Chapter 3
Emilia
"Mr. Archer is in a meeting that is running late but he'll see you shortly," his assistant, Devi Rao, a gorgeous Indian woman said to me.
She hadn't been particularly solicitous when I informed her that I had a meeting with Damian at ten. She went off about how Damian hadn't run it by her, blah blah blah.
Devi knew who I was, after all my father was the CFO at Archer Galleries and my sister had been dating her boss for three years. She just didn't like me very much and I had no idea why. But her feelings were hers and I couldn't control them; I could only manage my own response to how she treated me. I decided to take the approach of the penguins in the movie Madagascar.
"Smile and wave. Smile and wave."
While I waited for Damian, I didn't sit on the comfortable chairs in the lobby, instead I set my backpack next to a chair and stood in front of the tall floor to ceiling window to watch my favorite city in the world.
I put my hands inside the pockets of my linen jumpsuit.
I had decided to not dress up and had worn what I normally would. A black loose jumpsuit, an open white button down shirt and sneakers. I had taken the day off work, calling in sick. I just couldn't face my mother or sister. I needed to sit down with Damian and get that annulment in place. Then we could go back to pretending I didn't exist, and I'd try and forget that night in Las Vegas when I pulled a Britney Spears.
Of all the dumb-headed and stupid things to do, Emilia, I admonished myself.
I had been selfish. Damian had been drunk, vulnerable—and I took advantage of him.
I felt ashamed of myself.
How would I tell Bianca what I did? I had sex with her boyfriend—the one she'd been dating for the past three years. How would I tell our mother that the son-in-law she always wanted, married the wrong freaking sister? My father would be so disappointed in me and rightfully so.
I ran a hand over my face, feeling so damned stressed that I was just about ready to jump out of the tenth floor office.
"Who is she?" I heard a whisper from behind me.
"Bianca's sister," Devi said.
I didn't turn around, pretended I couldn't hear them because I was so fascinated with the city in front of me that my hearing was all messed up.
"No. What is she wearing?"
Devi chuckled. "I know, right. She's the plain sister."
The woman who I hadn't seen yet giggled. "Or the flat sister. She has a boy's body."
More laughter.
I wish I could say that this was the first time this happened, but I couldn’t. Once, embarrassingly it occurred in front of me because the person mocking me hadn't even noticed I was sitting, right there next to the person he was talking to.
It used to bother me a lot, or rather I used to let it. Now, I didn't let it get under my skin. It wasn't worth it. This kind of pain had no positive consequences. It didn't teach me anything. It didn't make me stronger. It just…hurt.
I waited until I heard heels clicking away and then turned to look at Devi. She was typing something.
I wondered about women like her, like Bianca. It must be wonderful to be so beautiful that everyone who looked at you truly saw you. What puzzled me was why, despite all that attention, they felt the need to say cruel things to someone like me. They didn't need to boost their self-esteem—they should already be feeling incredible all the time.
If a man like Damian noticed me the way he did Bianca, I'd be smiling forever. I'd never be in a bad mood. To be loved for just existing, wow, that would be something wouldn't it?
I looked at my watch and sighed. Damian had kept me waiting for twenty minutes now. I wanted to go back home to paint, not sit here and wait for Damian to explain how we'd go about getting an annulment while keeping it all hush hush.
But I couldn't leave. I needed for what happened in Vegas to stay there. I didn't want anyone to find out how treacherous I had been. My family already thought I was a loser, this would make them actively hate me. As much as they didn’t want me, I wanted them—I needed them. Without the illusion of my parents and sister, I'd be alone. I'd do anything to keep those relationships at status quo. That was the reason I'd accepted their job offer. The same reason I didn't argue about my salary, even though I knew I was being paid below market.
I was aware that it was pathetic, but I hoped that if I did something for them, maybe they'd like me.
But if they found out I not only slept with Damian but married him, that would be the end of it. I'd have no family. I'd be all alone and that scared me. At least now if I died, someone would care—they would, right? Of course they would. I may not be the favorite child, but I was their daughter.
