Chapter 24
After two weeks of drying, it’s time to cut my soaps. I’ve never been more nervous in my life. This is an important step for my business because if Cat’s clients enjoy the product, they will surely want to buy more. No advertising works better than word of mouth. Also, people are coming from all over the country. This could be the next big thing.
Even though I’m working remotely, I’ve never been more organized. My aunt Felicia is helping my mother maintain the hive, so I’ve assigned her a small salary that she reluctantly accepted. Braxton, the guy who is developing my store’s website, has installed an inventory system on my computer that makes it easy to organize my stock, what I should replenish soon, we are almost sold out.
My supplier’s information is also included, and an alert to follow the hive routines, which notifies my aunt directly to her cell phone. It’s truly a wonder.
I put a thick piece of cardboard on the breakfast bar to protect the granite before unmolding the soaps.
“You know I’ve been doing this for a long time, right?” I say to Lionel, who is by my side willing to help me with the process.
Not only do I have to cut the dry leaves, but smooth each of the bars individually, pack them in a polyurethane wrapper, and then label them.
“I don’t need your help.” I don’t want him to feel in any way compelled to be here.
“Occasionally, it’s nice to accept someone’s help,” he replies, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “And must I remind you that marriage is a partnership, so here I am, your PA.”
That makes me snort.
Lionel is nobody’s assistant. The man is too bossy for that.
“You’re going to follow my instructions to the T,” I warn, pointing a finger at him. “And you’d better pay attention. I don’t want to keep repeating myself. It would only lead to wasting more time.”
A gorgeous smile is drawn on his delicious lips.
“As my mistress orders,” he scoffs.
When I bought the wooden molds, I also ordered some wire cutters of different sizes for the loaves, now we’re ready to get down to business.
Although I had my doubts about getting help, I must admit that Lionel has been a very good assistant. In one hour we cut all the bars and are ready to start the smoothing process using a tool that comes with a fairly sharp blade. The soaps are quite hard, so we must be careful that the customer gets a smooth bar with no sharp edges.
While I carefully smooth each one, Lionel takes care of picking up the leftovers, putting them in some covered jars that I got. I’ve never thrown leftovers in the trash, they are useful to use at home or to experiment with new forms of packaging or aromas.
“These soaps are great,” he says, admiring what we’ve been doing. “But I think they’re missing something.”
That makes me gasp. I start to check each of the soaps. In my eyes they are perfect. And believe me when I tell you that I’m a perfectionist when it comes to my work. I’ve never delivered a cracked bar or one with less weight than the one indicated on the label.
Many manufacturers prefer to make the waffle cut. I like the bars to be smooth and with a satin finish. I use top-notch ingredients, so it’s a plus that whoever receives the bar can appreciate it in all its splendor.
Lionel leaves the kitchen like he didn’t say anything while I stay in my place throwing daggers at him with my eyes.
A moment later, as I continue to straighten the soaps in neat lines, we have arranged them by aroma. The whole house smells of honey and essential oils. Lionel returns bringing a tall and thin box. His smile tells me that he’s up to something.
“This is for you,” he announces as he puts the box on the bar, and then he gives me a rather theatrical gesture.
“What is it?” I ask him.
I still need to put the soaps in the shrink-wrap, pass them through the heat gun, and label them. As this is my first large order, I’ve decided to use plastic wrap. Although they have some gaps on the sides, I think the soaps should breathe and continue drying. I still need to tailor my methods to wholesale, but give it a personal touch.
“Open the box and you’ll see.”
“Lionel, we have a lot to do, this is not the time for games.”
“I’m not playing, stubborn woman. This is for your business, open the box.”
Snorting, I do what he tells me, and find a tool I have seen before but had never been able to buy.
It’s quite expensive, and it’s a luxury I could never afford especially for a small company like mine.
“A stamping machine.” Those words come out of my lips in a soft sigh. But inside my chest, my heart has swollen and is jumping with excitement.
“And of course, you need a seal.” I look at it without knowing what to say. Braxton has been working with the company’s marketing department to help me choose my store’s name, but I still haven’t decided, although I have several good contenders.
From a gift bag, he takes out a glass object and puts it in my hands. When I lift the cardboard covering the bottom, I see the perfect name for my company in blue ink.
Bee my honey.
“This is wonderful,” I say with a smile, as I blink the tears that fill my eyes and make everything blurry. “Thank you, Lionel.”
He has done so much for me in the past few weeks. Not only has he given me wings to fly, he has taken it upon himself to be there every step of the way, encouraging me when forces have failed me and giving me the little push that urges me to continue.
Since I arrived in California, I’ve discovered the true meaning of having a partner.
“You like it?” he asks me when he sees I continue to trace the seal’s fine lines with my fingers.
“I love it,” because of what he has done and what it represents. They even added a couple of bees flying around.
This is my store. What I believe in. This is me.
