The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 33

Given Ares’s reaction to seeing me with Ethan at the café, I assumed he’d stay upset for a while. But instead, he offers to take me to the exhibition Lucie and Yuna told me about. I agree readily, trying to gauge his mood, but I might as well be trying to read Aramaic.

Since it’s our first fancy social outing as a couple, I spend hours selecting a dress and fussing with my hair and makeup. Lucie told me husbands can’t stay unhappy for long when their wives look hot.

–Lucie: Sort of like how it’s hard for me to stay mad at Seb when he’s looking particularly delicious after a good workout. He knows it, too, which is why he gets a good pump and flexes his muscles when he finally realizes that I’m annoyed with him “for some reason.”

By the time my prep is finished, my eyes are smoky and come-hither. The lip tint I picked out is blood red with an undertone of burgundy. My cheekbones never looked so sharp, and I pat myself on the back for a job well done. Makeup is a lot like painting, it’s just that one’s face is the canvas.

My hair’s pulled back into a chic updo, and a few tendrils frame my face just so. The cape dress Akiko and I picked out drapes over my body like a silken waterfall, showcasing my long limbs. I slip on strappy heels and silently walk down to the living room. Ares stands in the center, looking out the window, in a black suit and shark-gray tie.

I pause to take him in. The high forehead to the straight slope of his nose. The gorgeous, talented mouth with a tongue too clever for my own sanity. The intense blue eyes that always ensnare me like a trap and won’t let go. I noticed them first when I met him, and I still think they’re his best feature. I know he always thought that they were like his vile mother’s, but I hope he no longer believes that after what I told him.

Suddenly, he turns his head in my direction, like a wolf scenting his mate. Our eyes meet, and the brilliant blue grows darker with heat. I flush with pleasure at his reaction to the way I look. It was worth the time and effort.

He slowly comes toward me. I start to lick my lips out of habit, then immediately catch myself. Can’t wipe away the tint on my mouth.

He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his delicious body heat. “Mrs. Huxley.”

“Hello, Mr. Huxley. You look fantastic.”

“And you look good enough to eat.” His eyes drop to my mouth, and my whole body tingles in response. “Do we have to go to the exhibition?”

I put a hand over his chest. “Yes. As much as I’d love to spend time with you, I also want to show off my handsome husband.”

Something soft and indulgent crosses his face. “Unfortunate.” But his tone is tender.

“We all must bear our crosses.”

He nudges my nose with his. “Mmm. It’s going to be agonizing.”

“We don’t have to stay long. I just need to check a few things.” Once I take a look at my mom’s paintings, I can start to make an inventory of the items Doris and her family stole. Then I’ll decide on the best way to pursue the matter. Since it’s separate from my trust, I’ll ask Ares for advice. He seems unhappy that I continue to turn to Ethan for legal help, probably perceiving it as some sort of snub. I only asked Ethan because he’s my lawyer, and it was easier. Plus, I didn’t want to bother Ares when he was so busy at work.

“Let’s finish getting you dressed for the evening,” he says.

“Um… Am I missing something?”

He picks up a box with the Sebastian Jewelry logo on it from a coffee table near us, flips the lid and shows me the contents.

Inside is a set of stunning sapphire chandelier earrings, necklace and bracelet. Their shade is the most beautiful blue. The stones are huge without looking gaudy, and the diamonds embedded in between add to the brilliance of the set.

Touched by the extravagance and thoughtfulness of the gift, I look at his unreadable face. Suddenly, I’m tired of the awkwardness that’s been brewing between us, and I want it to disappear. Why did I cling to doubts and angst over what I couldn’t change? I always knew this was a temporary marriage and that I’d never fit the ideal woman he has in mind. Who cares that I might be the substitute for the woman he really wants? He’s kind to me now. We could have a great time until he gets his promotion and I get my money. I should let it go so we can both enjoy the time we have together.

Suddenly the questions and uncertainties swirling in my head disappear, and I feel sweet warmth all over, like the time in Vegas when he caught me on the balcony, then later helped me escape my aunt. “Put them on me.”

