Oliver's POV
Dear Oliver,
As you read this, you are already aware of my cowardice and the level of reliability one can expect from me. I ran away.
In the quiet moments before my impulsive departure, I found myself immersed in images of my mother. The weight of her absence resurfaced, as it often does when facing monumental decisions. Fear gnawed at me over our impending union.
The bitter truth, Oliver, is that you're marrying me primarily for the sake of progeny, regardless of the uncertain fate that may or may not await you. This realization came too late, pressuring me into agreement for fear of being deemed a monster if I declined.
It's not that I'm ignorant of life's unpredictabilityâfar from it. I yearn for my children to have the privilege of both parents, though I am acutely aware that life's whims dictate otherwise. Nevertheless, I cannot bear the thought of willingly subjecting them to a life where they are robbed of the presence of at least one parent.
I didn't get to grow up with my mother; sadly, she left me when I was just three years old. Shortly after, my father remarried. The woman he married tried, but she could never fill my mother's place. A few years later, they came home with a bundle wrapped in a blanket. My father said it was my little sister, Jessie. She smiled a lot and broke everything she came across, and that's how she grew up. I faded away in my father's eyes, and she became his world despite her problematic nature. Sometimes, he even calls me by her name. I wanted to hate her so much, but oddly, she was easy to love.
I haven't seen her in years, and you have yet to meet her. If you do, you will hate and love her simultaneously. She is a hard equation to solve, like the combustion of hydrocarbons.
In her, I see a freedom I've never allowed myself to taste. As the perpetually obedient daughter, I've followed the script diligently, yet nothing seems to align in my favor.
I won't offer excuses, for I am not one to weave a tapestry of justification, only a candid admission of my shortcomings. The complexities of my emotions are inadequately expressed in this letter, but I hope you can discern the sincerity behind my words.
Sincerely,
Iris.
I fold the letter, a bitter smile playing on my lips. Honesty defines herâa trait I've always admired. In my mind, she was the ideal mother for my future children, even if the only trait they would inherit from me was a sense of humor.
As Jessie strolls past me, heading to my bed, I raise my head.
"What do you think you're doing?" I retort.
"We're supposed to consummate our union, my dearest," she flatly replies.
I stare at her, waiting for the "got you" moment that never arrives.
"I made myself clear about this sham marriage," I state.
"Yes, and I listened. However, that was your opinion, and I have mine." She smiles.
I feel my throat tighten, and I am forced to exhale.
She purses her lips and innocently touches her hair. Her curlsâmy weaknessâcascade freely, tempting my gaze.
Why did it have to be her?
"Enlighten me about your opinion," I sarcastically demand.
"You're my husband in here and out there," she asserts as she settles comfortably on the bed.
She still innocently plays with her hair. I look away.
"I was serious and meant what I said," I remind her.
"So did I," she replies, her eyes fixed on me.
If she isn't blushing, her stare can be powerful enough to bring down the strongest.
"Fine. You can have the room," I concede.
She laughs mockingly.
"You're not going anywhere. We're sharing this bed," she declares, catching me off guard.
As her employer, she rarely defies my ordersâexcept for that one time she discovered the body.
But now, in this situation, I have no idea of my power over her.
"What are you going to do?" I huff, knowing I'm physically stronger. She can't tie me to the bed... or can she? The idea lingers briefly.
"You value your privacy, as do my parents. If you leave, I'll create a spectacle for the workers that you couldn't 'rise to the occasion,' and you can guess tomorrow's headline," she threatens.
Does she know? I can now understand Iris's sentiment about Jessie being easy to hate.
"Why do you insist on staying married to me?" I inquire.
Jessie smirks, settling into the pillows.
"Maybe I just enjoy the perks of being a Cooper."
I exhale, feeling a mix of confusion and irritation.
"Is this some kind of sympathy-for-the-dying-man act?" I finally blurt out. "Are you with me because you think I'm sick... dying?"
Jessie's lips curl into a half-smile.
"Maybe I just find dying men irresistible," she teases, avoiding a direct answer.
I shake my head, frustrated.
"This must be about money. The black sheep being paid off by her parents to marry a sick man," I say, and I watch her expression turn to anger.
I should stop, but I can't.
"How much? I can double it for you to stay out of my life," I add.
Jessie meets my gaze head-on.
"Is that what you think of me?"
"It's a questionâhow much?" I retort, trying to maintain composure.
"I'm here because we made a deal, remember? An arrangement. Besides, if I wanted to be with a dying man for his money, I'd have found a wealthier one." She now seems angry.
"I made an agreement with your sister," I remind her.
"And where is she?" she dares.
"You tell me. Your family deceived me."
"You could have left," she counters.
"I tried, your father..." I stop when I realize what I was about to say. I sigh, tired of explaining.
"Some things aren't as simple as they seem," I say instead.
She smirks, settling back into the bed.
"Fine. Now, are you getting in or not? It's a big bed, plenty of room for two." She lifts her head again.
"Or do you still sleep on the floor as long as we are in the same room?" she adds, settling back again.
I shake my head, both amused and exasperated.
"This marriage of ours is going to be the death of me."
Jessie grins.
"And I will cry the loudest at your funeral."
Somehow, her dark humor calms me. I am sick, and I don't want pity, and I am glad when she doesn't offer it.
And with that, I reluctantly join her in the bed.
"Satisfied now?" I ask.
"A kiss will seal the deal," she says, and it takes me a moment to realize she is only teasing me as she turns her back to sleep.
I watch her body rise and fall as she sleeps, and I can't explain the emotions I am experiencing. She is fully dressed, yet she made it seem like she had come to consummate our union. Not that I want toâjust confused by her words contradicting her actions.
I settle on my side of the bed, ensuring a safe distance between us. Not how I envisioned my wedding night. I should have listened to Cara and married for love.