The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 17

Even though it makes more sense for me to go directly to my father’s house from the office and have the driver bring Lareina, I make a detour to stop by my place. I want to check on her and make sure she’s going to be presentable. Part of me would like to believe she’ll behave, but my luck with women hasn’t exactly been great. Furthermore, given her eccentric behavior, it’s an open question as to what she’ll find acceptable for the dinner.

Although it’s technically a “family” dinner, dressing too casually would be awkward. Dad, Aunt Jeremiah and my brothers will show up in suits because they’re coming directly from work. Grandmother will put on whatever dress managed to catch her fancy on her latest shopping spree. Akiko will pick either a dress or a kimono, depending on how she’s feeling. If she goes for a kimono, it means ultra-formal and fancy. Dad told me he was pretty certain she’ll spring for a new kimono she’s been dying to wear.

Besides, even if I wasn’t worried about Lareina’s choice of clothing, I need to see her to give her the new wedding bands from Sebastian Jewelry I picked out in case the ones she got are unsuitable. My family will never believe we’re married if they see our current cheap crap. Vegas, the city of fake Sinatras and fake gold. Even if we eloped and had no choice at the time, The Fogeys would expect me to replace them as soon as possible.

I walk inside and spot a little purse on the kitchen counter. Must be what my wife picked out. Cute. It suits her.

I go to the living room to snoop a bit and see if she’s spent most of her day sorting through what the personal shopper brought. Five or six half-open boxes litter the floor, and a few dresses lie limply over the backs of sofas. My personal shopper brought colorful items, it seems. He’s been trying to get me to expand my color palette. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m putting on a salmon-colored dress shirt, even if it was hand-stitched in Italy.

“Lareina, I’m home,” I call out, then suddenly stop. That sounded a little too domestic. It’s unsettling how naturally the words rolled from my mouth.

Footsteps come from the staircase. I turn, and my breath catches at the sight of her descending the steps. She looks like an angel. Her unbound hair flows down her back like a golden waterfall. The makeup on her face is light, making her look younger than her twenty-nine years. When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she spreads her arms and twirls like a pirouetting fairy. The hem of her teal dress spreads out. “How do I look?” She gazes at me, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Beautiful.”

“Thanks!” She flushes, then hesitates for a second. “You look very nice, too.”

What’s the indecisiveness about? Since she tends to be blunter than not, I doubt she was trying to lie about how I really look. “Thank you.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a velvet box. “Here. I got us rings.” I pop open the lid, showing her a pair of matching bands. They’re classy with small diamonds dotting the platinum.

Lareina leans forward to study them, both excited and dismayed. “They’re so pretty. I didn’t realize you were going to get rings. I bought some this afternoon.” She looks up at me. “Do you think we can send them back?”

“Which ones do you want to send back?”

“Yours.” Her answer is prompt. “Not because there’s anything wrong with them,” she hastily adds, “but I just like mine a little bit better.”

“Let me see,” I say. Although I want to tell her it’s my job as a husband to provide the rings, I want to see what she bought. She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a box with a discreet Peery Diamonds logo on it. At least whatever’s inside is going to be high quality.

She opens the lid and presents a set. “Here. What do you think?”

The rings, glinting against dark velvet, make my pulse skitter. The platinum bands are classic, like the ones I bought, but they feature exquisite, radiant-cut sapphires that seem to sparkle with their own inner fire. The blue is deeply saturated, and the shade reminds me of my mother’s eyes and sends a small chill down my spine. Hiding my reaction, I force a smile, not wanting to upset Lareina. “They’re beautiful,” I murmur. “But why sapphires?” Can we get different stones?

“Not just any sapphires, but these. They’re the exact shade of your eyes. I just had to get them.”

I go still.

She smiles up at me. “You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. The shape, color, intensity—everything about them is divine. It must’ve been fate at work for us to meet and get married in Vegas the way we did—so unlikely and far-fetched but real.” Her cheeks flush with shyness, but she doesn’t look away.

