7. Masaccio
CHAPTER SEVEN
Masaccio
T he entire wedding is hell.
I am tired of smiling and playing the part of a happy husband. In all honesty, I have been doing a pretty shit job of even pretending to be happy.
My father sat me down an hour before the wedding started and gave me one hell of a lecture on putting on a show for the guests and the media who are flocking this event like flies on shit.
The constant bombardment of congratulations , and I wish you two all the happiness , and wow you look so in love - I can’t take it anymore. I want this night to be over so that I can go home, take off this fucking tuxedo and sleep.
Maybe when I wake up in the morning, this will all be a bad dream.
Of course, no matter how much I pretend it’s all a nightmare - I know Leora is coming home with me. My home is now her home.
My father arranged for her things to be brought over earlier this week and now she is going to be living with me from tonight.
Fuck sakes.
What the hell is happening to my life?
All night I have been keeping her at a polite distance to try not to give her the wrong idea.
It’s clear she is thrilled by all of this. She’s having the time of her life.
I’ve been watching her all night, and she hasn’t stopped smiling once.
Every chance she gets she clings on to me, holding me, wrapping her arms around me, holding my hand -
I am going to have to be stricter about all of this in order to make it even more clear after tonight.
This whole thing is just for show.
She needs to understand that.
There is no love here and there never will be.
That mistake I made the other night kissing her - it’s haunting me even more now that we are married.
Fuck. Married. I can’t believe it.
Our first dance ends and with relief I step away from her as other guests flood the dance floor.
She tries to pull me back towards her and I shake my head.
“I’m done dancing, Leora.” I say. Her eyes soften a little, a small amount of the sparkle leaves them.
I know she isn’t happy about me putting boundaries up - but she needs to learn the reality of us being married.
It’s still early for a party and some guests are only just feeling the vibe of the champagne now. I will not stay much longer though.
Besides, even just for show, they would expect a newlywed couple to want to rush off home. It won’t be weird if I grab my wife and leave my own celebration.
With that thought I smile. Now is as good a time as any. We’ve done all the things required for a traditional ceremony. We’ve danced, cut the cake, listened to the speeches, thrown the garter - yes - I can leave now.
I walk straight towards Nathan. My right-hand man.
“Have the driver bring the car around front. I’m ready to leave.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And bring my wife. She can meet me in the car.”
I don’t even have the patience to wait and walk out with her at this point. I’ve used up every bit of my will power on pretenses this evening.
I grab my tuxedo jacket off the back of my chair at the bride and groom’s table. Tossing it over my shoulder and I walk straight out of the venue without looking back and without making eye contact with a single person because I am not in the mood to get roped into one more conversation about what it feels like to be a married man now.
The driver is already there when I step outside into the cool night air.
I climb in and wait for Leora. Nathan won’t take long bringing her out.
I glance towards the venue doors just in time to see him leading her through them, towards the car. She looks confused.
He pulls the limo door open, and half pushes her inside.
“Masaccio? What is going on?”
“I’m done here, it’s time to go home.”
“Oh.” She says with surprise. “I didn’t say bye to anyone.”
“They’ll be fine. Come on, let him close the door - lets go home.”
She grins at me and shifts across the seat to be close to me, bunching the layers of her wedding dress around her legs to get comfortable.
“Home.” She says, smiling.
I turn my face to look out of the other window, away from her, and ignore the way she is resting her head on my shoulder.
Should I say something? Should I tell her to move?
Best to ignore it. It’s been a long night. I can talk to her tomorrow about what will and won’t be happening in our relationship.
When the car arrives at my house I climb out, hardly even waiting for it to come to a stop - and not opening her door for her. The driver can deal with that.
I head straight inside and to my room, stripping out of the tuxedo and tossing it to the floor.
Thank fuck that’s over.
I climb into the shower and push it all the way to the hot side, letting the water scald over my skin, burning away the agitation I have been feeling all day.
When I climb out of the shower and head back into my room with the towel wrapped around my waist all the relaxation that the shower provided disappears in an instant.
She’s standing at the foot of my bed - in white lingerie.
Fuck she looks sexy.
I grit my teeth. I do not want to do this and give her the wrong impression.
She walks slowly towards me.
“Hi, husband.” She says, reaching out and running her fingers down my chest.
Her breasts wrapped in white lace, the garter belt holding up thigh-high stockings.
My eyes roam over her tight figure, perfect curves - dammit.
No.
I can’t do this.
My cock has other ideas though as it throbs.
She presses herself against me, standing on her tiptoes as she lifts her face towards mine.
I look down at her, my eyes on her lips, I could just -
“I’ve been waiting for this night my whole life. The night I get to give myself to my husband.” She whispers.
What the fuck?
“You’ve never—are you a—” I stammer in shock.
She nods, smiling the naughtiest and cutest smile.
“I am. I wanted my wedding night to be really special.”
My cock is getting harder by the second. A virgin.
This is not good.
I place both hands on her shoulders and firmly push her away.
Not a fucking chance am I doing that.
If I sleep with her, now she will read too much into it. It’s not worth it.
Sure, she’s hot. She’s fucking hot. But I will not take her virginity on our wedding night and have her thinking its love.
“This isn’t happening. You need to leave.” I say as I push her away from me.
“Leave? I—”
“Yes, go to your own room.” I snap.
“I’m not sleeping in your room? But - we’re married?” her eyes are wide with confusion. The corners of her mouth turned down. She stands looking awkwardly out of place, lifting her arm to cover her chest in a self-conscious gesture.
“Yes, Leora. This wedding was for show. Now go to your own room. I don’t know why you even came in here in the first place.”
I can feel the harshness of my words as they spill from my mouth, but I know I have to make this clear - right from the start. I wasn’t going to do it tonight, but apparently, I have no choice.
She expects far too much from me.
If it was just sex - nothing else - I’d be there in a heartbeat. But she wants more than that. And I will not give it to her.
Leora stares at me for a moment, then nods, turns away and hurries out of the room, to her own room across the hall.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Climbing into my bed I pull the covers up over my shoulders and close my eyes.
I can hear her now. The soft, muffled sounds of her crying.
Fuck.
I think I was too harsh.
She was excited - I mean - it’s her wedding night.
I roll over and try to ignore her tears, but the sounds continue to drift through my open door.
I could get up and close it, but she would hear that, and it might hurt her even more.
I am an asshole.
I know I am.
It’s better that she learns that now rather than later.
I pick up the other pillow and press it over my ears, doing my best to block out her crying - and my guilt.