TWELVE | Bitter Truth | Tinsley
TWELVE
Bitter Truth
Tinsley
“ W hat? Where is this coming from?” I questioned, with confusion.
Desperation kicked in, and I reached out for Mitt. Only to grasp thin air as he moved out of range. His shoes tapped on the tile as he walked away from me and didn’t turn back. He didn’t utter a word, and he gave me no choice but to follow behind him. I couldn’t go back outside with the paparazzi everywhere. I had no choice but to face my new husband with his abrupt change of attitude.
“What do you mean, you can never love me?” I asked as he rounded a corner, and I had to speed up.
Nothing.
Not a single peep.
“Mitt? Mitt!” I yelled out and grabbed for his jacket sleeve but missed. “Goddamn it, talk to me!”
Torment turned into a temper with me hot on his heels. I was an angel with my wings ablaze and my round hollow ring of fire. Divine messenger, my ass. I was ready for war in the depths of hell.
I heard him grumble as he stormed down the hallway, and I scurried close behind in a rage. Our frustrated emotions collided, mixed into a storm cloud about to produce a destructive snow tornado. I wanted Mitt’s warmth back and mixing with my sunlight. Not this cold, harsh, and grumpy billionaire. Despite feeling fired up and confused, I was attempting to bring the sunshine back. A grump and his sunshine weren’t a marriage I signed up for.
Winded, I watched Mitt open some double doors, and I blurted out, “I’ll divorce you!”
Finally, Mitt stopped slightly past the doors. He didn’t turn around as I breathed rapidly and strands of my hair caught in my mouth. I wiped the hair away to get a better view of him. His broad shoulders were rigid, and he glanced over to his left.
A gruff voice said, “You’ll do no such thing, young lady.”
Suddenly, Cyprus Morgan stepped into view. Mitt’s father. He was a middle-aged man with graying dark hair slicked back, and I could imagine him running a comb he’d pulled out of his suit jacket pocket through it. The expensive Ralph Lauren suit he wore must have cost him thousands. He gazed down at his wristwatch and up at his son, who turned away.
I ambled forward. “Mitt? What’s going on?”
Mitt didn’t answer. Shocker. Not a surprise at all, but his harsh attitude still hurt.
I ignored his father, who I recognized from the tabloids. He had gained headlines right alongside his son. After all, he ran Morgan’s Law & Associates with his son.
Instead, Cyprus walked toward me with his hand extended. “I’m Cyprus Morgan. Mitt’s father.”
I glanced down at his hand and ignored it. Cyprus might be my new father-in-law, but first impressions always stuck, and he made a rude one. Not to mention his alleged criminal activity always making the news. I wanted nothing to do with him, only Mitt. My husband was my sole priority because he had made me his. Or at least, I thought so until five minutes ago.
“I know who you are.” I glared.
Cyprus behaved in a cutthroat and calculated manner. Headlines had labeled him as such and he had a hard time staying out of the latest news. Mitt differed from his father, or else I wouldn’t have married him. I had experienced his warmth and a depth to him his father didn’t have. His father had a bone chilling side, which gave off an eerie proceed with caution vibe. The man practically had yellow caution tape wrapped around him and a big bright sign stating, “Watch your step.” A sudden mishap, and I’d be tripping to my unexpected death.
I turned my attention to Mitt. “Why is your father here?”
Mitt said, “He’s here for brunch, as usual.”
Finally, he speaks! Took Mitt long enough.
“Good work, Son. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s smart, too,” Cyprus answered for Mitt, looking at me from head to toe.
Tension was in the air—thick, raw, and heavy. A knife blade could cut into the stiffness and hit bone and nick a major artery, sending us straight into cardiac arrest.
I leaned into Mitt and whispered, “Well, your dad can go now because we have an important matter to discuss.”
Mitt peered down at me. His eyes were serious. “He stays.”
Mitt walked away from me as a whoosh of air followed him. He made his way toward the table, and his father grinned at me. It was a satisfied smile with a hint of something sinister, and a chill ran down my spine. I bit back tears of hurt, anger, and frustration with this change in the situation.
“Fine,” I grumbled and spun on my heels. A fake smile was plastered on my face as I shoved the emotions down. “Brunch it is.”
A long table was in front of me, and Mitt took a seat at the other end. I wanted to be closer to him and my insides ached for him, but I wouldn’t press the issue. A new wife should sit beside her husband, but perhaps he was the old-fashioned type and expected husband and wife to be seated at opposite ends of the table.