I gaze deeply into her eyes—what she said about mine is exactly how I feel about hers. Her face shines with sincerity, not a hint of sarcasm or deception.

My lingering doubts about her true intentions quiet down. If she were somebody Mom sent, she’d never comment on my eyes. Mom has to have learned how much I despise them for looking like hers—her father Vincent came to see me at the hospital after the fire and remarked how my eyes look just like Mom’s, as though that would soften me toward her. My reply was That’s why I hate them.

“I know it sounds selfish. I mean, I doubt thinking about your eyes does anything for you, but if you don’t mind… I’d love it if we could wear them,” Lareina says.

When she asks like that, my heart feels funny and I can’t say no. I also wonder what else she sees when she looks at me. Or is she like this because she has no clue about my reputation? “Jerk” is one of the kinder word people use to describe me. “Yes. That’d be fine.”

“Great!” All the anxious trepidation gone, her smile grows brighter. She pulls the old ring off my finger and replaces it with the band from Peery. The size is just right. Either she checked before leaving or she has a great eye.

She does the same with herself and lifts her hand to admire the ring. “Wow. It looks even better on my finger.” Her gaze softens as she gently caresses the blue stones.

Something hot and unbearably sweet clutches my heart and spreads through my body. It’s like lust, but more intense and honeyed. A hand at the small of her back, I pull her to me until she bumps against me. Surprise flickers in her lovely blue and green eyes. A gasp tears from her parted mouth, and I slant mine over it. Her fingers thread into my hair as she welcomes me. The addictive fragrance of lemon and woman suffuses my senses, her warmth enveloping me.

Our tongues dance, and she clutches my head tightly, accepting my passion and taking what she wants from me.

Mine, mine, mine, my heart booms as it races faster. My turgid cock pushes against the confining fabric of my slacks. I trace the gentle slope of her back, then cup her taut ass and squeeze, drawing her in until she can feel my hardness.

Her breathing roughens; her fingers dig into my shoulders. Tremors run through her, and she moves clumsily against me, wanting more but unsure how to get it. And I want to give her the world.

My cock pulses against her warmth. She kisses me deeper, and our mouths fuse as though we’ll never stop kissing.

I don’t ever want to quit her. I maneuver us so she’s pressed against the wall. She wraps an arm around my pelvis, and I instinctively stroke the taut, bare flesh of her thigh, loving the way she shakes for me.

She throws her head back, her lips wet and swollen. “Ares.” Her voice is thready.

“Baby, my angel.” I drop kisses on her smooth neck, where the pulse beats wildly.

A moan. “Don’t stop.”

I nip her neck. A shudder rips through her; her back arches. I cup her breast and watch her eyes glaze with need.

My phone pings. I ignore it and return to her breast and kissing her senseless. It pings again. A tension that has nothing to do with sex seeps through her.

“Dinner,” she rasps breathlessly.

“Later,” I say, not wanting this to end.

“But your family—”

Fuck. If we don’t show up, The Fogeys will never let me hear the end of it. Especially since I boasted that I could find a wife within a month—everyone will join forces to deny me my promotion.

Pulling away from Lareina is actually painful. Now I understand why dogs look at you with such balefulness when they think they’re going to get a treat but end up with nothing.

You’re not a dog. You’re a man in full control of his faculties.

Except that when I’m with my wife, I don’t seem to have that control. Nor do I feel emotionally settled. Everything about her puts me off kilter. From the very moment she jumped onto my hotel balcony, she was disruptive.

If she’s experiencing half the emotions I am, it’s no wonder she thinks there’s some kind of divine meddling involved in our relationship. I don’t believe in destiny, but I can understand.

I pull out my phone and glare at the alert for the family dinner. Dad’s assistant probably had it put into my calendar. Given my workaholic tendencies, Dad instructs his own assistant to ensure I show up when he needs to avoid disappointing Akiko.

