Chapter 5
Emilia
"You need to talk to Bianca, my mother and my father," I told Damian, speaking slowly because when I talked too fast or loudly, my head moved, and it made me dizzy.
"I will."
"Cause, I don't want to get slapped or pushed or whatever else. Or, you can just sign those damned annulment papers and put an end to my misery." I had no idea why Damian was being so stubborn. It made no sense. He should be spinning cartwheels that I wasn't holding out for a real marriage, like that would happen.
He could handle the PR mess. We weren't the first two idiots to go on a bender in Las Vegas and get married; and then annul that marriage within twenty four hours—and we wouldn't be the last.
"No."
"Why the hell not? You obviously love my sister. She definitely loves you."
"Em, you and I are married."
I dropped my head into my hands and winced. Okay, so not the brightest idea to jerk my head around. Damn, Bianca. She was always the one who got physical the first chance she got when we were growing up. She hadn't struck me like this in years, but then I hadn't pissed her off quite so much either.
A part of me, a very small part of me, was petty enough to enjoy the drama. I mean, Invisible Miss Winters had snagged Damian Archer, sex god and handsome as sin delicious rich dude. So, maybe he had to be drunk for that to happen, still, this was definitely something I could tell my grandkids.
"Let me tell you about that time Nana got married to your Grand Uncle in Las Vegas."
"Really, Nana? Uncle Damian married you?"
"I know. He was drunk and it didn't last long but it did happen."
"Cool."
Somehow, in my imagination, even my imaginary grandkids couldn't blame Damian for dumping my flat ass. Probably because I never saw marriage and grandkids in my future.
I didn't see much beyond art.
Relationships were messy. What did they bring you? Besides three stitches on your forehead and a really violent slap?
We were in some private clinic. A very fancy place. The doctor looked at Damian accusingly, probably thinking he was witnessing a case of domestic abuse.
"Dr…Pradhan?" I rolled his name in my mouth, so I pronounced it correctly, "You've got it wrong. My mother slapped me, and my sister pushed me, and I fell. She didn't mean for this to happen. Mama on the other hand, well, my skin bruises easily." It was a bullshit lie. My skin did no such thing, but I didn't need the good doctor to call the cops on Maeve Winters. That would definitely screw my life up.
"What?" Dr. Pradhan stared at me. "That's still assault. We should—"
"I married my sister's boyfriend." I pointed at Damian. "I've got to give them a pass on this. Don't you agree?"
Dr. Pradhan was now not very impressed with me either. He turned to Damian. "She's Bianca's sister?"
"Yep."
"And you married her?"
"Yep."
The doctor looked at me.
"I know, I'm just as surprised," I chortled. My head was swimming and I felt drunk. I'd have one hell of a hangover, which sucked because I hadn't even been drinking.
"I didn't hit her, but I have half a mind to have her mother and sister booked on assault," Damian growled.
"No," I cried out and winced again because my head didn't like that, not one little bit. "Please, no. Just sign those annulment papers, Damian. We made a mistake and... Doctor, I'm feeling very tired."
"Yeah, that happens when we shoot you up with painkillers." The doctor's voice sounded like it was coming from far away. "Make sure she rests, and I'll check on her tomorrow," I heard him say and then I blissfully blacked out.
Bliss didn't last long.
"Open your eyes, Emilia," someone woke me up.
I opened my eyes.
"Good girl. Now, do you know what date it is?"
"Fuck no," I mumbled. "I never know what date it is. Is it a good date?" I laughed at my own joke and groaned in pain.
"Fine. Do you know who the President is?"
"Yes." I told him who it was.
"Good. Now, follow my finger."
Damian kept waking me up. The last time he did was at eight in the morning and that was when I noticed my surroundings.
"Where am I?" I asked him after he did the 'who's the president' nonsense.
"My place. How do you feel?"
I did an assessment. "My heart hurts." I checked other parts of my body. "I'm really sore between my legs." As soon as the words were out, I clamped my mouth shut. Now, why didn't I filter that out?
"I'm sorry," Damian mumbled. "I'm going to get Liza to bring you some breakfast so you can take your pain medication. That should help with your head and…ah your…."
"Sore pussy?" I asked. Filter, come back. It was the drugs, I thought. They were making me woozy. Or maybe it was the brain injury.
I heard Damian chuckle.
A woman in her late forties who I assumed was Liza, brought me buttered toast with jam and a glass of orange juice.
"I need to use the restroom," I told her as I gingerly got out of bed.
