The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 5

Music throbs, the loud beats pounding through my body. Barry, an associate at the firm, is getting married, and he rented an entire club for his bachelor party. As I walk along the dark corridor, the specially mirrored walls show my reflection. The way my eyes glow makes me falter for a second, and I avert my gaze, staring at the wooden floor. Everyone says I have my mother’s eyes. Every time I look at my reflection, I feel like I’m looking into her face, eerie in its love and madness, and the scar on my arm throbs. When I brought up the pain with my doctor a few years ago, he said it was a phantom pain, just psychological.

Thanks, doc, for making me feel so sane.

Wonder if he shared his opinion with Grandmother or Father. That could explain their concern that I might be insane—no, obsessed…although in my family, the words can be used interchangeably.

Once I’d calmed down after the ridiculous dinner where they insisted that I give up on finding Queen and get married to get promoted, I grudgingly accepted that their concern is partially driven by guilt. They were supposed to protect me back then, and I should’ve never been left to survive on my own in the fire. But that doesn’t mean they get to brush Queen off as a figment of my imagination and do their best to convince me of that.

Barry has apparently snagged himself a nice woman. My own hunt for a wife isn’t going as smoothly as I’d like. Most associates at the firm are reluctant to refer suitable candidates, assuming they’re aware of what’s going on with me and The Fogeys. They probably don’t want to get involved in the family drama. The women I get matched with through various online dating sites and apps so far have been the equivalent to what’s left after a two-week clearance sale—ill-fitting and unsuitable, even at seventy-five percent off. The Fogeys would never accept one as “good and respectable.” And neither would I.

If I get really lucky, I might run into a suitable woman tonight. A cursory glance says there are more women than men here. But upon closer inspection, they’re all strippers, given how little clothes they have on. Should’ve known. This is classic Barry. I don’t know how he plans to stay faithful to just one woman when he’s an equal-opportunity lover.

It’s okay, I tell myself. I have a few more dates set up for the next three days. The Fogeys never said anything about a ceremony. I just need to produce a lawfully wedded wife.

The phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen.

–Unknown: I love you, my little prince.

This is the third time I’ve gotten a strange text like this. I block the number. It could be my persistent ex, although the “little prince” part doesn’t really fit. On the other hand, who can tell what the hell goes on in her head? In her world, she’s a princess who can do no wrong, and anybody who disagrees with her is a problem.

It’s too bad none of my exes fit Grandmother’s conditions: good and respectable. I boasted I could find a bride in a month, but one that will work? That’s proving to be much harder.

On the other hand, I’m not looking for the love of my life or a soul mate. Just a presentable wife for The Fogeys to accept until I get my promotion. If we happen to fall in love, fine. We can continue. Otherwise, we’ll quietly get divorced. By then, I’ll be a junior partner and the Fogeys won’t be able to force a demotion on me over a divorce. If they do, I’ll sue the damn firm and Dad as well.

“Hey, you made it!” Barry booms. Almost as tall as I am, he’s solidly built, with broad shoulders and massive arms and legs from playing football for the University of Georgia. A knee injury ended his athletic career, so he focused on academics and went to Yale Law. A tuft of bleached yellow hair, an excessive tan and a slightly goofy grin make him appear mildly dim-witted, especially when he lays it on thick with a Georgian drawl, but he’s one of the meanest lawyers at Huxley & Webber. He slaps my back twice, having quickly deduced that a man-hug is not the way to go with me. Like I said, smarter than he looks. And he’s already soused.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I don’t believe you. Bet you were doing billable work until two seconds ago,” he says with a tipsy laugh.

I shrug. “I bill, therefore I am.” The previous legal team for one of our clients screwed up an overseas leveraged finance deal, which means that now I have to fix it. As complicated and frustrating as it is to navigate the bureaucracies of multiple countries, work is a great balm for the soul. It doesn’t betray you or let you down.

