Chapter 14
SELENA
The day after our wedding, Griffin was gone most of the day.
I feel awkward and uncomfortable in his home.
He lives in an industrial-style loft on the Upper East Side in a highly modern building.
We have a doorman and a receptionist who handle everything.
Inside the penthouse, which spans the top two floors, Griffin specifically arranged for the staff not to be on a tight rotation because he doesn’t want to know them.
They wear identical teal-green uniforms. The women wear skirts; the men, pants.
Everyone has the same crisp white shirt and nametag.
Even the chef wears teal. Right now, he’s the only one here. A housekeeper comes every other day.
Despite having people in the home with me, I can't develop a relationship with them because tomorrow there will be somebody new. I feel completely alone.
There's a massive modern living room, sleek and white.
Even the rugs are white. I'm afraid to go in there because I tend to be clumsy.
If I drop a blueberry, I'm going to ruin the entire aesthetic.
The dining room is also white with upholstered white chairs.
I'm uncomfortable eating there, so I dine on the terrace. At least there’s a breeze.
Griffin told me I could redecorate the bedroom, but I don’t feel like this is my home. And his bedroom is problematic. It's where I sleep, yet it’s also where I feel the most trapped.
The terrace features a beautiful sauna and hot tub, a rooftop lounge, and a swimming pool.
These places are more welcoming. I haven't been myself, so today I take time just to read and recover after the chef makes me a berry smoothie. Earlier, I ordered books from a local store that were delivered within the hour. That is a perk of being rich: paying for instant gratification. I hunker down with a big-brimmed hat I found in Griffin’s room and read to get out of my head.
When Griffin comes home later that night, he explains in a rush that we have two public events for children's organizations this week. I have to put on a show of being a doting newlywed, as our marriage is going to be announced at both.
“Did you go shopping today?” he asks as he takes off his suit jacket. “I’m hoping you found something to wear for tomorrow night.”
He’s trying to sound nice, but his stress is bleeding through.
“I stayed in and read today. I haven’t really had a day off since I left Iowa. Can I shop tomorrow? What do you want me to wear?” I figure it’s easier if he just tells me.
“Of course. I’m glad you took the day off. I’ll have a car drop you off at a boutique I use.” He walks into the living room. I close my book and follow him.
“Do you often buy dresses? Maybe you already have something...”
“Nothing that will fit you.” He looks in the fridge, searching for food. “Have you had dinner?”
“No. Would you like me to purchase formal wear?”
“Yes. Something sexy.” He flashes me a quick, distracted smile.
“Of course,” I playfully huff. Sex and witty banter are all we really have. “Would you like to eat together?”
“I need to work,” he answers quickly.
I’m almost relieved.
“Of course,” I say again, holding my book to my chest like a shield. I retreat toward the room he’s given me.
“Where are you going?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“I thought I’d finish this in my room.” Don’t cry, don’t cry.
“Without eating?”
“I’ll get something later,” I say, trying to be pleasant.
He tosses his phone at me. I’m lucky I catch it.
“What the—?”
“Dominico’s has the best antipasto salad. Their calzones are amazing, and we need their tiramisu. Punch in what you want; it’ll be here in twenty. I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll meet you in the dining room. You can read while I work.”
He’s in boss mode. I’m not sure I like it.
“Is that an order?” I push back.
“Until you stop running away from me, it is.”
Fuck.
He takes a shower while I place the order. When he returns, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist and looking too fucking sexy, he takes his phone back and orders his meal.
Dinner is uneventful. Griffin works on his laptop, eating while he types, and I read.
We only say a few words to one another. It’s awkward, but I know he’s trying his best. We discuss my sister, Celeste.
I decide I should tell her I've married someone who will take care of me, but I’m reluctant to reveal the whole truth.
“I’m just not the kind of person who jumps into marriage,” I say, picking at my salad. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell her until we have the real ceremony. At least then I’ll have been with you for more than a week. She’ll do something crazy like call the police if I tell her now.”
“Do what you think is best,” is his dismissive answer.
My heart drops a little. I finish my book, which was good, but it makes me ache for a real romance. I decide I’ll stick with horror novels until the feeling passes.