My phone beeped and I saw it was my mother. Guilt made me nauseous.
Mama: Why have you taken the day off? We have that meeting with Allure, and we need you here.
Me: I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well.
Mama: Unless you're dying, Emilia, show up in the office by one.
Me: Okay.
What else could I say? I wasn't dying. I felt like it, but I wasn't. I looked at my watch again. Thirty minutes. Damn it, Damian.
I walked up to Devi. "Hi, I'm just going to use the restroom."
Devi looked at me. "Whatever."
"In case Damian's ready and asks for me, let him know I'll be back shortly."
She didn't reply and went back to her computer.
Whatever indeed. What had I ever done to this woman that she was being so rude? Or maybe she was going through something in her life? Maybe snapping at me made her feel better. More power to her then!
I used the bathroom and then hurried out in case Damien was done with whatever he was doing in his office. I didn't want to inconvenience him.
I was outside the lobby in the hallway when I saw Bianca. I quickly hid behind a large plant.
"Bianca," Devi greeted.
I peeked through the leaves of the plant. They hugged and did the air kiss-kiss thing.
"Is he in?"
"Yeah, in a phone meeting but he always wants to see you."
Bianca strolled into Damian's office, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I couldn’t let Bianca see me. She'd have a ton of questions. I decided to leave and text Damian that he should reschedule our appointment.
Before I could move, I heard Damian's voice.
"Sorry, Bianca. Next time, call me so I can make sure I'm free."
"Damian, I—."
"I have a meeting."
I peeked from behind my plant, feeling like a creepy stalker.
She moved to kiss him, and I bit my lower lip. Damian moved his face and Bianca's lips skimmed his cheek.
"We need to talk," she choked out. "Don't do this to us."
His smile was tight when he walked her out. "We'll talk later."
He stood by the elevator with Bianca and then ushered her in. Before he could go back into his office I stepped out from behind the plant.
"You're late," he barked.
I frowned. "I was here a half hour ago. I've been waiting."
Damian frowned. He grabbed my arm. "Come on in then."
"Hey." I pulled my hand away. No need to be a freaking Neanderthal.
He sighed as if realizing his behavior was unwarranted. I picked up my backpack and slung it on one shoulder.
"Devi, I told you to let me know when Emilia got here."
"You had that phone meeting, and I didn't want to disturb you." She was all smiles now, big ones.
Damian narrowed his eyes. "I specifically told you to disturb me as soon as Emilia got here."
"I'm sorry, Damian. I was waiting for you to finish your call."
He shook his head. "Next time Emilia is here, send her in. Don't make her wait."
Devi and I both looked shocked at that statement.
"And, don't send Bianca in without checking with me first. Are we clear?"
"Yes," Devi looked at me with puzzlement. I gave her a 'beats me, I don't know what's happening either' look.
Damian's office was large and beautiful. Two walls were glass. Corner office on speed! But it was the exposed brick walls that thrilled me.
"Is this an original?" I stood in front of a Picasso.
"Yes," he said absently.
Archer Galleries was a premium art and antiques company, so it wasn't surprising that the CEO's office was filled with treasures.
To my left, there was a striking Monet, its vibrant hues of water lilies evoking a sense of tranquility that was a signature of the artist. Adjacent to it, a rare Degas ballet dancer seemed to leap off the canvas, her delicate form captured in mid-motion.
The far corner housed a majestic Rembrandt. Its dramatic chiaroscuro drew my eye into a world of shadow and light. Below it, an intricately carved mahogany cabinet displayed a collection of Ming dynasty vases.
A large, ornate Persian rug covered the floor and on the opposite wall, a Warhol portrait added a burst of contemporary flair, its bold colors contrasting with the classical elegance of the gilded Louis XV mirror beside it.
An antique oak desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered with a mix of modern technology and historical artifacts. A 19th-century brass telescope stood proudly by the window.
But the most beautiful thing in his office was an exquisite antique pocket watch, displayed in a glass case on his oak desk.
"This is…is this a Patek Philippe?"
Damian nodded. "Nineteenth century."