I don’t mention that while I was doing the work, I was also thinking about ways to find a wife in under three days. Barry wouldn’t know a respectable woman if his life depended on it. His fiancée is a fluke. Wouldn’t it be convenient if an acceptably decent woman just jumped in front of my car? That actually happened with one of my cousins, but I doubt I’ll be that lucky.

Four scantily clad strippers push a giant cake into the room, setting it in front of an enormous champagne fountain. The guys are already drunk, hooting and yelling in good spirits. Although I paste on a smile for Barry’s sake, this isn’t my kind of scene. Half an hour, then I’m going back to my room to wrap up the contract amendments. I start to reach for a glass of champagne, and the top of the cake opens and a well-bronzed blonde in a tiny bikini with nipple tassels pops up. “Ta-da!”

What the fuck? My hand drops without touching the flute. Dread, resignation and irritation pump in sync to the music as my latest ex shimmies in the cake like a Hawaiian dancing doll. Her tits bounce in every direction, much to the excitement and delight of the intoxicated men. If anybody recognizes her, it’s impossible to tell with the deafening music and noise.

Then Barry squints. “Isn’t that Soledad?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

Soledad is the only child of a billionaire venture capitalist who also happens to be a client of Andreas Webber, one of the name partners at the firm. She supposedly took one look at me and fell in love. She pursued me relentlessly for six months until I agreed to a date just to get her off my back.

And it went all right. Despite my misgivings, she was actually pleasant. Even carried on an interesting conversation. The second date was better, and she kept calling and texting to set up times. I even thought she might be the one I could carry on with long term, since she isn’t the kind of woman Harvey can manipulate…

Then we hit the third month, and everything went to shit.

“Ares, I love you!” she screams over the music.

My skin crawls at her wide grin. She’d make a great Joker.

“Wow,” Barry says. “She loves you.”

I clench my fists. “No.”

Apparently, Soledad can read my lips from across the room. “Don’t be cruel. You know my heart is true!”

“Her heart is true,” Barry informs me.

“As true as a beachfront property in Nebraska.” There were several reasons for our breakup—such as her sudden meddling in my private schedule, as well as rapid-onset jealousy and clinginess. She even demanded to know who Queen was—much to my shock, since I don’t discuss her with anybody, especially not my exes. But the deathblow came when I caught her in bed with a gigolo. She was wrapped around him like a starved boa constrictor, calling him Ares.

I remember standing there quietly and watching for a moment. Intellectually I understood I should be upset, but inside there was nothing. Her antics and endless demands had exhausted me. It takes too much mental energy to rouse anger for a woman you have no feelings for. Besides, it wasn’t my bed, it was hers. And she was welcome to invite whomever she wanted.

I merely stepped into the walk-in closet to take the two suits I’d left there. The gigolo noticed me before she did and ran out with his clothes faster than I could say, “Defamation lawsuit.”

As I came out, she hopped off the bed and grabbed my arm. I yanked it out of her grasp without a word. She wasn’t worth the effort.

“Aren’t you mad?” she demanded, standing in front of me without bothering to cover herself.

“No.” I paused, mildly curious about something. “Is his name really Ares?”

She turned red. “No! I was pretending he was you, since you’re so cold in bed!” She pointed at the newly created hickeys on her neck. “You see these? He did them! For me!” Her eyes were open so wide that I could see the white on all sides. Deranged. “Because he cares about me!”

Her shrill declaration tightened my gut, but also reaffirmed that I’d made the right decision to end the relationship before she became even crazier and clingier. “I’m happy for the two of you.” I left, blocked her number and promptly forgot about her.

So why the hell is she here? “Did you hire her?”

“Nope.” Barry raises his right hand. “I solemnly swear on my mother’s grave.”

“Your mother’s healthier than a horse and will probably outlive both of us.”

He grabs a glass of whiskey from a tray. “Here. Drink this.” He gestures at my ex. “She’s crazy, we all know that. I’ll have security throw her out.”

He pulls out his phone and starts to make a call. Soledad drags herself out of the cake, her movements awkward, since the tiers are so high. She looks worse than the ghost girl crawling out of a TV in The Ring.