When I go to bed, Griffin tells me he’s going to keep working. When I wake up, he’s already gone.
I check my phone. There’s a text from Celeste.
Morning, how’s New York treating you? I’m heading into work, but I want you to be the first one to know.
Underneath the text is a picture of a pregnancy test. Pregnant.
My heart crashes.
OH MY GOD, Cel… a baby!!!! I’m so excited. I’m going to be an auntie… again. I text back.
I show as much excitement as a phone screen allows.
I KNOW! We’re already eight weeks pregnant, and I completely forgot about my period. (laughing emoji).
How can you forget about your period? I wonder. But she already has three kids, so perhaps her life is just that crazy. Ironically, Celeste and Scarlett are both having their fourth child. I want to be a mother with my whole soul, but four would be a lot. I remind myself that Griffin is temporary.
I can’t wait to meet the little critter. I mean it. I love my nephews. Maybe this one is a girl.
Me too… love you. Gotta go.
I read the next message, which is from Griffin.
Meet you downstairs at six. Be ready. Wear your wedding ring. - Griffin
Ugh. Short and to the point.
I head to the lobby at six. Griffin is there right on time.
“You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“Thanks. You look like a GQ model.”
And he does—perfectly tailored black suit, salt and pepper hair, powder blue dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
Instead of responding, he leans forward and kisses me. We make out for the rest of the drive. He’s a mess when we arrive.
“I’m not sure what to do with you,” he says, his cock visibly aroused against his trousers.
“I don’t know either. I feel so lost.” Fuck all this truth. “You can’t go in there like that,” I say, glancing down at him.
No one can see him because the partition is up, but we’re parked in front of the venue.
“I can handle it. Just go easy on the touching tonight.” He chuckles. “And maybe cover me for a few minutes.”
“What if you think about taxes? Or having a colonoscopy?”
He bursts into laughter. “That should do the trick.”
We slide out of the car. Griffin uses me as a shield for a moment, then relaxes. Crisis avoided.
How can a man who is so turned on by me not want to get to know the rest of who I am? He can’t be happy with just sex.
I walk into yet another upscale establishment filled with people I would never meet in real life. In Iowa, parties were in living rooms with afghans on the couch. This is a room with chandeliers, crisp linens, and women wearing sparkling jewelry and not much else. I’m completely out of my element.
Griffin saunters around the room like a king. People know him. Congratulations fly. Scrutinizing eyes dance up and down my body. I have a smile so plastered to my face it feels permanent.
In contrast to Griffin’s black suit, I’m wearing a strapless dress that someone at the boutique picked out for me. There were twelve dresses, four pairs of pants, six shirts, and three skirts waiting for me when I got there. The salesperson asked if I wanted to shop more, and my jaw dropped.
“Mr. Calloway would like you to have a new wardrobe,” she huffed as I took the garment bags.
“Oh, trust me, I do.”
Griffin stays close to me all night. I like having him with me. It feels comforting.
I’m nodded to, talked over, spoken about, but never asked questions. Until an elegantly dressed woman in her fifties turns to me, her diamond necklace gleaming in the low light.
“You’ve made quite a catch, dear.”
I stare at her, unable to assemble my thoughts. I want to tell her I wasn’t fishing. That he caught me. That this isn’t real. That I’m going to find a real husband one day who wants to know me. I feel my eyes heat with tears.
“Thank you. I’m so excited to share my life with Griffin,” I gush, clutching his arm. “He swept me off my feet. When you know, you know.”
What do I know?
Nothing. I know nothing about Griffin except that he works for a law firm and lives in a white museum where I feel like an intruder.
“Well, Griffin has surprised us all,” the woman says, her voice pinching. “None of us thought Griffin Calloway would ever get married. You aren’t his usual type.”
I assume she means I’m not a seasoned socialite or a sex-positive adventurer from Madam’s. I smile and nod.
“You mean soulmate?” Griffin appears at my side, rescuing me. “You’re right. Until I met Selena, I hadn’t found her.”
I look at Griffin. It’s a lie, of course, but at least he didn’t let me get fried.
“Fascinating,” the lady dismisses us, turning away.