22. A kiss for the bride
MICHELA
22
As we ride the elevator to his apartment and I recall the events that occurred in the same space of the design building only about half an hour ago, I notice that the buttons of Corrado’s white shirt are half undone.
By accident, I’m sure. I can’t imagine him walking around looking tousled. Besides, the parting of his shirt reveals his tanned and hairy chest and the golden chain hanging from his neck. Apparently, I find that attractive. It makes me want to unbutton the rest of his dress shirt and press my cheek against his heart, if only to hear if it’s really beating.
Or if he’s a heartless bastard who goes after whatever he wants, no matter the consequences. Granted, for him, there will be no consequences from this marriage. For me, well, I’m another story since I’ve never been in a relationship with a guy I didn’t like. I can’t say I’ve loved a man before, but I’ve liked more than one man. Which is how I know I like Corrado.
I’m sure he likes me too, which will make this marriage believable and pleasant, if complicated and difficult, since I presume my feelings will get in the way of business. Our relationship is guaranteed to end in heartbreak. Mine, not his.
But I can’t let my feelings get in the way of business.
The moment we enter the apartment, Corrado walks to the fridge. I notice it’s full, and I’m suddenly jealous of the girl who stocked it, since Corrado wouldn’t be caught dead in a grocery store. He’d think of it as the most inefficient way to spend time, because his time is best spent looking hot while bending people to his will.
“Hungry?” He sets two lemonades near a leather navy-blue folder on the kitchen bar and sits down on the bar chair. He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Um, no, thank you.” I’m starving.
The furniture in the apartment changed. An off-white traditional sofa with thick textured fabric replaced the dull leather office one. A deep pink furry blanket folds over the armrest of the matching couch that’s facing the fireplace, before which a pair of chairs stand.
One is an elegant grand purple chair with silk upholstery and hand-carved wooden armrests. The other is a more laid-back chair wrapped in mustard-yellow velvet. Somehow, the washed-out Persian-style rug brings the living space all together.
“Come in. Take a seat,” he says.
I sweep my hand to indicate the living space. “Someone has a helluva eye for harmony. Bringing together traditional pieces and making the space eclectic is a talent. Did Evans do it himself?”
“I selected the furniture.”
“Seriously?”
“Mmhm.”
“And the rug?”
“Ah, the rug that ties it all together was my sister’s idea, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, yes, it does tie it all together.”
“I’m still debating the choice. I might dump it for something better later.”
“It's quite perfect, I think.”
“I’ll wear it out soon enough.”
The sun from the open curtains illuminates the left side of his face as he pops open the lemonade bottle and drinks. I get a clear view of his pronounced Adam’s apple as he swallows, then puts the drink on the counter.
He unbuttons the suit jacket, then removes it. His cuff links come off next, and he starts rolling up his sleeves, the corded muscles of his forearms flexing. From his pocket, he gets a golden pen that looks like the silver pen Evans wore clipped to his pocket.
He slides the blue folder toward me, then cracks his neck. “Let’s begin the negotiation.”
I sit across from him. “All that seemed like a preparatory routine of some sort. For a moment there, you looked like you were putting on military gear and going to war.”
He laughs. “I enjoy negotiations.”
“Somehow, I think I need a lawyer.”
Corrado stretches out his left leg so that my chair is between his leg and the bar, effectively caging me in. He rests his arm on his knee and leans in. “A team of the best Manhattan lawyers couldn’t help you. Ask me why.”
I tip my lemonade bottle, thinking how this is the first time I’ve drunk lemonade out of a glass. “Why?” I ask.
“Because they work for me.”
“Surely not all of them do.”
“Not all, angel. Only the best. And the ones who don’t work for me wouldn’t dare challenge those who do.” He opens the envelope, and the first thing I see is the marriage license dated back to the day we met. He signed it. My signature line is empty.
Gently, he picks up the license and moves it away. “First, the contract.” He shows me a single page. “I think you will find the terms to your advantage. My demands are simple. I want you as my wife. And if you are wondering why I picked you out of many, I will tell you. The nature of your character allows me to relax around you. I can’t say that about any of the other women I meet.”
“I think you’re complimenting me, so thank you.” I read the contract. It’s as simple as he said it was. I read it several times in case I missed something, but I didn’t. There’s no catch.
Corrado hands me the pen. “A few weeks. Ten million. Pretend you’re my wife.”
“What’s the catch?” I ask.
“No hard feelings when we part. That’s the catch.”
I shrug as if that’s something I’m not worried about. “None from my end.”