Soledad runs toward me. “Ares!” She throws herself at me.

I sidestep, and she stumbles, bumping my drink and almost spilling it. She manages to right herself with a pout.

“Why are you so mean? Are you still upset about that guy? Forget about him. The hickeys are gone already.” She pushes her hair back, revealing her neck. “We can start fresh. I’ll let you put new hickeys here.”

“New hickeys! And on the same spots. Well, that is a temptation. But I’d rather not contract some yet-to-be-discovered strain of herpes.”

“I’m clean!”

“As clean as a fraternity’s bathroom floor after a mixer.” I can’t do this sober. I knock back the whiskey fast. “There’s no fresh start. We’re done.”

“Don’t be silly! I love you! I came here for you. For you and our future baby!” She puts a hand over her belly with a smile that’s clearly meant to be shy but only serves to make me recoil. “Imagine. Our family of three!”

The bright sparks in her eyes mix with Mom’s expression when she looked at me in the cabin, and I just can’t.

Soledad comes closer, and I put out one hand to stop her and grab another drink with the other.

“Come on, baby! Your uncle said he’d love to welcome me into the family!” she yells over the music.

Uncle? There are only two people I would consider an “uncle.” Ted Lasker, Aunt Jeremiah’s former lover and the father of her only son Huxley…or Harvey Dunkel, my mom’s psychopathic younger brother, whose life goal is to take over his family’s mafia empire and expand it far beyond the borders of Nesovia.

Ted would like Soledad because she’s what he would deem “hot,” but he has zero influence over my family. He’s never been part of it, and Aunt Jeremiah doesn’t give him time of the day unless he pays or it’s one of his ridiculous birthday parties. That leaves Harvey, who somehow seems to believe he has a familial tie with me because neither of us cares for my mom.

But he’s mistaken. The depth of my loathing for her is unmatched. I hate everything to do with her, including myself. Half the time I don’t even like my own eyes. Sometimes I can’t look at my face because I’m afraid there’s more of her there.

Soledad wraps her arms around mine, and I can’t seem to move fast enough to pull away. What the hell? She isn’t that quick, and I have great reflexes.

“Come on,” she whines nasally, tugging at me. I should resist, but inexplicably my feet follow her lead. The gears in my head turn slowly, as though they’re in a pool of cooling molasses.

She walks me out of the club. A few guys glance at me, but once they see that I’m with “a stripper,” they shoot me knowing smirks and turn away.

Damn it. The smog of the city hits me. The neon lights seem to sear my eyeballs, and I squint. Music, laughter and conversations buzz in my ears like angry bees. Soledad tugs at my arm. “This way, my love.”

“Not your love,” I say even as my body follows her. What’s going on?

“Yes, you are. You drank my love potion. I put it into your drink. Smooth, huh?”

“No. You’re fucking crazy.” As insane as my mother.

Humming, Soledad leads me down two blocks until we reach a steakhouse. She opens the door and steps inside. If her bikini shocks anyone, nobody shows it. The maître d’, crisp in a black-and-white suit and a bow tie, gestures at her to follow.

“Look at this! I can’t remember the last time we had a date,” she coos.

“Because we broke up.” My body might be doing her bidding, but my mouth remains independent. Dad would say it’s the Harvard training. Grandmother would credit my work at Huxley & Webber. Thank God for this small favor. If I couldn’t even talk back, I’d want to jump off a balcony.

Balconies… Wonder how Lareina is doing? Now, she was somebody worth dredging up some concern and emotion for. At least she wasn’t clingy. No. She was too…not clingy, which was vaguely irritating now that I recall. And yet she was desperate enough to climb over those gargoyles. Did she have some kind of circus training? A cat with nine lives?

“Come on.” Soledad’s annoying voice breaks my train of thought. She pulls me through the dark restaurant and the aroma of sizzling meat, potatoes and herbs. The band on the small stage sings of unrequited love in a jazzy tune, and patrons toast each other and dine with gusto. Faces blur, and the music grows faint in my head.