“Let’s get back to work!” he encourages me. We soon put the stamp in place—the process is relatively straightforward—and in about an hour, we have stamped at least a hundred soaps.
“You know this kitchen is going to be too small for you soon, right?”
“Are you already tired of seeing the countertops full of molds and materials?”
“Not in a million years, Hvězda . This is your house, and you can do whatever you want in it,” he says decisively. “What I mean is, this is the first step to success, and as organized as you are, the kitchen is not that big. You need your own space. At some point, you will have inventory and supplies purchased at wholesale.”
Fuck, I hadn’t thought about that, what Lionel is saying is true.
I could have turned the house’s living room into a factory back home in Carrollton, but here I simply don’t have a solution to this dilemma, which I feel I will have soon.
Lionel realizes my worry, so he keeps talking. “Fortunately for you, it turns out that you know a good architect and I have inside information that in the building of his construction company there is a space that could work very well for you, it’s on the first floor.”
What is he saying?
“Lionel, you can’t do that!” I say, overwhelmed by the mere suggestion.
“Why not? The building is mine and I can do whatever I want with it.”
“And your partners? Your investors?” Surely they won’t be pleased to find out about this.
“I have investors who occasionally partner with me on individual projects, but the construction company is mine. If I decide that I want to set my company on fire tomorrow, I could do it.”
I look at him with my mouth open, of course, he isn’t going to do that, too many people depend on him.
“After the party, we can take a look. See what you think of it, and work on a design together. So by the time you decide to hire help, you’ve already organized a production place outside the house.”
In that, he’s absolutely right. I would like our home to preserve its privacy. I don’t want to have strange people hanging around every day.
Not forgetting the issue of security.
“You are the best husband in the world.” I go to the other side of the bar where he’s standing. I tighten my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against his strong chest.
“Does that mean I’m getting rewarded tonight?” I hear him say with a voice full of humor, while his hands frame my face to place the sweetest of kisses on my lips.
“You are such a romantic, Lionel.” My protests die on his lips, and to my regret, the kiss ends. We still have a lot of work to do, and Alexandra needs the soaps ASAP, as her staff is already waiting on them to add it to the swag bags for the guests.
???
I really think I’ve caught something because the first thing I do this morning is empty my stomach into the toilet, and hiding it from Lionel has become a challenge. Today, I feel worse than ever and I have a long day ahead of me. Tonight is ARC’s party, the company that Alexandra manages, and her friends arrived yesterday, so we have a spa appointment in a couple of hours.
My body feels heavy, and the only reason I’m getting up is that I have to puke my guts out. Otherwise, I wouldn’t get out of bed.
Luckily for me, Lionel left very early. First, he had to visit the land he acquired at an auction a few days ago, then he and Ethan are going golfing for a few hours. It will give me time to get ready, and my eager man won’t see me until I’m all set.
This is the first formal party I’ve ever attended in my life, so I’m very excited. Also, I’ve seen Lionel’s tuxedo hanging on a hook in the walk-in closet, and I can hardly wait to see it on him.
With the little strength left in my body, I manage to get out of bed and take a shower. I’m about to call Alexandra to cancel our appointment when I get a message that they are waiting for me at the house entrance. I decide it’s better if I get out of the house. In Carrollton, sometimes, Valerie and I go for manicures and it’s always a good time. Today we’ll be receiving the full spa treatment, so it will definitely be a wonderful day.
“Stella,” Nathalie says, one of Alexandra’s friends—ahem, one of my new friends—squeals from her chair next to mine. We are waiting for our turn with the masseuse. “Your story is like a movie. I love it!”
A smile is drawn on my face.
“I can assure you it was not a path of roses.” It’s the truth. We had to walk through many thorns to get to where we are today.
Alexandra and her best friends are in the cubicles in front of us about to fall asleep.
“Are you sure you don’t want a mimosa?” she asks with bright eyes. “They’re delicious.”
I’m positive. I shake my head in response. My stomach keeps churning. The best thing is to make an appointment with the doctor as soon as possible. I thought that I would feel better as the days passed, but on the contrary, my symptoms have gone from bad to worse.
“I’d rather wait until tonight.” That’s a good excuse.
Luckily, she changes the subject to a lighter one that I can handle better. “Do you have any idea how you want to style your hair for tonight?”
I smile proudly, everything is ready. “Lily, the stylist Alex took me to, gave me a sheet of hair and makeup tips. I’ve already chosen the one I think suits me the best.”
“I’m sure Lionel is going to faint as soon as he sees you,” she tells me.
“You can almost be sure of that,” Alexandra yells from her place on the table, the sound muffled, the girl has her head buried in the headrest, but she hasn’t lost the thread of the conversation for a moment. As always, she’s in the know of everything. “Never doubt my ability to get away with it.”
No, definitely no one who knows her could do it.
