Chapter 15
SELENA
Throughout the evening, there are more disingenuous smiles and placating conversations.
I can almost hear every single person in the room call me a gold digger.
They look at Griffin—distinguished, powerful, nearly twice my age—and then at me.
I’m sure they think I’m just expensive arm candy.
It’s everything I never wanted, and yet I’m exactly that: an adornment Griffin wears to elevate his career.
I want to hide in a broom closet and cry because my life just isn't my life anymore.
“You’re doing great,” Griffin whispers in my ear, completely oblivious to how absolutely not okay I am.
To my surprise, Joe is here.
“Joe,” I say, smiling genuinely for the first time. “You come to these events?” I try to be tactful, but part of me wants to drag him into a corner, smoke weed, and make fun of everyone.
“If the boss man needs me.” Joe smiles at Griffin, who gives him a curt nod.
An older woman, perhaps in her early sixties, walks up to us. She looks sparkling in a crystal-embroidered gown. Joe offers his arm, and she takes it casually. I look at Joe, and he cocks his head with a wry smile. I scored a rich man; he seems to be doing the same thing with a stately older woman.
“I didn’t expect to see you here either, Selena,” Joe says.
Griffin immediately jumps in, his voice cold and possessive. “You’ll be seeing a lot of my wife.”
“Okay...” The surprise in Joe’s tone is palpable.
“Darling, I want to dance,” the older woman says to Joe, tugging on his arm.
“Ah, Magda, you are such a great dancer,” Griffin chirps. It’s so unlike him. “Go show my assistant how it’s done.”
“That’s my plan.” Magda looks at me and winks. I ease up on my assessment. She’s just here to have fun. “He’s a good one. Make him happy, dear,” she whispers as they pass.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a secret society of people faking it to make it.
As the night continues, a toast is made to our marriage.
Griffin makes a speech about the day he met me and how he knew the moment we locked eyes that I was "The One.
" He keeps the specifics vague but goes into poetic detail about the color of the sky and the divine guidance he felt brought us together.
I stand there smiling like an idiot.
I have one more drink that I barely touch.
I take another stroll around the ballroom, and then finally, Griffin calls his driver.
No one looks at me anymore, but I feel their judgment.
I doubt one person in this room believes I’m doing this to become a defense lawyer who represents the marginalized. Not one person sees me.
The jewelry itches my neck. The clothes constrict my ribs. The wealth is overwhelming. And I am always nauseous.
This is what three days of marriage looks like.
When we get into the town car, Griffin finally drops the act. He loosens his tie with a sigh.
“You did well,” he praises.
“These events are really uncomfortable,” I say honestly.
“You’re telling me. Tomorrow is your appointment with Beckett’s OBGYN friend. You’ll be fitted with an IUD. I’ve heard it’s minimally invasive. I also want to discuss the terms of our sexual arrangement, as it is proving to be an issue.”
Wow. He really is a lawyer.
“We need to have clear boundaries around our sexual relationship,” he continues. “I don’t want to always wear condoms or be forced to pull out. It’s more satisfying for both of us if I can come inside you.”
Barf.
I take a new approach. “You are so good at fucking. I really like being fucked by you, Griffin. You’ve got skills... mad skills, and an enormous cock.”
He knows what I’m doing. He glares at me. “Get to your point.”
“In all thirty-two pages of our marriage agreement, not once was sex mentioned as a requirement. An IUD wasn’t a line item. Neither was you splashing your funk on my stomach. The frequency of intercourse wasn’t negotiated. All of it was by my consent, you said.”
His face falls into a frown. “Do you feel like I’ve forced myself on you?”
“No. I feel like you’re a guy I met at a bar and, by some weird twist of fate, I landed a gig as your temporary wife. Who is Griffin Calloway? Who are you?”
I look at him. For this moment, I’m in charge.
“Do you even know or care who I am? What are you expecting from me sexually? Am I supposed to be available all the time? Like ‘bend over, wife, I’m home?’ We don’t have a relationship, but we fuck. Do you fuck other people? Can I? I mean, if I have an IUD, I should be good to go, right?”
He turns to face me. Hard as a rock—again. He’s always got an erection. Whenever I’m wearing less than battle armor, he’s stiff.
“Where the hell is all of this coming from? I already told you, neither of us is having sex outside of this marriage. It’s too risky.”
“It’s coming from me. I’m a person, Griffin, not just a body that keeps you popping a boner.”
He rolls his eyes. “With your consent, I’d like to have sex with you. If we don’t...” he sighs, letting the threat hang.
“You’ll go elsewhere and handle your junk. I get it. Why exactly are we sharing a bed? No one comes in and checks where I’m sleeping.” I want out of his bed and out of his life if he doesn’t start treating me like a human being.
“The staff at Vilken Services will know. If you aren’t sleeping in my bed, word will get around.
The Christopher Street Society has eyes everywhere.
We need to live like a husband and wife.
This is a non-negotiable condition. And until recently, you had no problems having sex with me. Bored already?” he snaps.
“Sex has never been just physical for me,” I shoot back. “When Landon and I had sex, there was something there, even if it wasn’t perfect. With you... we had a connection that first night. It may have been a fantasy, but it felt real.”
I take a breath.
“I feel, Griffin. And I have to push those feelings away because you’ve made it very clear you don’t want to be married to me. You don’t want a wife—you need one. For some reason, you picked me. But outside of my pussy, ass, and tits, have you made any attempt to see who I am?”