The maître d’ opens a door at the end of a hall, and Soledad and I are in a private room with a cherry table, two new glasses and a bottle of Hibiki.

At the other end sits Harvey, his black suit hugging his powerful shoulders and draping down to the trim waist. His mahogany hair is slicked back to show a neat forehead with a faint hint of a horizontal wrinkle. He has pale amber eyes with heavy lids, nothing like Mom’s. He took after his father and got the narrow, straight nose and thin lips.

Two beefy bald men stand to each side behind him. Probably his right and left hands. They look like crosses between a human and a pit bull.

Great. So Soledad is in cahoots with Harvey. Figures. She’s too stupid to know you don’t get involved with a mob boss’s heir.

Harvey smiles. “Good to see you, Ares.”

I sigh. “Can’t really say the same.”

Soledad interjects, “I did it!”

Harvey’s snakelike eyes flick in her direction. “You did. Now wait outside.”

“What? No! I want to have my say first.”

“Business first.” He signals the man to his left, who immediately steps forward and takes her arm.

“Let me go!” She turns to me. “Ares, you aren’t going to let them manhandle me, are you? I’m the love of your life!”

She could be the salvation of humanity, but I’d still let them. She’s the one who set me up. “Get her out of here,” I say to the man.

“You asshole!” she screams. “You know why I hired that other Ares? Because he would’ve defended me!”

“For a fee,” I mutter.

“You’re such a shit!” She kicks so hard, her silver heels fly off. The man drags her out. She resists, but she might as well be resisting a rhino.

As soon as the door closes behind them, the room plunges into silence. Harvey gestures at the seat opposite him. “Please.”

The last thing I want is to sit with him. But my ass is already lowering itself into the armchair. I’m sure Soledad’s “love potion” came from him.

He pours the Hibiki into the two glasses. “To our family.”

“We aren’t family,” I say, raising my glass. Thankfully I have enough self-control to avoid going along with his unspoken suggestion and drinking it. What the fuck did he have Soledad feed me?

“Sure we are. Pietas et unitas, and all that.”

“Loyalty and unity extend to the Huxleys. Not a Dunkel.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still upset about your mother.”

“She should’ve gone to jail,” I seethe. “Or better yet get, locked up in a dungeon. I know you have a couple in your compound.”

He shoots me a hooded look over the glass. “She’s too fragile for it.”

Recalling her wild expression, I snort. “Right. Fragile. She single-handedly kidnapped me, drove me to some godforsaken place in Oregon, then left me to die.”

“The fire was an accident.” He sighs, full of a regret I don’t buy. “She paid a heavy price for it.”

“By having somebody else take the fall for her?” I sneer.

“She’s been confined.”

“Did she get tied to a chair and fed drugged food? It seems like the family thing—drugging people.”

“You refused to take my calls, and I don’t want to hurt you, not the way your mother did. I care about you and our familial bond. No matter how much you deny it, the Dunkel blood flows in your veins. That makes you one of us.”

“I’ll never be one of you.”

His lazy smile says, We’ll see about that. The man to his right places a black leather folio in front of me and opens it. It’s a standard retainer agreement on official Huxley & Webber stationery. Motherfucker. He came prepared.

His goon puts a pen in my hand.

“Sign it.”

Harvey’s soft command tugs at me, and my fingertips whiten around the pen. The goon moves my hand until the tip of the pen is at the signature section. Oh hell no. My family can find all sorts of loopholes to break out of contracts, but a retainer agreement is another matter. Even if we do it legally, it can create a negative perception, and sometimes that’s more important than the truth.

“This is coercion. And the retainer is just going to be another worthless piece of paper when it’s proven I was drugged,” I say.

Crossing his legs, he swirls his whiskey. “How confident are you that you can get tested before it’s gone from your system?”

Fuck.

“Just sign it, Ares. The law firm will love having our business. I promise it’ll be lucrative. A great, long-lasting partnership founded on blood ties and boundless profits.”

