7. Katie
KATIE
T he sun filters through the crack of the curtain, caused by the air conditioner kicking on in our honeymoon suite. While many will assume we spent the night burning up the sheets so hotly, we’ll need that air conditioner. They’ll have assumed wrong.
While the one-night stand had been scorching, it now feels as if we were given that in order to show us how it’ll never be again. The arrangements our parents worked out are between us like a wedge holding a door open.
Last night after we went to bed, we didn’t even touch, didn’t even kiss. There had been a little heat before, but after we talked about our parents lying, that threw water on the fire quickly. Right now I’m alone in my marriage bed the morning after the honeymoon was supposed to begin. Glancing around the room, I take in the opulence. How did we end up here?
Getting up, I put on a luxurious silk robe that was purchased to entice the man I now call my husband. However, something tells me that even if I walked out naked and ready, he wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole, or his seven-inch dick. A giggle works it’s way out of my mouth. I’m not typically so crude, but I’ve gotta laugh, or I’m going to cry.
Slowly, I make my way to the kitchen of the suite they gave us when we checked in last night. Someone has already brought breakfast in, and it looks as expensive as I imagine this room is.
Having a seat at the bar, I lift up the top on the plate and see eggs, bacon, and hash browns. My stomach growls, clenching with hunger. As I put ketchup on my hash browns and cut into my over-medium eggs, I wonder how this man knew exactly how I like them cooked. As I’m about to take my first bite, the door to the hotel room opens and in walks my husband.
The phrase is so foreign, and at this moment, I feel as if I’m seeing him for the first time. He’s not celebrating getting to leave, he’s not showing up at the altar to marry me and fulfill a contract made by our families.
The fork stops halfway to my mouth as I get a real good look at him. He’s wearing a black t-shirt stuck to his body with the remnants of what was obviously a hard workout. His hair is wet, the longer pieces are plastered to his forehead.
“Morning,” he greets, stepping over to where there’s a full-size fridge. Opening it, he grabs a bottle of water and downs it in three huge gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he pushes the liquid through his throat.
“Morning,” I mumble back at him, before taking the bite of food. When I chew and swallow, I can’t stand the silence between us. “Did you sleep well last night?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to tell you the truth, or what you want to hear?”
Taking another bite, I let my gaze land square on him. “Don’t you think we should be truthful with each other? It’s a given we can’t with everyone else.”
“True. I slept like shit. All I could think about was what happened with us at the bar, but then I think about how you’re supposed to be my brother’s wife, and how our family have us in this farce of a marriage. It pisses me off, and I’m never going to be okay with it.”
There’s a bite to his voice, and a disappointment in his tone. Does he feel as trapped as I do? As uneasy as I do? I desperately try to catch his eyes as he looks over at me, but he refuses. When he doesn’t, I sigh and begin eating my breakfast in earnest.
He picks the water bottle up in his hand and walks toward me. When he gets close enough, he leans in. “Maybe I do know a few things about you. After all, I ordered your breakfast.”
It takes effort to swallow. While I thought maybe he got lucky, these words let me know it’s calculated. “How? How did you know?”
“Even a rancher in Montana knows how to use social media. From your Instagram page, I learned a lot. You love breakfast food, especially over medium eggs and hash browns. You’re a fan of concerts, and you’re leaving a dog you seem to really love. We’re both making sacrifices.”
It hits me that I'm at even more of a disadvantage than I assumed I would be. I’m sure he doesn’t have social media, and there’s nothing I can use to study him. Guess last night when I went to sleep, he used his time wisely.
“And no, to answer the question I see written all over your face, I don’t have social media. You’ll have to figure me out the old-fashioned way. I’m gonna head in and take a shower. We’ll head to the ranch in the next hour,” he announces.
“What? You’re not gonna ask if I’m ready to leave?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “In this marriage, I’m in charge. There’s going to be things you have to take my word for, Katie, and you’re going to have to trust me.”
I tilt my head. “Why should I do that?”
“Because, in this marriage, we’re all we’ve got. It’s a business transaction to everyone else. To us, it’s the rest of our lives.”
“Okay,” I nod. “I’ll be ready to go, and if anyone asks, I chose you.”