My parents’ house isn’t too far. They upgraded decades ago for more space and better security. Part of it had to do with me. I needed to be with someone at all times for a few months, so they hired bodyguards. But after a few months, I couldn’t be around anybody without feeling suffocated, including bodyguards. They were still around for my safety—I knew Dad and Grandmother wouldn’t dare be lax with that anymore.

Although my brothers and I moved out, Dad and Akiko kept the house. The glitz and opulence suit them, and Akiko in particular is very fond of the neighbors on the infrequent occasions that they run into each other.

A black Maybach and a silver Maserati. My brothers are here already. Aunt Jeremiah’s bright red Lambo is also in the parking area—blocking their cars. Parking like a dick is one of her things, like smoking cigars. She probably also wanted to subtly rebuke them for not doing more billable work.

I escort Lareina to the formal dining room, leading her through the wide hall with tall radius windows facing the garden on one side and recessed nooks holding a huge collection of Japanese Bizenyaki vases on the other. Earthenware hold ikebana, each with a few flowers in minimalistic arrangements. Given that my parents’ staff isn’t familiar with such art from Japan, that would all be Akiko’s doing. Although the mansion is very Western, she makes the Japanese features fit in as harmoniously as if they were always part of the home.

Everyone is seated at the long table. As expected, Dad and my brothers are in suits. Aunt Jeremiah’s in a blood-red pantsuit—probably a sign somebody died a gruesome death in a legal battle with her. My grandmother is in a formfitting black maxi dress that flatters her slim frame. And Akiko… Well, she’s in a lustrous bronze silk kimono with intricate embroidery. A twisted black-brown branch cuts diagonally from the left hip to right calf, with crimson blossoms, birds and so on completing the design. The kimono is exceptionally fancy—I can see why Dad said she was obsessed with finding the right occasion for it.

As formal as the kimono is, my petite Japanese stepmom fully matches it. Her hair is pulled into a knot in the back, set in place with pins and fresh flowers that complement the outfit. And her posture somehow is both regally straight and yet at the same time embodies a certain willowy femininity. Akiko and Dad met soon after I returned home from the kidnapping, married a year later in a grand traditional ceremony in Kyoto, then held a special reception in L.A. for the people who couldn’t make it to Japan.

Beaming, Akiko comes over. “Ares, you look so good! And is this your wife?”

“Hello.” Although Lareina smiles, I can sense a hint of tension. I squeeze her waist in reassurance. She gives me a surprised glance, then smiles more genuinely.

“Oh my goodness. You’re so captivating when you look at Ares. It must be true love.” Akiko sighs like a girl a third her age.

“Welcome to the family.” Grandmother hugs Lareina, placing an air kiss on each cheek. “I’m Catalina Huxley, Ares’s grandmother.”

“Prescott Huxley,” Dad says.

“My father,” I say.

Dad shakes hands with Lareina, his expression slightly guarded. He doesn’t really believe I married out of anything but a desire to get promoted. He isn’t entirely wrong. The promotion is a big part, but sometimes when I look at my wife, junior partnership is the farthest thing from my mind.

Aunt Jeremiah lifts her wine glass. “We already met.” Her eyes flick up and down Lareina’s outfit. “Nice dress.”

“Thank you.”

Bryce and Josh study her for a bit, like a team of predators eyeing some prey. I shoot them a warning look.

Finally, Bryce smiles. “I’m Bryce. This is Josh. If anybody asks, I’m the better-looking twin.”

Josh scoffs. Lareina laughs. “Both of you are equally handsome.”

“People who think that end up disappointed when they learn the truth,” Josh says with a small grin.

“You know, I wasn’t sure what to make, so I made a little bit of everything,” Akiko says as we take our seats. “I hope you enjoy the feast.”

“Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

Lareina’s polite answer brings a huge smile to Akiko’s face. “Aren’t you a darling girl?”