I am crossing a line, but I don’t care. I can walk away from this.
Griffin looks out the window as he speaks.
“It’s true that I don't want to be married to anyone. Marriage is a shackle. It certainly isn't real when you have a forced relationship bound by a contract. I create contracts to bind entities to less-than-optimal things, but that’s not the way hearts should work. My heart... doesn’t work. Therefore I must have a contract.”
He sounds almost... sad? Lonely? Pathetic? I can’t decide.
He turns to look at me. “Yet, for you...” He flattens his lips.
“I can’t just fuck,” I say quietly. “I don’t need a lifetime of devotion, but some care? Mutual respect? Maybe a curiosity to know who I am?”
Fuck. I’m not getting through to him. This is going nowhere.
We are lit only by streetlights flashing as the car moves. It’s difficult to read his expression.
“I understand that our marriage is the antithesis of who you are,” Griffin says finally.
“I'm hoping that five million dollars and a career are compensation enough. I certainly know that I am not. I'm an asshole, Selena, and you are a good woman. You don’t think I see you? That I didn’t feel your body tense every time someone assumed you were less than them tonight? You don’t think I know your polite smile was covering your abject distaste for my world? I see you.”
He pauses. “I just don’t want to acknowledge that I’ve made you do something so grossly outside of your moral sphere. My cock doesn’t get hard just for your tits, Selena. I’m not fifteen. If you don’t want to have sex with me, that's fine. I’ll spend the year fucking my hand.”
I’m too emotional. I burst into tears. “Fuck you,” I sob as the car reaches his loft.
He gets out, holding the door for me. “Just get an IUD, please. That’s all I’m asking. Whether you feel something or don’t, we can’t keep our hands off each other. One day, it will be too much, and you’ll want sex. Give this time.”
Wordlessly, we ride the elevator to the loft. When we walk in, he turns to me.
“I have to work,” he says, but it sounds more like an apology.
“I know.”
“Have a dip in the hot tub. It soothes the nerves.”
It isn’t care, exactly, but it’s... caring. Sort of.
I do spend time in the hot tub looking out at the stars. It calms me. I don’t regret what I said. He needed to hear it.
When I’m too exhausted to stay awake, I go to our room. Griffin isn’t there, so I get in bed and fall asleep. Later, I feel him slide in next to me. He kisses me on the head, thinking I’m unconscious.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the dark.
When I wake up, he’s gone.
I get dressed and go to my appointment. I don't know why I'm nervous. Maybe because the whole situation still feels off-kilter.
“Selena Calloway.” The nurse calls my name. I almost don’t hear her, because who is Selena Calloway?
I follow her back.
“Take off your clothes and put them in this basket,” she instructs, handing me a paper gown. “Panties off. The doctor will see you soon.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
I'm only left waiting for a few minutes. I guess this is the perk of having a powerful husband.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Wells.” A pretty woman in her late fifties walks in.
“This is all pretty standard. Before we proceed, I just need to do a few routine tests to make sure an IUD is the best method for you. If all goes well, I should be able to install it this afternoon. I know you’ve just gotten married—I’m sure you and your husband would like a little peace of mind. ”
She offers a sweet smile, and I relax.
“That would be great.”
For a year. I only need peace of mind for a year. I'd be a liar if I said sex with Griffin isn't amazing. If I have a solid means of birth control and we can work out some kind of communication style, maybe we can do this.
I pee in a cup. I have my blood drawn. I’m ushered into a relaxation room with an eye mask and aromatherapy to wait. It feels like a spa.
“Mrs. Calloway?” A nurse touches my shoulder about twenty minutes later.
“Boy, that was fast,” I say, sitting up. The nurse gives me a grin that looks more like a grimace.
I return to the examination room and wait for the doctor. When Dr. Wells walks in, she has a strained look on her face. She's holding papers that set off alarm bells in my head.
“Well, Mrs. Calloway... I want you to know that this is not uncommon with newlyweds. There’s no need to feel embarrassed. However, I cannot perform the IUD installation today.”
She pauses.
“As part of our pre-screening, I administered two pregnancy tests. Both have come back positive. By my estimation, you’re very early in your pregnancy. Perhaps only ten days post-conception.”
What?
Immediately, the nausea I've been battling surges. It’s been eleven days since I took the morning-after pill.
“I took the morning-after pill. Can the test be wrong?” I blurt out.
“We can get a false positive on a urine screening, but not usually on a blood test. Both are showing elevated hCG levels. The morning-after pill is only effective for about forty-eight hours, and its potency can be compromised.”
“I took it right after he... um...” I swallow hard.
“Emergency contraception can fail if you’re taking antibiotics, or if you threw up within two hours of ingestion.”
“I threw up about two hours after taking it,” I confess, tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Then I’m almost one hundred percent positive that you are pregnant.”
The room spins.
I don’t want to have an abortion. It’s something I vowed I’d never do. But I can’t do this alone. And I know Griffin. He made it clear: I won't be a dad. He will ask me to terminate.
I start shaking, deep, racking sobs taking over my body. The doctor rubs my back, trying to calm me, but I'm out of control.
“Get Griffin Calloway on the phone,” Dr. Wells says sharply to the nurse.
The nurse dials. Suddenly, I hear his deep voice on speaker.
“Calloway.”
Fuck.