My fingers twitch. The pen shifts on the paper, leaving a short line. Sign, sign, sign, the voice that sounds just like Harvey urges in my head. Nausea roils. Sweat pops out on my forehead and back. There’s a great reason I shouldn’t sign, but what…? My thoughts grow unclear.

“Come on,” Harvey says gently—a paternal figure leading a lost youth back home. “You don’t truly believe your mother just gave up on you and your brothers, do you? The agreement between our families stipulates that she’s free to reach out again when all the boys reach the age of thirty, and your brothers just celebrated their thirtieth birthday last month.”

I stiffen. Grandmother and Father seemed a bit tense at the party, but I assumed it was simply a management problem at the firm. After all, the Huxleys’ relationship with the Webbers has become awkward, and things are still shaking out.

“Bullshit,” I say finally. “My family would’ve called for a restraining order in perpetuity.”

“Wanted to. Couldn’t. Not when she threatened to cut her wrists.” Harvey’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Zoe’s hard to stop when she’s motivated. And your grandfather loves her. A mystery, isn’t it?”

For this, the family would’ve extracted something from the Dunkels. Still… Fuck.

Then I recall the text I received earlier. My little prince. Mom would call me exactly that…

“She’s trying to find a way to get to you. My men tell me she’s going to use young, beautiful women this time. She’s been busy with her little side business in gambling and lending and got her hands on women so desperate they’d do anything to seduce you and bring you back to the fold and the love she’s been saving for you.” He waits for his words to sink in for a moment.

It takes a while, with my head so foggy. But when I process it, nausea roils through my gut.

Harvey continues, “I can keep them away from you. Keep you insulated and safe. You don’t want to be Zoe’s little puppet, do you?” He gives me a Satanic smile, bargaining for my soul. “Sign the retainer. I promise you won’t regret it.”

I shouldn’t. I can’t. “I need to pee.”

“What?” Harvey squints at me.

I jump to my feet, but his goon pushes me back down into the seat. His meaty paws are strong, and he doesn’t mind being rough.

“Sign first,” Harvey says.

“Pee first,” I counter.

The muscles in his jaw flex. “Ares—”

“I’m going to pee on the contract if you don’t let me go to the bathroom right now.”

“You wouldn’t.”

I reach for my belt buckle. Harvey scowls, his expression somewhere between disbelief and horror. I unbuckle, then begin to lower my zipper.

“Fine!” He turns to the goon. “Take him to the bathroom.” He looks at me coolly. “Once you’re done, you’ll come back and sign like the good nephew that you are.”

A thin smile curves my lips, although my head feels fuzzier. I observe the scene like it’s happening outside of my body.

The goon takes me by the arm, and we leave the room. Soledad jumps up from a chair and lunges at me past Goon Number Two. Ugh. I don’t have the mental energy to deal with her right now.

Putting two fingers on her forehead, I push her back into her chair. “Stay.”

“Ares, you know I love you, right? You won’t forget about me?” She looks at me tearfully, but her mouth is twisted into a weirdly manipulative smile. She probably has some ground pepper in her purse to rub into her eyes. Should’ve given up when she was ahead. Her profession of love only strengthens my resolve to make my escape.

“I’d rather cut off my dick than be with you.”

“You can’t say that!”

“Don’t like it? Talk to Harvey about the defective ‘love potion.’” Drive him crazy with your nasal whining.

There are two ways you can score a win. One: crush the opponent’s spirit with a show of overwhelming force. Generally how I prefer to be in courtrooms and other professional settings. Two: feign incompetence and weakness to make the opponent underestimate you and lower their guard. Works great when you’re dealing with somebody who thinks he has the upper hand.

I stumble a little, moving as though I’m feeling woozy. The neckless goon knows I’ve been drugged, but he probably doesn’t know with what or exactly how it affects me—my uncle isn’t the sharing type. So I’ll put on a show.