“Then stop stalling. This is happening. We’re coming to an agreement. You’re capitulating, admitting you don’t have all your shit together and that you need help.”
“Oh God. Is it written on my forehead?”
“I’ve asked around.” Corrado flicks the pen. “Sign.”
“You said ten million, but there’s no mention of the number, just blank lines. This is like a blank check.”
“It is.”
“Nobody signs blank checks like this.”
“I signed one.” He points at his signature. “I’d have put ten million, but when I offered it, you walked away. You seemed unimpressed.”
I laugh. “Only because your many billions impress me more.”
“Then write that number out.”
I rear back. “You don’t have that much money.”
“How many billions are we talking?” he purrs, leaning in. Clearly, this negotiation makes him horny.
My heart’s thumping so hard in my chest that I think I might have a panic attack.
Slowly, Corrado reaches toward me and presses two fingers against the pulse in my neck. “Breathe. Your relationship with money will change once you sign with me. Write down a number. Any number. Preferably one that will challenge me to want to reconsider.”
I swallow. “Thing is?—”
“Michela,” he interrupts, his voice deep, dramatic, and smooth as a cello. “This is a business transaction. I’m not buying your body, and I most certainly do not want your heart. All I want is a commitment to be my wife for a while.”
I pick up the pen and place a number 0 on all the blank lines. Once I get to the end, I tap my pen.
“You don’t want my body, so no sex.”
“That’s not what I said. I said I’m not buying it.”
“Will you have sex with other women, then?”
“Christ,” he says. “I need a wife so I’ll appear unavailable. Sex is distracting and complicates things. Extramarital sex would make my life much harder. I want it easier. Flawless. So that I can eliminate what and who I came here to eliminate.”
There’s a heavy pause as the air thickens between us. I heard him correctly. What and who.
I want to ask many questions about what he means by that and what he does that makes men piss themselves when he’s around, but I won’t pry into his business. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll walk away, and I can’t afford to do that. I need this contract. Ignorance is bliss.
“What about kissing? Or sitting on the couch watching movies? Or ordering pizza this Saturday night when I’ll be on my period? I’m not always going to be available whenever you call.”
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
He’s so forward that he makes me blush like a schoolgirl. Gah. “Maybe.”
“I’ll consider it.” He points at the paper. “Name the price. Zero is not an acceptable number.”
“I can’t take your money.”
Corrado clenches his teeth so hard, I think he might crush them. His jaw works as he tries to calm down before he speaks. “Why the fuck not?”
“Because taking money for this feels wrong.”
“We went over this. I’m not trying to buy you. Only your services. It is a job.”
“Speaking of a job. I will sign for the job with Evans’s design company.”
“No way.” Corrado leaps off the chair, then gives me his back when he stands at the window, fists clenched at his sides. He relaxes them, then clenches them several times, then slides his hands into his pockets.
“Why is that a problem?” I ask.
“Because of reasons.”
“Which are?”
“Mine.”
“That’s very mature, Corrado.”
He spins and walks up to me. “You want to talk mature, hm? How about we talk about you? You could, for example, acknowledge that you’re drowning in your shitty life and must take the hand I’m offering to pull you out of poverty. What more do you want?”
Heartless, heartless man. “I want my integrity intact. A ticket out of poverty is one thing, but who I am as a woman is not for sale. This is what you like about me, Corrado, and you want me to sell it so you can prove to yourself it’s just another thing you can buy. I can’t sell it because it feels like I’m selling a piece of myself, the anchor of my soul. And while you or, hell, probably most of the world would call me an idiot for not jumping right on top of your dick while you shower me with money, they also won’t walk in my fine designer shoes when our time’s up and I’m left without that anchor for my soul. I want a job. It will advance my career and give me an opportunity to do what I love doing well past these few weeks of our fake life.” I hold my breath.
“Go on,” he says.
“I want to earn a living more than I want a handout,” I go on, trying to persuade him. “A job as a designer and not a secretary at that firm that would open doors previously closed to me. And with your position and the parties and dinners I assume we’ll attend, I can network with clients with big resources. I want people to live in beautiful spaces I can make for them, and I can’t do it without your help. So there. That’s my dream.”
Corrado sits down. “I must say the dream about you jumping on my dick while I shower you with money is becoming one of my dreams too.”
I chuckle. “Is that all you heard?”
He starts amending the contract by striking out the money and replacing it with a job offer from Evans. Once he’s done, he gives me back the pen.
“Sign the papers, Michela. I want to kiss my bride.”