Cyprus pulled out a chair and said, “Come sit, dear. We have much to discuss.”
I wanted to disobey, but Cyprus’s stern expression made me second guess my decision. Especially with a husband not taking my side at this moment. I took the seat without a word and watched Mitt’s father take his seat in the middle of the table.
He resembled a referee, with the sole purpose of keeping the game in check. Except this wasn’t ice hockey. This was my life. Our life. Together. But I had never been more alone.
The aroma of freshly made breakfast surrounded me and it smelled wonderful. Whoever the cook was, they deserved a raise. The spread was huge with waffles, pancakes, bacon, omelets, scrambled eggs, toast, French toast, bagels, fruit, coffee, and tea. There was even orange juice if anyone had a sweet craving. All the food to make a morning breakfast cheerful and welcoming after Christmas Day. But there was only an icy chill of awkwardness and evil in the air.
I grabbed the fancy scoop for the egg platter and added the fluffy eggs to my plate. Next came a couple strips of crispy bacon, just the way I enjoyed them. I took two slices of toast and lightly buttered them. I was about to take a bite when someone cleared their throat.
“I heard the wedding went off without a problem,” Cyprus said as he took a sip of tea and lowered the cup back onto the saucer.
“Yes. It was rather lovely, and Mitt even surprised me with—”
Cyprus interrupted, “A wedding dress and ring.”
“How did you—”
“Because I told him,” Mitt answered before I could finish the sentence, and he glared at me from the end of the table.
I stared right back.
“It was all part of the plan,” Cyprus said.
Mitt broke eye contact with me and glanced down at his plate. His food was left untouched as he played with his eggs and reminded me of a child scolded by a parent. Only we weren’t playing house, and this was our lives.
“Mitt? What is Cyprus talking about?” I asked as my fork clattered against my plate from my trembling hand and I droppped it.
Mitt let out a huff and pushed back his chair. The feet of his seat scraped against the floor. I watched him walk toward me at a painstakingly slow pace, but I wanted to jump out of my seat and launch myself at him—take his jacket collar and shake any sort of common sense into him. Instead, I sat there and waited for him to reach my side. My nostrils flared while he petted my hair and made the anger resurface. I wasn’t some stupid cat who needed taming. I was his wife. But the rage left when he grazed my cheek and desire took its place. I closed my eyes as the fiery pit in my belly swirled, and I remembered the way Mitt made me feel. The sensations I longed to have with him once again and put all of this behind us.
Mitt leaned down and whispered, “I needed a wife.”
My eyes snapped open.
“Why?” I asked as my breath hitched.
I realized I should’ve discussed this with him while we were under the mistletoe. The memory of when Mitt had asked me to be his wife surfaced, but I thought I’d only spoil the moment. I was desperate, and desperation made a woman do stupid things.
“Because it made for good business, angel.” Mitt shrugged.
I pulled back and glared at him. “So, this was all about your company? Nothing more?”
Mitt roughly grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me back toward him. Startled, I realized I couldn’t escape the wild eyes of a man dead set on making me understand the reality of our arrangement. It wasn’t until then that I saw the same glare of madness his father held. Mitt had kept this side of himself concealed from me.
“Nothing more,” he answered with certainty. “You mean nothing to me, Tinsley. This is strictly business.”
“Let go of me!” I glared and pushed my chair backward until he released me. “I think I’m done with breakfast.”
Mitt blazed at my defiance. “But you haven’t eaten, angel. Have a bite.”
“No.” I glared back and turned away. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”
“But, Wife, don’t you want to hear the rest of our deal?”
I stopped in my tracks and turned around with my arms raised. “What deal? I never agreed to any of this!”
“Yes, you did, Wife,” Mitt replied as he stepped closer and pointed at me. “As soon as you signed the marriage license. So fucking desperate to become my wife, and we both came out winners.”
“Winners?” I rushed toward him and pointed my index finger into his chest. “You won nothing because now you’ve lost me. I want a divorce.”
“If you do that, you’ll lose everything. We’ll take your company, ruin your life, and drag your name through the mud, so nobody will want to do business with you ever again,” Cyprus threatened.
Tears burned my eyes as I met Mitt’s gaze and asked, “Is this true?”
Mitt swallowed hard. There wasn’t an inch of remorse shown in his hazel eyes I once thought were genuine. His stare was only as dark as his father’s.
“Yes.”
I stormed out of the room and didn’t glance back.