The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 32

Lareina is acting strangely for some reason. I agreed to take her to the auction. So why behave so stiffly, like that wasn’t what she wanted after all?

I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean that night. I find her even more important than my work. As soon as the words slipped from my lips, I froze in shock. I hadn’t realized it until I said it, but somehow she’s become more important than I can imagine.

“What do you do when your wife is upset?” I say over an after-work drink with Huxley Lasker, my cousin. Despite having graduated Harvard Law with honors, he refused to join the firm because he’d rather be in advertising. Grandmother and Aunt Jeremiah still can’t believe it, but nothing they said or did changed his mind.

Most people don’t realize we’re related when we hang out together. Huxley looks more like his degenerate Hollywood mogul father than his mother. He got his dark hair and square jaw from the old man. The brain and good taste, on the other hand, are all Jeremiah. His father was so unbelievably lazy and stupid, he named his child after our family’s last name. Who does that?

On the other hand, he didn’t kidnap his own child and leave him to die in a forest fire. So on balance…

“Why? You in the doghouse already?” Hux says.

“No, there’s no doghouse.” I still sleep in the same bed as Lareina. “I just feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Okay. How did it happen?”

I glare at him. I hate it when people ask me a question I can’t answer. He purses his lips, then clears his throat.

“Maybe you should start over,” he says.

“Start over? How?”

“Buy her some piece of jewelry that symbolizes a new beginning.”

I snort. “You sound like your half-brother.” Sebastian Lasker is the CEO of Sebastian Jewelry. Again—that father of theirs naming kids after their mothers’ family business or names.

“Seb isn’t usually wrong about things like this. There’s a reason he runs one of the most successful jewelry companies in the world.”

“She won’t accept a ring.”

“For a good reason. Too cliché. Buy her something she wants.”

“Like…?”

“I don’t know. She’s your wife.” He shrugs and spreads his hands. “A yacht?”

So she can sail away by herself? I don’t think so.

He continues, “Don’t you already have one that you barely ever use? Just draft a transfer agreement. You won’t even need to hire a lawyer.”

“She already has a lawyer.”

“Who? Bryce?”

I wish. “No. Ethan Beckman.”

Hux nods with approval. “Yeah, well. He’s not bad if you’re going to hire somebody outside of the family.”

I shoot him a death glare. “Whose side are you on?”

He spreads his hands again. “Side? What side? Look, just figure out what she wants and give it to her. Easy. You’re overthinking this, and that won’t help you figure out why she’s upset with you in the first place. Harvard Law was great at teaching logic, but there’s no logic to love.”

Is what I’m feeling, love? My heart beats funny—too fast and too irregular. Not to mention my chest feels uncomfortable and tight. My mind won’t focus, either, constantly distracted by thoughts of my wife.

I don’t like it. But I can’t imagine getting rid of the disruptive emotions, either. Somehow, they feel more vital than the air in my lungs.

A hint of regret fleets over Huxley. “If your mother hadn’t messed you up so bad, you might be doing better. More experience.”

I don’t think experience is the problem. It’s more a fear of being out of control—being so off balance when I’m with Lareina. Her smile makes me warm and her sweet words are a balm to my battered soul. When she told me my eyes were nothing like my mother’s, I thought my heart would burst. When she twines herself around me at night in sleep, I want to pull her closer and hold her tighter, rather than push her away with a shudder like I used to with my exes.

I love it that being with her feels natural and wonderful. But sometimes I feel like it’s a sandcastle about to crumble. Especially when she keeps me at arm’s length without a discernible reason. Or when she acts like another woman claiming ownership over me doesn’t bother her at all. She’d show more possessiveness over her old underwear than me.

Still, I take Huxley’s advice to heart. Despite a rocky beginning with his wife, right now they’re very happy together. Almost disturbingly so.

So I drop by Sebastian Jewelry and select a set of stunning sapphires, since Lareina seems to be partial to them. I get stones that match my eye color—she likes them, and I want her to be reminded of me often. I want to occupy her mind the way she occupies mine.

Should I just pamper her with money? Would that work?

She reacted favorably when I talked about going to Thailand. I should take her there and show her the stunning beaches, feed her delicious food and pamper her with hour-long massages. It’s beautiful all year around, so all I have to do is find some free time.

I flip through my calendar. Twenty days in mid-October. Should be perfect. I send a quick note to HR.

Still, it seems too far away. People need something more immediate to feel appreciated.

The art auction! Bryce and Josh mentioned it during our poker game. That’s the ticket. It’s in a week or so, and Lareina will appreciate it. Akiko told me before that those things usually have an exhibition for committed buyers, so they can examine the works up close before the actual bidding starts. I should take my wife and see if there’s anything that interests her.

I text Akiko—she’s really into art collecting and will know everything there is to know about the exhibition. I want to plan it well so all Lareina has to do is show up and buy what she likes.

On Friday, Ethan Beckman finally delivers the very belated prenup to my office. “Took you a while,” I say.

He gives me a bland smile. “Her assets are extensive.”

“Or maybe you’re just a slothful lawyer. You didn’t have to waste your time hand-delivering it like some lackey, by the way.”

Instead of firing back, he says, “I had to meet with Jeremiah’s client to discuss a settlement. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered to come. Anyway, sign it. Or else I’ll tell my client you just want her money.”

Asshole. And stupid to boot. “Did you forget I’m worth at least two billion dollars? If anybody wants money, it’s my wife.”

Beckman lets out a condescending laugh. “Wow, two whole billion! That’s cute. But never mind, you’ll find out soon enough.” He makes a show of checking his watch. “I have to get going. Got an appointment with your wife soon. A coffee date.” He winks.

