The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 19

My wife’s eyes are swollen like a goldfish’s from crying, although she doesn’t seem to realize. But she couldn’t look more beautiful to me. There’s a glow to her now, like the dark clouds hanging over her have vanished.

The strength and steel nerves it must’ve taken to survive her horrific childhood—and after—awe me. I remember how I nearly went mad in the cabin with its tainted food and water and my mother telling me how much she loved me, as though to imprint my malleable young mind with the idea.

It still shocks me that nobody around Lareina tried to help or report the wrongdoings to the authorities. My estimation of mankind drops several more notches.

Once the truth of her past is revealed, she eats and drinks more freely. My family is solicitous. Instead of serving the usual saké, Akiko brings out a sealed jar, opens it and pours a cup for Lareina. Then, holding up a hand, she dips a clean chopstick into the saké and tastes it, then smiles. “All good.”

“Thank you.” Lareina flushes, then sips the liquor. “Wow! That’s amazing.”

“It’s from my aunt. She got it in a town called Saijo. Very famous in Japan for saké.”

The next dishes come out and the meal progresses. The family purposely keeps the conversation light and warm to make Lareina feel welcome and included. The saké puts a lovely rose in her cheeks, and she seems to enjoy the meal, as well as the dessert and cheese that end the dinner. Akiko serves four different cakes and tarts the size of my thumb and three different types of cheese imported from France and Holland. A well-aged port is passed around as well, and I take a sip before giving it to Lareina.

On the way home, she hums softly, her voice slightly off-key but pretty in its airiness. “Thank you,” she says when we arrive. “For believing me and being on my side.”

“You’re my wife. It’s the least you deserve,” I say gruffly.

I help her out of the car, then keep my arm around her waist. Her warm, soft weight pressed against my side feels amazing. We fit perfectly, and I seethe for the hundredth time that I almost lost her because of her criminally insane aunt. Lareina is so slight, and I wonder if it’s because of the poison her aunt added to her food. I wish I could go back in time and protect her.

A gentle smile splits her face as we enter the house and climb the steps to our bedroom. “You’re a good man, Ares.”

“I’m not. Not really.” She might scream and run the opposite way if she could peer into my head and see all the horrible things I’m fantasizing about doing to her aunt, et al. Lareina said I hit Rupert in Vegas. I should’ve broken his neck. “Have you thought about what you might do to your aunt and her family?”

“Oh, hundreds of times. First, I’m going to take over my trust and completely cut them off. Then I need to audit exactly what they’ve stolen from my inheritance. They think they’re slick, but I know they’ve been selling my antiques and paintings to set up a slush fund just in case they fail. I’ll make them disgorge everything.”

“Need help? I can arrange a team for you.” I mentally flip through the entire firm and all the attorneys who could assist. Having Huxley & Webber on her side would ensure the total and utter annihilation of her aunt and family.

“Thank you, but I already hired someone.”

“Who? Where did you find them?” She found a lawyer already? A quick Google search wouldn’t have given her an attorney who can handle a complex cocktail of international financial, tax and inheritance laws. She’s going to need a team of highly trained, capable people.

“Ethan Beckman.”

What? The annoying, smarmy face of John Highsmith’s sycophant pops into my mind. Where did she find him? How does she even know him?

“He came recommended. He works at Highsmith, Dickson and Associates,” she adds, as though I’ve never heard of one of the most prominent law firms in the country. “Apparently a big and proper entity. I was going to ask for John Highsmith, but he was too busy to take my appointment. But Ethan was nice enough.”

“I know what they are. I thought—” I realize I wanted her to discuss the matter with me before making the decision. Not because I want to meddle in her affairs, but because she knew she married into a cutthroat and capable legal dynasty. Wouldn’t she want my advice before making her selection?

If she didn’t want to entrust Huxley & Webber with her legal issues, I could’ve referred her to somebody less annoying than Ethan Beckman. Like Ken Honishi from Ellis & Honishi LLP. He’s all proper, strait-laced even for a lawyer, but he harbors the viciousness of a barracuda underneath the spotless black Armani suit he wears like a uniform.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Lareina explains with a smile. “You were at work and had things to do. And sorting out my inheritance will keep me busy, just the way it should be.”

Something about the way she phrases that feels off, but I can’t place my finger on it. Before I can sort out my feelings, she disengages herself from my arm and gives me a little wave.

“Anyway, good night.” She starts to turn left at the top of the stairs.

“Our bedroom’s this way.” Catching her wrist, I tilt my chin to the right.

“You mean yours. I set up mine over there.” She gestures behind her. “To ensure you have your space, and we can maintain our boundaries.”

What the hell? What is she talking about? “My wife sleeps in my bed.”

She considers for a moment. “Isn’t that a bit clingy? Makes us too in each other’s faces?”

Is that why she didn’t say anything before hiring Beckman? Besides, what does being clingy have to do with her sleeping in my bed? “Isn’t sex clingy too? And you can’t have sex if you aren’t in each other’s faces.” It’s bluntly put, but I’m not sure where she’s coming from.

She frowns. “Well. That’s different.”

“How?”

“We can have sex in my room or yours, then just walk back to our own rooms.”

I scoff. “Ridiculous.”

“Why? I gave it a lot of thought, and this way is logical. Plus it respects all our boundaries.”

Our boundaries? “If you can still walk afterward, I didn’t do a good job.”

“That only happens in books.” She gives me a flinty stare. “I’ve read romance novels, Ares. Being a virgin doesn’t mean I’m totally ignorant.”

“Not true. If you’re blithely walking back to your room, it was we-should-never-do-it-again awful,” I argue, even though I’m aware of my contrarian behavior. But I don’t enjoy being told I’m not welcome to sleep in my wife’s bed. So I remind her of the conditions she set out in Vegas regarding our sex life: If the sex is terrible, we won’t be doing it again.

“Yeah, right.” Skepticism flashes in her eyes.

It’s both challenge and dare. I narrow my gaze. “Let me demonstrate.” I throw her over my shoulder, the same way I did in Vegas when I carried her out of the hotel under the futile watch of her aunt’s goons.

Lareina yelps, then slaps my back. “Hey, put me down!”

“Trying to conserve your energy.”

“But my room—”

“If you can walk back to your room after we’re done, I’ll let you have it your way.”

She gasps, then smacks my ass. Twice. She isn’t strong enough to make it hurt, but it’s still hot as hell. A kitty with her claws out.

“Keep that up, and you’ll never leave the bed,” I say lazily, then I slap her ass, which is nice and taut bent over my shoulder.

“You animal!”

“Guilty as charged.”