Bryce and Josh press their lips together and glance at the luxurious table setting mournfully. I try not to sigh as well, regretting that I didn’t stop by a McDonald’s drive-thru and grab a burger before coming over. When Akiko decides to get fancy and “make a little bit of everything,” it means we’re going to get a single bite—possibly two—of each course. We’ve hinted subtly, and otherwise, that we’d like more food, although Dad refuses to bring it up with her, saying he doesn’t want to cause any friction with his wife.

For whatever reason, our diplomatic petition hasn’t moved Akiko. She’s decided she’ll just add more courses to her dinners, which wouldn’t be a bad solution, except there’s been a concomitant reduction in the size of each item. Her portions aren’t enough to fully satisfy Grandmother, either. I’ve seen her crunching on potato chips after one of Akiko’s “feasts.” But she apparently doesn’t want to trouble Akiko either.

At least Akiko serves great saké. We all have cold saké and plum wine in a matching bottle set, and a glass of ice water.

The first course is served on a large, beautiful bone china plate edged with gold in a complex pattern. In the center are six bite-sized sashimi pieces—tai, salmon and ootoro—and on one side are edible garnishes composed of five green sprouts and three sesame-seed-sized pink flowers with a light drizzling of green and yellow sauces. It’s artistic and pretty to look at if your belly hates food. What’s even worse is that Akiko is an amazing cook.

Lareina stares at the plate, then leans toward me. “Does she know she can put stuff on the white parts?” she whispers, subtly gesturing at all the unoccupied space on the plate.

“Yes. Er, no.” I pick up a fork. “I don’t really know.”

My wife follows my lead, then hesitates. Everyone eats, including my brothers.

“This is amazing, Akiko. I’m so glad I’m on a diet every time I visit. How else would I control my appetite when you serve the finest dishes?” Aunt Jeremiah says.

“Oh my goodness, Jeremiah. But you’re so wonderfully slender! I’m not sure why you’d need to lose weight.”

“You may have a point. I wouldn’t want to stuff myself like a swine and have to replace my wardrobe. What a pity that would be.”

Akiko smiles and nods. Aunt Jeremiah has no problem being a complete sociopath with the rest of us, but with Akiko, for some reason, she always pulls back at the last moment.

“But you could, of course. It’s not like you don’t make enough,” Dad says, clearly feeling protective of his wife.

“It isn’t about money, but time. Why do you always pick a fight with me?”

Her eyes gleam evilly. Here we go again. I gird my loins for another legal argument nobody cares about except my aunt and dad.

She continues, “You didn’t get your ass kicked enough when you recognized the brilliance of my thesis on the—”

“In Japan we have a saying: hara hachi bun,” Akiko says, almost in desperation. “Only eat until you’re eighty percent full. I always believe we should have just enough to nurture our bodies without overfeeding.” She nods, agreeing with herself. “Very good for longevity.”

“I’m going to live forever,” Josh mutters.

Bryce squints, trying to recall something. “Doesn’t hachi mean eight in Japanese? Maybe she misunderstood and is only feeding us, like, eight percent—”

I feel Josh nudge him with his knee. Meanwhile, Dad pours plum wine for himself and Akiko.

Naturally, Lareina is merely poking at her sashimi and swirling it in the sauce.

“Don’t you like fish?” Akiko asks, as though the thought had never occurred to her.

“Oh no, I love fish.” Lareina smiles a social smile. “I just want it to absorb the sauce a bit.”

“You don’t have to. It’s already topped with a bit of fleur de sel for optimal flavoring.”

I have a bite of each—the ootoro is the best of the lot, the cold slice melting on my tongue—then swap plates with Lareina before Akiko grills her some more about her preferences. Every eye swings in our direction. Bryce and Josh silently communicate, Your wife is going to stab you dead for stealing her food.

Instead of making a fuss like everyone expects, Lareina relaxes as she pops the fish into her mouth. “I see what you mean,” she says to Akiko. “It’s delicious.”

Normally Akiko would beam with pride. But right now, she’s too busy being confused to react.