He gently rubs my earlobe, the touch sending sensual frissons down my torso to pool between my legs. He replaces one earring, then does the same with the other. I squirm to ease the ache starting in my flesh. Why am I feeling the heat when we had wild sex last night, where I orgasmed four times before I quit counting? Am I an undiagnosed nymphomaniac? Is nymphomania even a medical condition?

His warm fingers brush the back of my neck. I bite my lip to hide my reaction, but from the low, satisfied growl in his throat, he noticed the goosebumps on my arms. The sapphires are cold, creating a shockingly erotic contrast to the heat of his skin.

“I can do the bracelet,” I murmur shakily, lowering my lashes to hide my eyes. My emotions are too vulnerable and exposed.

He places his index finger under my chin and tilts my face up until he can peer into my eyes. “You can, but why should you?” He loops the bracelet on my wrist, somehow managing to stroke my beating pulse point at the same time. “Perfect.”

“So are you.”

* * *

The exhibition is held in the grand ballroom of the Aylster Hotel. There are more people than I expected. Some collectors, some dealers, representatives for big art galleries and connoisseurs who prefer to remain anonymous, and a few reporters covering the art scene. The crowd is similar to some of the private showings Mom took me to when I was little.

Ares and I hold hands as we casually browse what’s available. Most are postmodern pieces with vivid colors, some with interesting brush technique. I move closer and squint at a delicate dappling of red, which somehow looks rough, like churning waves, if you stand a few feet back.

Ares leans in. “Like it?”

“I find it fascinating. But I’m not sure if I want to buy it.”

“We can get it.”

“Not right now.” I do some math. Ethan messaged me after our disastrous coffee appointment that if I want to buy something, I can probably arrange for financing after the fact, although he said it isn’t always ideal. The banks in Nesovia won’t underwrite a deal in the millions for art because they’re scared of not getting their money back. The U.S. banks won’t want to bother with collateral made up of overseas assets because they’re harder to assess.

The easiest way to get the money is through your husband, he advised me. He has two billion. Everyone knows it, and it’ll be fast and easy, whether he pays for what you want outright or finances it.

At the time, I was hesitant. But now…

Maybe I’ll ask, promising him to pay it back when my trust isn’t tied up anymore. I remember him mentioning interest when he punched Rupert the second time. Yeah, I’ll definitely offer him interest as well.

We make a turn. I stop abruptly at the sight of familiar impressionistic paintings. Although they appear to be abstract blends of color, if you look closely you can see a chubby, golden-haired toddler playing in a field of wild flowers, from different angles and in various lights. Her rosebud mouth is pursed in single-minded concentration in some, smiling in others.

My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly to ease the pressure. Although I knew there was a good chance Doris stole my mother’s paintings, I didn’t realize the impact of seeing her crime in person. I only considered how I’d use my money to get them back and punish Doris and her family. But seeing the works with my own eyes feels like a gross violation of my soul and the love I’ve kept in my heart for my mother.

“Shh, love, what’s wrong?” Ares says.

“I just…” I sniffle. He carefully brushes his thumbs over my cheeks, and I realize I’m crying. “I haven’t seen them for so long.” And they shouldn’t be here! Fucking Doris. I’m going to make her pay.

“Why the tears?”

“I just miss my mother.” I smile to let him know I’m okay, even though my heart aches and grievances rake their talons across my chest. “These are Mom’s works.”

“All of them?” He sounds impressed, then takes another sweeping look at the paintings. Mom did impressionistic art, but unlike Monet or Renoir, many of her pieces are abstract. Not only that, there are hidden pictures underneath the surface. It takes a while to figure out how many pictures each canvas holds, and no one can ever be sure that they’ve discovered them all. Art critics called her the puzzle master. I call her a genius.

“Yes. Although most of them shouldn’t be here,” I murmur through the thick lump in my throat.

“What do you mean?” Ares frowns, then glances down at my hand and takes it in his, warming my chilled skin. Only then do I realize I’m shaking.

