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“No. I need something to take the edge off. Do you understand what you’re asking me to do?”
“More than understand. I won’t take our marriage lightly. In public, you’ll be treated as a wife should be, with respect and love.”
“And in private?”
“You’ll have your own room, and you’ll be free to do what you like.”
“How long will our marriage last?”
“Eighteen months. We’ll part ways amicably, and you’ll walk away with what we agreed upon.”
“Which is?”
“Money and whatever gifts I buy you during our time together.”
“This is crazy.” I yank the bottle out of the ice, the dripping cold water splashing on my knee, and began to work at the molded gold foil around the cork. Foster rose from his seat and held out his hand.
“Let me do it.”
He expertly opens the bottle, pulling off the cork with a loud pop. My stomach churns, and the pizza isn’t sitting well. Foster fills my glass halfway, and I immediately snatch it from the table to drain it.
Standing over me, his green eyes narrow into slits, and his dark eyebrows knit together.
“You’re upset.”
“Christ, Foster, how can I be anything but?”
“You do realize that until we make an announcement, I’m still Mr. Black at work.”
Bile and pizza push their way up my throat, and I quickly turn and bend over, expelling my lunch onto the bluestone patio at my feet. I feel Foster gather my hair, holding it as another blast exploded from my mouth. Tears stream out of my eyes, and my nose burns by the time I finish. I reach over to feel around for my cloth napkin, which Foster hands me.
“I’m sorry. This is too much for you. You’re not the right woman. I made a mistake.”
“Don’t you speak for me.”
“Let me take you home.”
“I need to clean up, or my brother will wonder what happened.”
“Ah, yes, Zane Butler.”
I wipe my nose, mouth, and eyes with the napkin. The stench at my feet was unbearable, so I rose to get away, aided by Foster. He led me to the hall bath.
“There’s mouthwash in the closet next to the vanity and new toothbrushes in the drawer if you need them. I’ll wait for you.”
“Thank you.”
He closes the door, and I place my hands on the vanity to steady myself. I was glad I didn’t have time to apply much makeup, or it would’ve been a mess. As shitty as I feel, I am curious. I open the large glass shower stall, noticing how it has three shower heads and a steam setting. I wonder if I married Foster, would I get to live here? The idea is intriguing, but I am a romantic only interested in marrying for love.
From the time I was in my early teens, I devoured romance novels with happy endings. My parents were still married after almost forty years together. Zane and Lana were so ridiculously in love that I was sure they would be married for the rest of their lives. If I married Foster, there wouldn’t be a happy ending because it would end in divorce as per the contract. I would be the family disappointment.
What would I do after my divorce from Foster? I would be nearing my twenty-eighth birthday. Most of my friends are already married or engaged and starting families. I would be starting over. And what of the emotional toll? To know I had a husband without intimacy. Could I handle it all?
When I grasp the brass handle of the door, Foster startles me by pushing it open.
His face was tight with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’d like to go home.”