“Did you just take her food?” Grandmother says incredulously.

“You really want to eat all of your portion,” Bryce advises Lareina, sounding ultra-lawyer-like. “Every course is just as spare—carefully portioned to keep you from overeating to ensure nobody develops gout. Which, by the way, doesn’t run in the family.”

“Thank you, but it’s fine.”

“Does she still want you to eat more?” Aunt Jeremiah asks me drolly.

Akiko looks at her. “Has he stolen her food before?”

“At that time, she took his plate,” Aunt Jeremiah says.

“It was a mistake,” Lareina says with a shrug. “Happens.”

“And this time?”

“I just want my husband to have some more. I’m on a diet, too, Aunt Jeremiah.”

My aunt chokes on her saké.

“Besides, my husband loves food, so why not accommodate him? It’s what makes me a good partner and wife.”

Horror and disbelief cross Bryce and Josh’s faces. Josh surreptitiously pulls out his phone and starts typing.

My phone pings. I pull it out.

–Josh: What the hell has happened to you? You don’t like women this saccharine and accommodating.

–Me: Says who? Don’t be jealous. She’s wonderful.

–Josh: You like spine and balls.

–Me: Maybe YOU like balls on your bed partners. Not me.

Josh lifts his head, looks at the ceiling and, elaborately casual, scratches his chin with his middle finger.

The second course comes out. It isn’t any more bountiful than before. Exactly one broccolette—the size of Lareina’s pinky—two tiny sweet-potato medallions and one shot-glass-sized piece of Romanesco sit atop three thin, wel- marbled slices of beef, each one bite-sized. Akiko must’ve felt generous to give everyone three. Usually, it’s two. A dark demi-glace sauce is drizzled around the beef in a double circle, while the veggies get an ivory cream sauce that lies over them like snow. The plating is even more beautiful than before.

I quickly take a small bite out of each item, then swap plates with Lareina. Grandmother clears her throat with a small scowl. “Couldn’t you just let her eat first and take her leftovers, rather than giving her whatever’s left on your plate?”

“Oh, no. It’s fine,” Lareina says hurriedly. “It’s better this way.”

“But, my dear, it’s really…odd. And, more precisely, ill-mannered.”

Lareina drops her eyes. I give Grandmother a sharp look. “Your opinion isn’t necessary. Or particularly welcome.”

Lareina jerks her chin up to look at me.

Grandmother’s face reddens. “Not her. You. You’re the problem.”

“I am not—”

“Please,” Lareina says. “It isn’t his fault. It’s mine.”

“You don’t have to defend him, child.” Grandmother straightens in her seat. “I never realized he had such a…fixation about giving his dates his leftovers. It shames me, but it also explains some things.” Her reproachful eyes say I’m the reason I can’t keep a girlfriend and haven’t gotten married all this time.

“That’s unfair.” Lareina places her hand on my arm. The sapphires on her band seem to wink at me reassuringly. “I have a psychological hang-up that makes it impossible to eat something people haven’t touched. Well, tasted, actually.”

I already suspected as much, so I don’t react. But I’m a bit surprised she’s being so upfront about it to my family. I didn’t expect her to reveal the secret when she hasn’t even talked to me about it.

“Oh my…” Akiko breathes out softly. The rest of my family stare at Lareina with concern.

“Why on earth would you have such a hang-up?” Aunt Jeremiah asks.

“She doesn’t have to tell you,” I say. My aunt starts with an innocuous question, but then turns it into a grueling cross-examination if she feels her curiosity hasn’t been satisfied. “It doesn’t matter how or why she has the problem. It’s her history, her trauma. Nobody else is entitled to know, and the only thing she’s owed is our understanding.”

“It’s okay,” Lareina whispers. “I don’t want them to think you’re being rude or weird to me.”

The fact that she’s revealing what is an undoubtedly painful past to defend me clenches my heart and squeezes all the air out of my lungs. “What they think of me is irrelevant. The family will accept me the way I am.”