“They’re pieces that were put into the private, climate-controlled storage. Mom never sold or gave them away, and so their ownership came to me. Except they’re here.”

He tenses. “Doris stole them?”

“Probably. Mom gave her some for birthdays and I think once on Christmas, but the ones on the walls here weren’t gifted to anybody. Ballsy, isn’t it? Doris is trying to sell my mother’s paintings in L.A., knowing I’m here in the city. It’s like she’s daring me to call her on it.”

“The auction won’t stop unless you can prove ownership.”

“I know.” And that’s the only reason I’m not making a scene right now. Doris is likely ready to show she has the legal rights to sell these paintings. And given how weird Nesovia’s laws are—with complex guardianship for unmarried women—it might even look like she’s in the right. If an American court recognized her as the legal owner, it’d be very difficult for me to get the paintings back. I need to be ready before I fight.

You never fire the first shot unless you know you can win decisively.

With a soft pang in my heart, I step forward and look at a pencil sketch of a little girl making a sandcastle on the beach. I don’t need to read the description attached underneath to recognize My Love on the Beach.

“You?” Ares gestures.

“Yup. Building a castle so I could have a kingdom of my own to rule. I was always an ambitious child.” The memory brings a smile. It’s one of the happiest moments of my life.

He squeezes my hand. “Not ambitious. Regal.”

I laugh softly.

He grows serious. “Is it also stolen?”

“Not sure. Mom gave it to Dad on Father’s Day, and I think he later gave it to Grandfather. I don’t know what happened afterward, so it’s possible it was legitimately sold or transferred.” I pull out my phone and scan the QR code next to the sketch. An overview pops up, explaining that it’s owned by Orville Black’s estate. “Okay, not stolen for sure. Orville was Mom’s cousin. He was one of the nicest men ever. Always carried me on his shoulders so I could feel tall.” I smile fondly. “I heard he passed away three years ago, but never got to attend the funeral. His widow probably wants to cash out.” Although I was little when we spent time together, I understood instinctively that Orville never had a lot of money. He was rich in friends and family. His wife might need to sell the sketch to make ends meet in her old age, and I don’t begrudge her for it.

Out of all the works, this is the only one I can be certain isn’t stolen. Not only that, I want it desperately. It’s the simplest sketch, but all the more precious for that. It captures a spontaneous moment in my childhood when I was happy and loved unconditionally. I turn to Ares. “I want this one. No matter what it costs, I have to have it.”

His eyes flare with something like surprise and heat. “Say that again.”

“I want it.” I keep my eyes on his. “No matter the cost.” I place my hand over his chest, where his heart thumps hard against my palm. “Get it for me? Please?”

His pulse quickens, beating wildly. “I love it when you turn to me for what you want.” He puts his hand at the small of my back and pulls me close, creating our own private cocoon in the midst of all the people in the exhibition hall. “You’re hot when you’re direct and demanding.”

“Hot enough for you to give me whatever I ask for?”

“Absolutely,” he says.

I look up at his darkening eyes, need for him heating my body. When he gazes at me like I’m the center of his universe, I feel like I matter. And I want him to feel the same sense of importance.

Rub him like a genie. Yuna’s laughing suggestion flashes through my mind.

I surreptitiously run my hand over him. Oh, hello. His cock is already hard. I smile up at him like a siren. “And I love it when you show me what you want.”

He lowers his head until his mouth is at my ear. “Jesus, do that again,” he says huskily, his breath hot against the sensitive skin.

I run my hand over him, and his breathing breaks. Thrill sizzles. The knowledge that the simplest touch can make this large, powerful man shudder with need sparks excitement. And a sense of my own power.

“Yuna said something about rubbing one’s husband like a genie to get what you want,” I tease, then stroke him again.

“She’s wrong,” he says. “You’re supposed to lick the genie.”

I laugh softly. “We’ll get arrested before I get to licking,” I whisper in his ear. “Not even your brilliant legal arguments will keep us out of jail.”

He chuckles, his eyes hot. “Don’t worry. I’d never let you spend a single minute in jail.”