“Your husband is so dreamy,” I hear Ashton say in a sleepy voice. “And all those photos on your Instagram feed…”
That makes me laugh, appearances can be misleading… “Do I have a stalker on my account?”
All three laugh loudly, and I don’t know which one to look at first. “Several of us,” Nathalie confesses, touching my hand with her fingertips.
“Your husband is a stud,” adds Ashton.
“Don’t be fooled, Stella,” says Alexandra. “Her husband is big and strong, and this redhead here is crazy about him.”
“Those navy guys…” Ashton defends herself. “At the academy, they must give them classes on how to drive the women in their lives crazy along with how to rescue hostages and defuse bombs.”
The three murmur in acceptance. I don’t know what to say, only Lionel knows how to drive me crazy. In more ways than one.
When I’m ready to go out, I look at myself in the mirror. Following through on what I promised, I send Valerie a quick text, otherwise, she would never forgive me.
Stella: How do I look?
Valerie: Your idiot husband is definitely going to fuck your brains out. That body deserves some boom, boom, bang, bang.
Stella: I hope so.
Valerie: Tell me you don ’ t have granny panties on under the dress.
Stella: No, Spanx.
Valerie: I hope Lionel has an electric saw on hand to get you out of that thing.
Stella: Kidding. The outfit includes a fabulous lace corset set.
I need to go, it ’ s about time.
Valerie: Have fun, take lots of photos and tomorrow I expect a full report.
Stella: I ’ ve got you!
I feel like a princess fresh out of a fairy tale as I walk down the stairs to meet Lionel. My dress is a very pale pink, covered by a thin layer of sheer fabric with black embroidery. It has an air of the twenties, it’s unique, and I love it. My hair is in a low bun, and my makeup, a very natural glam. My high heels rattle on the hardwood floor as I walk in search of my husband.
To my disappointment, he isn’t in the kitchen, so I guess he’s in the office.
The door is ajar, and as I get closer I can hear his voice perfectly. He’s arguing with someone. I’m about to knock when I hear the screams.
“You think I don’t know?” he says, his voice full of pent-up anger. “I’m not a fool, Mom.”
Mrs. Kral is here, and I suppose the reason for her visit isn’t pleasant.
“That woman is nothing but a gold digger, Lionel, she’s part of the charade,” she yells. “How can you live with her? What are you thinking, taking her to the ARC party? That woman is a gold digger and an attempted murderer.”
Peeking through the crack I can see Lionel already dressed for the party, minus the jacket. He looks gorgeous.
“Be very careful, Mom. You’re talking about my wife.”
Mrs. Kral gives a rather loud laugh. In silence, I move away from the door, but don’t move very far. I have to keep listening. They know things about me that I’m not aware of myself.
“Is she your wife now?” she alleges. “Since when? We both know you didn’t marry her.”
Lionel clears his throat before answering. My head is spinning. This time it isn’t because of the dizziness that has become part of my life these past few days, it’s because I can’t believe what they’re saying.
I don’t understand.
My eyes fill with tears, and a knot tightens in my throat. What is this shit?
“I didn’t ask for the annulment, Mom, she’s still my wife. I made her my wife.”
Lionel’s mother gasps so loudly I can hear her from the dark hallway I’m in.
“That woman is nothing more than a con and you have already fallen into her trap like a fool. I expected more from you, Son. She’s in cahoots with whoever pretended to be you and then tried to kill you.”
What? This information floats above my head. I’m listening, but I can’t process it.
It’s impossible to do it.
“She isn’t the woman that I chose, but she’s the woman I intend to stay with.”
No, no. This can’t be, what is happening here?
“That woman was paid to marry you. The evidence is in the envelope. She was transferring money between her accounts after marrying you. That doesn’t seem suspicious to you?”
The silence is only broken by the sound of my heart beating in my ears like a drum.
“I-I-I’m aware of that …”
A gasp comes out of my mouth. I put my hand over it to prevent them from hearing me.
“And you still have her here? She’s a criminal, call the police and have her taken away immediately.”
“Enough, Mom, enough.” Lionel’s tone is harsh and angry, though he’s holding himself back from screaming and making an even bigger fuss.
“Think about it, Lionel, you are on borrowed time. That woman wants to kill you and keep your money.”
“You better go,” he says softly. I can almost see him, his hands clenched on either side of his body, speaking to her with his jaw so clenched that I’m surprised it doesn’t crack his teeth.
“We’ll talk in a few days,” she finishes before leaving the office and closing the door behind her.
I haven’t been able to move from the place where I am. I’m still paralyzed by the information I just learned, although thick tears are streaming down my cheeks.
I can’t stay here. I have to go. I’ve got to get out of here right now.
“I know you’re here,” she says in the dark. “I can help you leave if you want to.”
It seems that she’s read my mind and offers me a way out. I don’t care about the consequences. I’ll deal with them later.