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Moving away from the woman who seemed about to follow me, I grabbed an empty spot in the back next to an elderly woman whose card was nearly full.
My phone began to vibrate in my pocket. Scanning the screen, I found it was an email coming in from Ms. May.
“Sonny boy, you’ve got B10,” the lady next to me said and slid a red counter over the card for me.
“Thanks,” I nodded.
She grinned. “You’re right handsome.”
Oh my fucking God, I’ve got to find…
My thoughts trailed off as I scanned the email. Ms. May was a persistent one, I’d give her that much for sure.
Mr. Tankaka….Wife for Hire has submitted five more potential brides for your consideration. Please review the attachments. Have a good night and remember to trust the process.
I never made it through the other attachments.
Her.
I wanted her.
She was beautiful with curly blonde hair that made her tawny-colored skin-pop. Her eyes seemed shy and slightly scared.
There was nothing I could do to fight the immediate attraction.
If I was going to be married to a stranger, at the very least I needed to be attracted to them.
“Trust the process,” I murmured to myself.
HALO
A real string of pearls was nestled inside a red velvet box staring back at me. Leaning down, I inspected each one as they glimmered softly in the light of the dingy apartment I rented. They’d come by courier around an hour ago. There had been no note, just my name on the brown parcel.
Emotion flooded me when I imagined them wrapped around my neck in the next few hours. They would add so much more elegance to go along with the beautiful dress that my future husband had purchased as well.
Already he’d been so generous to me, and I wanted to cry.
I owed everything to Ms. May.
I’d been having a shitty day at the dinner. The day had started with my car barely wanting to start; I’d had to get my creepy neighbor Jacob to jump it. That had caused me to be late and I was already on a warning from my boss Peter. On top of that, I’d stepped in a puddle and my shoes were soggy.
As the only server in the Peach Pit that day, I cleaned up the last few tables, eager for my tips.
Instead of a tip, the man I’d served had left a message. Defeat began to bloom inside my chest, running down the tips of my fingers as I held up the receipt.
‘I’m not tipping no half breed that smells like hog shit’… the crappy handwriting had stated.
That’d done it.
Hot tears had begun to run down my face because I needed to pay my rent just like anyone else. All I was trying to do was make ends meet and just survive. The diner didn’t pay hardly anything but some days the tips helped out.
“Pretty girls like you shouldn’t cry,” she murmured.
“Huh?” I’d asked dabbing at my eye, remembering where I was and trying to compose myself.
Most customers became a blur of faces and bank cards mixed in with hints of apple pie and coffee.
Her face had been warm enough, but she had strangely piercing eyes. “Go and clean yourself up and then come back and talk to me,”
