing with its signature brick structure and massive windows, surrounded by a vast garden and a greenhouse decorated with multiple pink indoor plants.
But that’s not what makes me halt in my tracks. I swear I saw this house in my dreams once. Down to the gorgeous pink greenhouse.
However, I’ve never been here before. I mean, I don’t remember the last two years, so I was here before, but I forgot. Is that why it feels familiar?
“I assume the house gets your stamp of approval.”