The pocket watch featured a finely engraved gold case with intricate floral patterns. Its front cover opened to reveal elegant Roman numerals and delicate blue steel hands on an ivory-colored dial.
"It's exquisite."
"Why?" he queried.
I looked at him quizzically.
He shrugged. "People say that and I'm always curious to learn why they think something is beautiful or in this case exquisite."
He seemed curious, yes, but there was also a challenge in his tone that I didn't understand.
"It exudes timeless elegance. It's a testament to the precision and artistry of a bygone era. In my book, all that together equals exquisite."
"You like antiques, Emilia?"
"Like is a mild word. I'm in awe of them. I respect them," I murmured, running my fingers lightly over his desk.
Damian looked up, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that matched the art surrounding us.
"Yes," he breathed.
Something sizzled between us but just like he had that night after we made love, his eyes shuttered.
"Sit down, Emilia," he snapped.
Like an ingenue who asked how high when her master said jump, I did as he ordered.
"I'm sorry you had to wait long," he continued. He looked angry and I didn't blame him. I'd be enraged too if I found myself married to me instead of Bianca.
"That's okay." I swallowed. Better to get it out in one go. "I'm so sorry, Damian. I knew you were drunk and…I wasn't. I should've stopped it."
His eyes flickered with surprise. "What do you mean?"
I took a deep breath. Courage, my dear Emilia, come on, you can do this. Just tell the truth no matter how it shames you.
"I…look, I've had a crush on you forever. You know that. Everyone knows that."
I waited for him to respond but he didn't. Instead, he steepled his fingers and waited for me to finish my talk of shame.
"When I saw you at the bar at the Bellagio and I knew you and Bianca had broken up…again…." I dropped my face in my hands. This was so hard. I looked up and smiled uneasily. "I loved that you paid attention to me. I wasn't drunk, Damian, but I knew you were. At the chapel, I was tipsy, yes, but I should never have let it happen."
He had gone down on one knee and asked me to marry him right outside the chapel. It was silly and cute; my heart had been full, and I said yes. He then took my hand in his and off we went to do quick paperwork and tie the damned knot that was now lodged in my throat.
"It was like a dream come true," I whispered. "I'm so sorry, Damian."
"You're sorry for taking advantage of me?" he asked slowly as if the words were difficult for him to string together.
He must hate me. I didn't blame him. I hated me. If my parents and sister found out, they'd hate me too.
"Yes." I looked at him, tears in my eyes because I couldn't stop them. I felt horrible. "And when we were in your suite, I wanted us to have sex."
"You did?" His eyebrows were raised.
"Yes. I wanted you."
"How would you know for sure, Emilia? You were…are inexperienced."
Really? Did he have to say it like that? Did I not give him pleasure? Was it not good for him?
Oh my God! The best (and granted, only) sex of my life was terrible for him because I didn't know what I was doing. I just lay there and let him do all the work. I didn't suck his cock or ride him…or do any of the things women on Xhamster.com did.
"I know. I…well, there's a reason I haven't had sex and I'm sure other women are better at it and…well, I didn't know what I was doing. Obviously." I should have asked him what he wanted from me instead of letting him do all the work. Damn it!
He cleared his throat. "You think I didn't enjoy the sex we had?"
I really wanted to get off this topic, no pun intended. "Look, can we just get this annulment thingy done? I have a neighbor who's a lawyer and I talked to her about it. Obviously, I didn't mention your name or anything. She said it's just a matter of filing paperwork."
I grabbed my backpack and opened it. I pulled out the documents that I had printed at Moana's place. She was not really a lawyer—though she would be once she passed the bar. For now, she was a part-time paralegal at a firm, part-time escort and full-time, one of the very few friends I had.
I put the papers in front of him and set my backpack down at my feet.
He studied the documents and set them aside. His phone rang and when he looked at the caller, he answered.
"Yeah."
He seemed to listen for a long time. "Got it. I'll handle it."
More silence.
"When is it breaking?"
He nodded. "Okay. I'll have a statement ready. Thanks, man."
