Chapter 8 - Daisy
L et’s get something straight, mister.
I have been a married woman for less than twelve hours and my husband didn’t come home for dinner. I don’t even know why I thought he might but I regret asking Jenna to make his favorite meal. I sat like a fool in the dining room eating alone while I’m fairly certain the cook and Mrs. Keating were hosting a pity party for me in the kitchen.
He came home an hour ago after the servants had retired to their cottage for the night and he’s not even bothered to come upstairs to say ‘hello.’ I feel ridiculous in the peach-colored silk nightgown I bought today. With spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, it barely covers anything and, even then, there’s a high slit on the side where my matching panties peek through. I wanted to look sexy tonight. I do look sexy. So, where the hell is my husband so he can be wowed by all this sexiness?
At a quarter past midnight, I’ve had enough of waiting for him to appear. I march downstairs to get some things settled one way or another… as soon as I figure out where he is.
“Grant?” My voice comes out softer than intended. This large empty house feels almost haunted at night. The dour-faced portraits on the wall seem to follow me with their eyes but that’s only an overactive imagination and an under-stimulated clit talking.
Through the French doors, I can see part of the hedge that forms the maze. After my visit with the ducks and Luis, I’d done a little exploring on my own and found the boarded-up entrance. It was overgrown and the wood was starting to rot. I won’t enter without permission but I am full of questions. Would Grant let me see it? How big is it? Why was it boarded up after a fight between him and his grandfather when he was ten?
There’s a door cracked open down the hallway with soft yellow light spilling out. Ah ha, he’s in the study. “Hurry, hurry, work and worry,” Mrs. Keating had said of Grant. Is this how he wants to spend his wedding night? Is he in there pinching pennies for his company or is he merely being gentlemanly about coming to our bed?
Glancing inside, I find him fast asleep at a large desk and some of the frustration I’d been feeling in the bedroom slips away. People described him as hard-nosed at Golden Gate. I think maybe he’s the sort of man who drives himself too hard.
Walking toward him, I see an open bottle of liquor on the desk and I hesitate. Is he a foul drunk like my step father was? I can’t imagine a man who seems as controlled to the point of iciness like Grant would be. He’s snoring softly which makes him seem far warmer and sweeps away that bit of trepidation.
Then, I see the photograph.
It’s in black and white, clearly some professional photographer’s work. She’s gorgeous, the sort of woman a man wants to show off - real trophy wife material. Dark hair, dark eyes. She’s elegant and refined in a way I’ve never been. She looks young. Who is she?
I start to back away, no longer sure my intrusion will be anything other than unwelcome, when I stumble on the edge of the rug and bang into a small bookshelf. “Ouch.”
“Daisy?”
Shit. “Sorry, I was…”
My words trail off as Grant raises his head. His jacket and tie from earlier are gone. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show me a hint of tanned, toned chest. His hair is all mussed. There’s a small crease on his cheek where he’s been asleep. He’s equal parts adorable and smoking hot like this.
But there’s nothing cute about the way his gaze slides down my body, one long, hungry look which burns me up and makes me achy in all the best ways. I flush as he keeps studying me, taking in the peach-colored nightgown. His sleepy brown eyes darken and his full lips twitch, almost as if he might smile if he were prone to smiling. “Did you need something, wife?”
Wife. It’s the first time he’s called me that which must be the reason why I shudder. “I… I was wondering if you were going to come upstairs and join me in bed.”
He asks a question instead of answering mine. “Is this one of the things you purchased on your shopping spree today?”
“Yes, I…” God, he’s got me flustered inspecting me this way. I wish I could tell what he’s thinking. I wish he’d move, get up from the desk and stride toward me as if he can’t stand not touching me for one second longer. This bride wants to feel wanted. “You said it was our wedding day and I could.”
“Of course, I did. My wife deserves a shopping spree anytime she wishes.” Not sure I buy that but he gives me another long look and he used that word again - wife . It feels so strange yet my stomach flips in a pleasant way.
“What did you buy at the art store?” he asks next.
Oh. He not only knows that I shopped but where. “Some art supplies. I’m interested in art.”
“Apparently.”
My flush turns from excited to embarrassed. It was a lot of money for something he might consider frivolous. “Art supplies are expensive.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “A hundred dollars?” His disdainful tone makes it clear that amount is nothing to him. I should’ve known. “Everyone should have a hobby, including you. You’ll want something to occupy your time here.”
A hobby to occupy my time? I don’t like the way he makes that sound. “I studied art. I… Did Anders tell you where I went today?”
“He didn’t have to. Your electronic trail did,” he informs me, tapping his laptop.
I move around to his side of the desk and see an open window, his account transactions. All of today’s purchases are there, including the fee at the clerk’s office. Today was a test just like I thought. I’m not sure if I passed or not.