Liza smiled at me. "You do that, hon. There are towels under the sink and a spare toothbrush."
I extended my hand to Liza. "I'm Emilia."
"Liza Davis. I'm Damian's housekeeper."
"Nice to meet you."
"You take your time. Your doctor has said you need to rest today."
I took a shower because I felt nasty. It was refreshing until I dried myself and that was all the energy I apparently had. I wrapped myself in a fluffy bathrobe and came into the bedroom. It looked like a guestroom, considering all the toiletries in the bathroom were brand new and untouched.
Damian was sitting on a chair, his back to a floor to ceiling window that had a view of the Bay Bridge. On a table next to him was my breakfast. He looked up from his phone.
"Eat." He waved a hand to a matching chair on the other side of the table. This was a small breakfast nook, I realized. It was cozy and incredibly cute.
The room was gorgeous. There was antique art everywhere but what stood out was a stunning 18th-century landscape painting by Claude Lorrain.
"That Lorrain is an original, isn't it?" I asked as I sat down.
Damian looked at the painting that hung on the wall across from the bed. "Yes."
There were other paintings and artwork, each piece adding a layer of timeless sophistication.
There was a small sitting area with a love seat and a coffee table, on which sat a fresh flower arrangement of vibrant orchids, adding a touch of natural beauty and fragrance.
I picked up the toast and applied jam to it. "I love orchids," I told Damian.
"I know."
I took a bit of the toast and with my mouth full asked, "How?"
"I asked Liza to find out. She may have called some people on your parents' staff."
Oh, so he hadn't done the work, Liza had. Well, he'd asked her to, so that was something.
I finished eating and he handed me two white pills. I washed them down with orange juice.
"We need to talk." Damian set his phone down on the table next to the carafe of orange juice.
I rested against the back of the chair and folded my legs so I could rest my chin on my knees. I made sure the fluffy robe wasn't exposing any of my bits to my soon-to-be ex-husband.
"I told my parents and brothers about us last night while you were sleeping," he informed me.
Marcela and Tate Archer were juggernauts in the art business. I'd met them several times since Daddy worked for Archer Galleries—and found both of them intimidating as hell. Even more scary was Damian's older brother, Duncan, who lived in Paris, managing the European side of Archer Galleries. The youngest brother was Dean, and I didn't know him at all. He lived and worked in Hong Kong.
The three Ds were smart, interesting, handsome, rich, and ruthless. Their parents had the same reputation. I doubted any of them thought that it was a good idea that Damian married me.
I knew Duncan and Dean were friends with Bianca. Marcela was close friends with my mother. Tate played golf with my father.
Great!
"Your mom won't slap me around, will she?" I asked trying to lighten the mood, mostly for myself, though I wasn't sure if I was joking.
Marcela Archer was one of the fiercest art critics and acquirers in the world. If she deemed your art worthy, you soared, if she said it was shit, good luck placing your paintings at a low-end motel chain.
"No." His face remained serious. "Em, we're married."
I wiggled my fingers with the rings on them. "No kiddin'."
He sighed, not liking how I was trying to keep it light. "Let's give the media time to quieten down and then we can go back to the original plan."
"Which is to dissolve this sham of a marriage?" I offered.
"Yeah…in six months."
So, a small part of me. A very small part of me was thrilled as hell that I'd live with Damian for six whole months.
I wasn't stupid. I knew he wasn't going to be mine. Sure, we had sex once but like he said, it didn't go very well for him, and he probably wouldn't want a repeat performance.
"Now, I want you to go back to bed," he ordered. "Liza is here and she'll keep an eye on you. Doc will come by later on and check up on you as well."
"I need to go home, Damian."
He looked irritated now. "You can keep your damned place. But you live here now."
My damned place?
"I have a very nice loft," I said defensively. "It's not the Four Seasons but it's lovely. I have room to paint and—"
"I don't give a fuck, Emilia. Just pack up your shit and move in here. This will be your room."
He walked out after that.
I wanted to yell at him, tell him that he should treat me better. But why would he? I trapped him. I was an awful person.
I went out of the bedroom and found Liza in the open plan kitchen, dining, and family area. There was another large living room, which I assumed was for formal occasions.
I sat down at the kitchen island on a bar stool and looked around. All three walls were made of glass.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Liza spoke from behind me.
"Yeah. Liza, I had a backpack with me."
"Oh, yes. I put it in your closet. I also washed your clothes and pressed them—they're hanging in your closet as well."
I went back into the guest room, which was apparently going to be my room for the duration of this god-awful marriage.