"What?" I asked because the look on his face told me that something was terribly wrong.
"The media has gotten a hold of our little Vegas tryst." He looked crushed, totally devastated.
"What part of the tryst?"
"The wedding," he explained, "they have documentation."
I bit my lower lip. This was not good. This was so bad. So, so, so bad. Very, very bad.
"Okay. Okay," I said to calm myself down. "We'll just get this marriage annulled and you can tell the media it was ah…a drunken mistake."
"Yeah and that won't be a PR nightmare at all." He was being sarcastic, and it irked me. Now wasn't the time to dismiss ideas—now was the time to come up with some new ones.
"We can't stay married," I snapped.
"We'll spin it," he said lightly.
"Spin it?" My eyes went wide. "What are you gonna spin, dude? That we fell in love and got married? That I'm a home-wrecker who got between my sister and her famous boyfriend? Any idea what that'll do to my life?"
Damian leaned back on his chair. Cool as a freshly-painted canvas.
"We'll make a statement that Bianca and I broke up a while back."
"And she'll go along with it?" I demanded. "This is nuts. Just…oh God. My parents are going to hate me. Bianca is going to hate me."
I would deserve that. I was a horrible person. I had done this because I was selfish, just like my family always told me.
"We're not rushing into anything," Damian finally said.
"You mean like when we got married?" I quipped sadly.
"We need to do damage control," he continued firmly, ignoring my comment. "The story breaks tomorrow morning. We have time."
"The annulment?" I asked lamely.
"I don't want an annulment."
I stared at him, not able to process what he'd said. "What?"
"I said that I want us to stay married."
"I got that," I gritted out. "My question is why."
"I think we should give this marriage a chance," he continued.
If my eyes could bug out like they do in cartoons, they would. Seriously, Damian Archer saying he wanted to give marrying me a chance was a fantasy wrapped in a joke wrapped in freaking massive heartbreak.
"Because of the media?"
"Yes. And…maybe we owe ourselves the opportunity to explore this."
I shook my head. Hell no! I might be the invisible sister but I wasn't going to torture myself by pretending to be married to Damian fucking Archer.
"Look, we both know that you and Bianca will get back together. You always do. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you."
He leaned back in his chair. "Six months."
"What?"
"Emilia, I can't keep repeating myself.
"I raised an eyebrow. "What does six months mean?" I clipped.
He smiled. "I want us to stay married for six months. Move in with me and—"
"No," I rejected. "I like my place. I have a studio and—"
"Keep your place; but you'll move into my apartment. The media will fucking tear us apart if we're not living together."
Damian lived on the thirty-fourth floor of the Four Seasons. I'd been to his place once for a party he'd thrown, and miraculously, I'd been invited.
Bianca had made sure I left within fifteen minutes by complaining incessantly about what I had worn. It hadn't been that bad, just a simple LBD but Bianca had been right, I didn't fit in.
"I don't understand any of this." I wanted to beat my forehead on the desk, several times, until my head exploded.
"It's quite simple, Emilia. We stay married until the hoopla dies down, then we get a quiet divorce or annulment and…that's that."
"How long will that take?" I asked.
"Give or take six months."
"So, you don't want to give this marriage a chance? You just want us to ride out the media stuff?" He was confusing the hell out of me.
"I do…I…don't know. Look Emilia, it's what it is. Let's make the best of it."
Make the best of what?
I could hear him, but it sounded garbled like in the Peanuts' cartoons when the adults spoke. He was speaking in English, but I struggled to understand what he really meant. Was I supposed to read between the lines?
"I don't get it, Damian. I'm telling you that you were drunk and—"
"Whatever the reasons may be. We are married and the fucking media knows."
"Damian, please. My parents and Bianca will hate me."
"Bianca and I are not getting back together," he firmly said. "I don't understand your problem. Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No."
"Obviously not, because you were a goddamn virgin," he raged.
"Speaking of obvious, you and Bianca always get back together after a fight. She was just here," I cried out. "She still thinks of you as her boyfriend. She told me you're getting engaged. You even bought a ring."