The bathroom is all black and reflective, with stall doors going from floor to ceiling. Very civilized, very private. The asshole pushes me toward a urinal. “I need a stall.” I point at the biggest one with a blue wheelchair logo on the door.

“You only need to pee,” he says in a gravelly voice.

“I have a condition. Paruresis.”

“What?”

“Shy bladder syndrome. Can’t pee with you staring.” I give him a meaningful look while swaying slightly.

He looks horrified. “I’m not staring at your dick.”

“Don’t believe you.”

“What the fuck? You were about to take out your dick in front of Harvey.”

“He’s family. Probably changed my diaper when I was a kid.” I lay it on thick, slapping his solid shoulder. “Look. Just let me pee in peace, okay? To be honest, I kinda need to poo, too.”

His face scrunches.

“Full disclosure is important. You should know—I’m a lawyer.”

He glares at me. In fact, he looks like he wants to murder me, but Harvey needs me to sign the retainer agreement. I give the goon a cheeky grin, then stumble into the stall and lock it with a loud click. The automatic flush goes off. Fantastic.

I look around. What can I use to surprise attack the asshole outside? Can I take out the toilet paper holder? It’s metal, and long enough to hurt if I jab it into his eyes. But am I going to be quick enough? I was slower than Soledad at the party, and since then the drug has had more time to spread through my system.

I look up and see a long window across. It opens, and I think I can push my head and maybe shoulders through if I grease myself.

Desperation can be a great substitute for grease.

I don’t have to have any grease. Besides, I don’t want to leave my clothes behind. I step on the toilet seat and slide the window open. It creaks a little.

“What’s that?”

“A fart, okay? Whatever your boss gave me is making me gassy.”

A sound of disgust. I grin, then hoist myself up. Just because my reflexes are slower doesn’t mean my muscles are useless. Doing gymnastics for six years and practicing aikido and judo since I escaped the burning cabin have made me pretty agile.

I stick my head out and look around. A small alley. Underneath the window is a big dumpster, probably for the restaurant. I experimentally push myself up, trying to fit my shoulders through. The frame scrapes my clothes and skin. Something gets caught, and I wriggle and yank at my jacket. The toilet flushes.

“Finally! You done now?” the goon calls out impatiently.

“Mostly!” I yell back, then shove myself out.

Carefully, I twist and turn. Something cracks, but I don’t pay attention, since it isn’t me. Finally, I get my torso through and turn, hanging from the window. My foot touches the dumpster cover. It flexes a bit under my weight; I hop down. My balance isn’t quite perfect, but I manage to stay on my feet. Yes!

This must’ve been what Lareina felt when she managed to escape her terrible aunt via the balcony. Wonder how she’s doing now. Hopefully she wasn’t caught.

I trot toward the main drag and people. Harder for Harvey and his men to act recklessly when there are so many witnesses. The lights halo, and my eyes refuse to focus correctly, just like the time I had them dilated for an examination.

Blinking, I stumble into the crowd. Nobody seems to notice anything off about me. Harvey is smart. He would never give me something that would earn me a hospital visit.

Moving behind a gay couple with bulging arms and legs, I pull out my phone to dial. Except the battery’s down to nothing. Damn it. I could have sworn I charged it before leaving the room. Scowling, I put it away. No calling for help tonight.

I walk a few blocks, and then see a tall, bald man in a black suit in the crowd. Is that the asshole who dragged me to the bathroom? He swivels his nonexistent neck left and right.

Shit. I turn around and start moving toward a brightly lit building to my left. Every nerve bristles with apprehension. How much of the alarm I’m feeling is real and how much is from the drugs? I don’t want to move too quickly in order not to get spotted, but then the goon sees me. Being as tall as I am makes it hard to blend in to a crowd. I pick up the pace, but the goon increases his speed as well.

It seems like a futile effort. Frustration swells in my chest. Why the hell didn’t the family ensure nobody associated with the Dunkels could get near me?

My eyes refuse to focus properly, but I’m close enough to see that the place I’ve been walking toward is a casino. I start to push the door open, and a cool hand closes around my wrist.