I pulled out my phone and saw it was dead. I set it to charge on the bedside table. I pulled out my computer and turned it on.
I had to find a job. Easy enough for Damian Archer to not worry about pesky shit like money. But I needed to pay rent on my studio. I had a student loan to pay down. I had to save for my master's education.
I had received an email from Make Me Beautiful Inc. It was a notice of termination of my employment.
I sent emails to all my art contacts, asking them if they had any openings for me as an art restorer or anything else.
After that I made the mistake of getting on to the news sites and…it was a disaster. The headlines were brutal.
Emilia Winters Wrecks Sister's Home
Emilia Winters, Who Is She?
Damian and His New Bride in Vegas—all the details
This was not good. They'd managed to get a photograph of mine from university. I wasn't on any social media. I knew I should get on some to promote my art, but I hated all the media attention surrounding my sister, especially since she started dating Damian. I also didn't have the courage to take selfies and post them. I didn't exist on the Internet—only as an addendum to Bianca on her Wikipedia page.
I felt miserable with the world hating me and by the time Dr. Pradhan came to check up on me later in the day, I was just about ready to burst into tears.
He did his thing and made soothing sounds while he worked because everything hurt. My heart hurt. My head hurt. My life felt like it was over.
As a neglected child, I'd found ways to be happy. I knew how to take care of myself. I was an optimist by nature and always took the path that led to peace and contentment and away from conflict. But now with my family gone and everyone looking at me like I was the vilest woman on the planet, the darkness was hard to keep away.
"Thanks for coming and checking up on me, Doctor Pradhan."
"Call me Doc. Everyone else does. "
"Well, thank you, Doc."
We were sitting in Damian's family room. It was beautifully decorated with antique art. But it felt impersonal and fake, just like my reasons for being here. "How are you holding up?" Doc asked.
I leaned back on the couch. "I'm good."
He chuckled. "Your sister gave you a concussion. The media is calling you…well…."
"A homewrecking whore?"
He smiled tightly now. "So, Emilia, I'll ask you again, how are you holding up?"
"By a very thin thread." I looked him in the eye. "But I know how to take care of myself. Been doing it all my life."
"No doubt. Sounds like your family dropped you like a hot potato."
"Wouldn't you if someone in your life did what I did?"
He narrowed his eyes. "And what did you do?"
"I married my sister's boyfriend."
"Enh! Your sister and Damian were always fighting. If they'd ever married, they would've lasted maybe five minutes."
Well, buddy, Damian and I by that measure are gonna last a nanosecond.
"They love each other and…." I shook my head. "You won't tell anyone about our conversation, will you?" I added, suddenly scared now that he'd talk to the media and make it all worse.
"I work with high-end clients like the Archer family, Emilia. My business is keeping my mouth shut."
"Good." I licked my lips and let out a deep breath. "They really love each other. And now I've ruined it."
"No," Doc said emphatically. "I don't know what you ruined but it wasn't their relationship. I know both of them; and I can tell you one thing, Damian loves the idea of Bianca. She's so much like him that he can't see straight."
"And I'm the opposite of Bianca. She's pretty, smart and successful."
"And you are?"
"Plain, dumb and invisible."
"Wow, your family didn't just now drop you, looks like they've been doing it all your life."
A tear rolled down my cheek and I wiped it hurriedly. Doc put a hand on my shoulder. "Hey. Is it really that bad?"
I nodded sadly. "Don't worry. I'll snap out of it. Doc, do I have a clean bill of health?"
"Yes. But stay off screens and sleep a lot. Drink plenty of water. The usual shit. In a couple of weeks, the concussion will clear out. Where will you be staying? Here, I assume."
"I think so." I felt forlorn. This place was lovely, but it wasn't my home and right now I needed to be surrounded by my things. I wanted my bed and my pillow. I needed to feel cozy and safe.
"I never liked your sister," Doc said suddenly.
I made a face. "Everyone likes Bianca. You don't have to say this to make me feel better."
"Not doing that." Doc kissed my cheek then. "You're not invisible. In fact, I think you're very special."
"Is this what it means to be a doctor for the rich and famous? You have to stroke their egos?" I wanted my voice to be light, teasing but it came out sad and pathetic.
"No, Emilia. I take care of their physical and mental health by being honest with them."
"Thank you?" I murmured uncertainly.
He chuckled. "Once you see yourself clearly, without the haze of whatever your parents did to you, I think, Emilia, you'll be a force to reckon with."