She didn't tell me, she told Mama—I just overheard.
"Speaking of rings." He growled. "We need rings." He rummaged through his drawers and came out with three small blue boxes.
"What's that?" I folded my arms, afraid that if I touched the box, it would explode like a bomb.
He pushed one box toward me.
"Open it, Emilia."
"No." I couldn't take my eyes off the offending jewelry box.
He came to my side of the desk and opened the box. He pulled the ring out. I didn't see it, didn't want to. He tugged at my hand, and I resisted. That was the ring he got for Bianca. I didn't want it. I wanted my own ring. I deserved my own ring. And my own husband. Not Bianca's.
"Emilia, don't be stubborn."
"No." I held myself tightly.
"Emilia, it's time to face the music, alright. We're married. And you owe me."
I frowned folding my fingers into a fist. "Owe you?"
"You manipulated me into marrying you—the least you can do is make this work as I request, before I lose my reputation."
Tears sprang in my eyes. "My family will hate me."
"Then you shouldn’t have said I do at the Silver Bells Wedding Chapel, darling." He had the temerity to make a joke, to sound amused.
"I told you it was a mistake. I can't lose my family."
"Tomorrow when the news breaks the shit's gonna hit the fan. This way, at least we warn our families. We'll tell everyone that we had a brief affair and got married. We wouldn't be the first couple to get married on impulse."
Yeah, and the world will buy that bullshit, won't they? He had Bianca but then he took one look at stick-figure invisible Emilia and wanted to not only fuck her but also marry her.
I looked at the ring. "Did you buy that for Bianca?"
He didn't reply.
He slipped the ring on my finger, and I instantly hated it because it was what Bianca would love. Objectively, the ring was an exquisite antique, its delicate band crafted from gleaming rose gold that seemed to glow warmly against my skin. A single, brilliant-cut diamond was set in an intricate filigree design, surrounded by tiny sapphires that sparkled like a midnight sky. The craftsmanship was impeccable.
It wasn't my style at all. I was a simple girl. I liked simple things. This was too ornate.
He slid a simple rose gold wedding band and nestled it against Bianca's engagement ring. We hadn't exchanged rings in Vegas, but we were doing it now. It was romantic as hell! He was tugging at my hand as I tried to resist. Plus, the rings were scalding me.
He slipped on a matching rose gold wedding band. It glittered against his olive dark skin.
"Why are you doing this?" I pleaded.
"I can't keep repeating myself, Emilia." He went back to his chair. He pressed a button on his phone and his Executive Assistant's voice came through.
"Come into my office, Devi."
She came in and sneered at me. Here we go again.
"Please take a seat."
She sat next to me, her eyes flitting over the Tiffany boxes on the table and my fingers. I clenched them into fists, hiding the rings. But I knew she'd seen them because she gasped.
"Devi, you're the first person to know that Emilia and I are married."
Devi's stone-face slipped, and her emotions showed through. I could feel her disdain radiating in big fat waves.
"Emilia?" she squeaked.
"Yes, the woman sitting next to you. We got married yesterday. I would like you to write a statement to circulate within the company by tomorrow morning. We also need a statement for the media." He looked at me. "Darling, I know you wanted to keep this between us for a little longer, but the media knows, and this is the best way to handle it."
I felt faint. I felt nauseous. I was going to die right here next to his EA who disliked me.
"Ah…what do you want me to say in this statement?" Devi asked tightly.
"Just that Emilia Winters and I are married…well, Emilia Archer. You're taking my name, aren't you, darling?"
He was laying it on thick. Any minute now I'd hear violins.
"In due course," I muttered. "Not right now…it takes a while for all the paperwork."
Damian seemed to be enjoying this because he was smiling broadly.
"Emilia, can you share your resume with me?" Devi didn't look at me when she spoke.
"Why?"
"So, I can write something nice about you in the announcement. Like…what education you have and where you work…."
I licked my lips. "You can write: Emilia Winters attended the Rhode Island School of Design, where she earned her bachelor's degree in art."