“For what?” I bristle. This asshole is spending way too much time with her. Dim sum and now a coffee date?

“To discuss financing some big purchase.”

“How big?” She has my black AmEx.

He shrugs. “Not sure yet. A hundred million? Maybe more?”

“What the fuck?”

He just raises an eyebrow and walks away. I clench my fists and glare at his retreating back. If I didn’t care about law at all—or my career at Huxley & Webber—I’d punch him just on principle.

A hundred million plus. And my wife is running to Ethan for it. Of course the fucker doesn’t have that kind of money, so he’ll have to finance it for her.

It chaps my ass she hasn’t said a word to me. She knows I have the money. Why won’t she ask me? My money’s just as good as whichever banker Beckman introduces her to. Actually better. I’m her husband!

–Me: Can we meet?

As soon as I send the text, I realize my wife might not see it in time. I call her. I’ll be damned if she takes a penny of money that Ethan Beckman arranges for her.

“Hello?” She sounds innocent, as though she isn’t about to have a coffee date with the enemy.

“Can we talk?”

“I saw your text and I was about to respond. Is this about the prenup? I heard Ethan just delivered it to you.”

My knuckles whiten at the warm way the fucker’s name rolls from her lips. “I haven’t read it yet.”

“You should. How about in an hour or so? I can stop by your office, unless you’re coming home early today?”

“Now. I want to talk now.”

“Now is not a good time.” I can hear an infuriating frown in her voice. She makes me sound unreasonable. “I’m meeting someone in a few minutes.”

“Ethan Beckman?”

“How did you know?”

“Because he came here to rub it in. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in a minute.”

I hang up, then open a tracking app on my phone to see where she is. The phone I bought her isn’t some innocent model. I put an app on it to track her movements because at the time I thought she could be linked to Harvey or Mom. But I’ve never checked up on her with the app.

Until now.

I hate that I’m acting like a jealous husband, but what I hate more is how crazy she drives me. Me, leaving the office at two, when I’m supposed to meet an important client in an hour. Instead of prepping for it, I’m chasing after her like a puppy about to be abandoned.

Lareina is sitting in a booth at the newly opened specialty café that some of the assistants were talking about in the break room a few days ago. The place is all dark wood and windows. Little figurines featuring famous landmarks in Italy—the Colosseum, the Tower of Pisa, Duomo di Milano, St. Peter’s Basilica and more—line a shallow shelf behind the counter, above bags and bags of freshly roasted coffee beans.

She’s heartbreakingly beautiful in a pretty pink dress that brings out the natural flush in her face. She tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, and the gesture is natural and perfect. The glint of the wedding ring on her finger soothes my monstrous possessiveness, but only a little. After all, she’s still here to meet with Beckman.

He brings a tray of two slices of cake and two coffees to her. He smiles like a used car salesman or ambulance chaser, and my wife smiles back at him as though blind to his smarminess. He sips his coffee, and she merely warms her hands with hers. See? He has no fucking clue she can’t eat or drink what he just gave her. He doesn’t even notice anything wrong. She isn’t swapping plates, either, obviously not comfortable enough to do that with him.

If I were there with her, I would’ve tasted both her cake and her coffee. Then I’d offer to pay for whatever she needs because she’s my wife and she shouldn’t have to beg.

Fury sweeps through me like a powerful storm. She should’ve never hired Beckman. She shouldn’t have let him get near her, and she shouldn’t be relying on him so much.

I step inside the café. The bell over the door chimes. The lanky guy at the counter starts toward me, but I ignore him and turn toward the booth where my wife is.

“I can use my trust as collateral to borrow the money,” she says, not noticing me at all since her eyes are so intent on Beckman, like he holds the solution to her problem. Raw, bitter possessiveness bursts through my veins. She’s mine—my wife. She shouldn’t look at some other man like he can fix whatever’s broken in her world. That’s my job, my privilege and my prerogative.

“We can probably—”

“You don’t have the money for it,” I say coldly. “Give it up before you embarrass yourself, Beckman.”

“Ares,” Lareina says. “What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

“Easy. He told me.” I jerk my chin at Beckman. “Your lawyer has a big mouth.”

“I didn’t tell you where,” he says defensively.

“Didn’t have to. I just followed you.” Hux said I don’t have much experience, but I’m smart enough to know this isn’t the time to tell my wife about the tracking bug on her phone.

“Regardless, this doesn’t concern you.”

“My wife’s matters concern me a great deal.” I turn to Lareina. “When do you need the money?”

“Probably in a week?” She shrugs. “I’m not totally sure.”

I turn back to Beckman. “Can you get her the money she needs within a week?”

He looks away briefly before glaring up at me. “No. It’ll take a while to underwrite and—”

“I don’t need you to tell me the steps involved. I know them as well as you,” I say. “Stop wasting her time when you know you can’t provide what she wants, when she wants it. People like you are the reason lawyers have such a bad rep.”

Lareina’s eyes shift between me and Beckman. I hold out my hand. “Let’s go. He can’t do anything for you, but he’ll bill you six hundred bucks an hour for taking the time to tell you so.”

She bites her lip, then glances at Beckman. Is she seriously considering refusing my hand?

I stare down at her, willing her to take my hand. I can’t guarantee what I’ll do if she doesn’t.

Finally, she sighs. “I guess it’s more complicated than I thought. Thanks for your time, Ethan.” The friendly way she says his name grates on my already over-frazzled nerves.

But when she places her hand in mine, I can forgive her for almost anything.