“What is this charge for?” he asks, pointing to the sum I paid at Mimi’s retirement dump.
There’s only initials for the place and, for some reason, I hesitate to give him the real answer. I don’t like the appraising way he’s looking at me, the casual assumption I can hear floating between us, that I’m nothing more than the gold digger he expects me to be. We’re still strangers as much as we were when I spilled coffee on him and I can’t afford to blow this.
“My outstanding rent.”
“Hmm, well…” He shuts the laptop and leans back in his executive leather chair. “I believe you mentioned me coming upstairs. Is that what the nightgown is about?”
“Yes, I thought… well, we’re married,” I finish as my cheeks heat up again.
“This is a marriage on paper only, Daisy. I’m not going to sleep with you.” My flush runs to anger at his dismissive tone. “When you asked earlier if you should buy something for me today though, I was mistaken to think you wouldn’t know what I’d want. This lovely little nothing on you suits me. Money very well spent.”
The compliment doesn’t take away the sting of rejection. “Yet, I see it’s wasted on you. I won’t make that mistake again,” I snap before another notion occurs to me. “Forgive me but do you like women, Grant?” The way he was looking at me earlier, I would’ve sworn he did but one shouldn’t assume and he clearly didn’t wish to find a woman he might marry for love to inherit this place.
His lips curl up into a smug smirk. “Yes, I’m very much into women and only women when it comes to who I sleep with.”
“But, you don’t want to sleep with me?” Hello again, Stinging Rejection .
“I think it’s best if we remember what this arrangement is all about, don’t you? Enjoy your trophy wife status while it lasts, Daisy. I won’t be falling for you and we’ll be strangers again once this is done.”
I feel so underdressed and cheap with his words. I hate how calmly he sits there and how cold he is. I want to rattle his control. “Fine. I won’t be falling for you either. Being dependent on a man is the last thing I’ve ever wanted. We’ll stick to the plan - one trophy wife married to one heartless asshole.”
“At least I’m an honest heartless asshole. I didn’t invade your home pretending to be something I’m not.”
I bite my lip to keep from screaming the truth - that I didn’t have a home. I don’t want him to know. I don’t want his pity, assuming he’s even capable of it. So much for having a little fun with this arrangement.
“Fine, you won’t be joining me in bed. Must I be celibate during this sham of a marriage then or am I allowed to seek out other partners? I know how to be discreet.”
He jumps to his feet, quicker than a tiger, stalking around the desk as he barks, “No, you are not!”
I can’t help it, his sudden visible anger combined with the knowledge he’s been drinking makes me yelp and take a few steps backward. He pauses when he sees me do so, his hands quickly raised in surrender. “I beg your pardon. I will never harm you. Do you believe me?”
“It’s difficult to believe you when I don’t know you,” I whisper, sounding more like a frightened girl than I wish to. “You’ve been drinking…”
He sighs, his jaw clenched for a full minute before he speaks again. “I don’t drink to excess often. I apologize if I frightened you. Has anyone ever hurt you?”
I wrap my arms tightly around my torso and shake my head. “Not like that.”
He gives me a stiff nod. “Good. Nor will I. Ever. I don’t like being drunk. I won’t be drunk again around you either if it makes you uncomfortable. But, no other men, Daisy. That is a condition I must insist on above any other. You’ll be faithful for one year even without me sharing your bed.”
“So, you’re just going to sleep in your office?”
“I plan to spend much of my time at my penthouse in the city. It’s more convenient for work. You’ll have the estate and you can paint or draw to your heart’s content.” If he married for the sole purpose of keeping the estate, it seems strange that he doesn’t mind surrendering it to me for a year. “We’ll attend the occasional event together but, mostly, you’re free to do as you please… but you’ll do so without other men. Understood?”
I give him a stiff nod before tearing out of there and hurrying up the stairs. Feeling more humiliated with every step, I tell myself I’m more than happy for him to leave me alone for the next year if this is what he’s going to be like.
Tugging off the nightgown, I tuck it away. No need for it now. I pull on a pair of cotton panties and the shirt of his I’ve borrowed. He can give me a damn t-shirt to sleep in.
On the dresser, I notice the Black Card is still there from earlier. There’s also a laptop up here, sitting on the small desk by the bay window. Mrs. Keating had given me the Wi-Fi password the other day.
No other men. Fine. I don’t need them anyway. But, perhaps I could have a little something to help that big bed feel a wee bit less lonely in the coming year? I find the desired site and my cheeks flush once more. I’ve never bought one but I had friends back in school talk about them. There’s a rather extensive assortment available. Who will it be? The name of one model in particular makes me snicker. I make the purchase before I lose my nerve. Next day shipping, how convenient.
“And, I don’t care what you think about this purchase, husband.”