Her eyes shot up as did Damian's. As a surrealism painter, I had honed my skills and developed my unique style amidst the vibrant and creative environment of RISD, one of the country's most prestigious art schools.
"Oh." Devi made a note.
"I work as a buyer—"
"No, you don't," Damian barked. "No mention of Make Me Beautiful."
"Why?" I demanded.
He just raised an eyebrow and I sighed. My mother and sister would fire me as soon as they'd hear about this. Damn it! I'd lose my job. How would I pay my bills? How would I continue to save up money for a master's degree in art at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago?
I dreamed of going to SAIC, which my art teacher had told me would be the perfect environment for me to further explore and expand my surrealist style.
Maybe I could get a job as an art restorer? I had the skills and the experience. I'd done freelance work as an art restorer for the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.
My finest and most challenging work had been The Grand Canal, Venice by J.M.W. Turner. It was a vibrant watercolor that required careful treatment for paper acidity and pigment fading, ensuring the painting's luminous colors were preserved. I loved every minute of it.
I'd also been on the team that had restored Johannes Vermeer's View of the Delft and the amazing Portrait of a Lady by John Singer Sargent.
Art restoration didn't pay a lot, but it would be a job. It would be something. I'd send an email to Dr. Joachim De Jong, the Dutch director of art restoration at the museum and see if he had funding for another fulltime art restorer.
"Emilia? Darling?" Damian's urgent tone yanked me out of my worries and planning.
"Yes?"
"Are you okay with what we've decided? That Devi will send the announcement to you and me for approval."
"Okay." I wanted to put my head between my knees.
"Can you give her your email address?"
Devi handed me her notepad to me, and I flinched when I saw what she'd written. Spin Damian Archer Marrying The Plain Winters.
She smiled at me when she saw I'd read what she wrote. Again, I wondered what she achieved by doing this.
I jotted down my email address and handed the notepad back to her.
"There will be fallout about you marrying the…other Winters sister." Devi looked at Damian when she spoke.
My husband nodded. "Yeah, make sure you spin this as a whirlwind romance…and whatever happened between Em and me happened after Bianca and I broke up. There was no overlap, make that clear."
He seemed so clinical in how he was giving his instructions that my stomach coiled into a knot. I felt like throwing up. In Vegas it seemed so easy. Just the two of us. All my dreams coming true. Now in the harsh reality of San Francisco, the whole experience felt tawdry, ugly, manufactured.
"Sure. Do you think you should do a couple's photoshoot? Or do you have pictures from Las Vegas? The media will want something." Devi looked at me with a look that said, "We'll have to Photoshop the hell out of you, girl."
"No pictures," Damian shut that down and I felt even smaller.
A woman dressed like Marilyn Monroe who was Elvis's assistant at the chapel had used my phone to take a few pictures of us while we got married. I had looked at them on my flight back home and they were nice. We looked happy. Smiling. Giddy, like we were doing the most exciting thing in the world, like we were doing something Damian wanted as much as I did.
"You have nothing from Vegas?" Devi raised her eyebrows.
"We do but I don't want a photograph of fucking Elvis marrying us anywhere." He glanced at me. "Do you have any photos? I know they took some."
I nodded.
"Delete them," he ordered. "Completely. No cloud, no nothing."
I couldn't believe he wanted me to do that. Take the last of those memories away. "I already have," I lied.
I wasn't going to delete them. They were mine. Someday, I'd look back and find it comforting to know I'd been married once.
"I think that's all, Devi. Thanks for everything."
Devi got up, gave me a look of disgust, smiled at her boss and left Damian's office.
I looked at my watch and sighed. "I have to see my mother at Make Me Beautiful at one."
"I'll come with you."
"Why?"
"We have to tell them."
"No."
"Why? Are you embarrassed by me?" he teased.
"I'm ashamed of myself, Damian," I confessed.
"You're my wife. You have nothing to be ashamed about. I'll see you at one at your mother's office. In the meantime, I suggest you pack the things you want to bring to my place."
I rose and looked at the rings on my finger. "Are you sure about this?" I mused.
"What's done is done. Now, we face the music."