Chapter 5 - Husband
1009 Words
I woke up without meeting my supposed husband.
Maybe that was fine. Maybe he would only show up after a few weeks. A marriage like this was already unusual enough on its own. And for someone like me, who needed the money just to survive, I didn’t really have the luxury to question it.
I finished my food quietly.
Last night, I had texted Beatrice to let her know I arrived safely, and she replied shortly after my brunch.
Beatrice:
Good. If they ask you any personal questions, just act normally, okay? Did you already meet him?
I sighed and placed my fork down.
Me:
Not yet.
I had just set my phone aside when I noticed someone approaching from a distance. It was hard not to notice him.
Even from afar, he stood out in a way that made people look twice. He had good posture, and his build was impossible to ignore even from where I was sitting.
And then he got closer.
That was when I realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just his jeans hung loosely on his waist, moving lazily with every step like he didn’t care at all how he looked.
He removed his cowboy hat as his gaze landed directly on me.
My eyes widened a little before I quickly looked away. But, I still heard his faint smirk.
He walked closer and entered the dining area like he owned the place.
“Morning, princess.”
My head lifted slightly, confused. I looked around first, almost certain he was talking to someone else. He chuckled at my reaction.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked carefully.
He raised a brow as he reached for a glass of water.
“Did you see anyone else I could be talking to?”
My lips pressed together. How annoying!
“My name is Beatrice,” I corrected him. “I told you yesterday—”
“Oh, did you?” he interrupted lightly. “Sorry, princess. I don’t really like your name.”
My brows slowly furrowed. He’s unbelievable!
So this was how he was going to act.
He took a seat across from me without asking like it was the most natural thing in the world. The chair scraped lightly against the floor as he leaned back.
I drank my orange juice a little faster than I should have, just to get away from him sooner.
“So,” he said, glancing at my plate before looking back at me. “You were sent here by your mother?”
“That’s normal,” I replied. “It’s an arranged marriage, so—”
“Mm,” he hummed lightly, like he already lost interest halfway through my sentence. “So you just got delivered here.”
My eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not what I said.”
He ignored that. Instead, his gaze drifted over me for a second, slow and lazy, like he was sizing up or really just checking me out.
“You look younger than me,” he added. “They really didn’t think this through.”
I frowned. “It’s not like I had a choice.”
“That’s what they all say,” he replied easily.
Then, like it was nothing, he leaned forward a little.
“So tell me,” he said, voice lighter now, almost playful. “Do you actually want to get married, or are you just here because someone told you to?”
“It’s not about what I want,” I said. “It’s arranged. As if I have a choice.”
“Right,” he nodded slowly, like I had just confirmed something obvious.
Then he tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk forming.
“Do you know who would be your husband?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Obviously not you. You have a girlfriend.”
“Mmm…” he added. “That part sounded almost personal.”
“It wasn’t,” I said quickly.
That only made his smile widen a little.
“Good,” he said. “Because I’d hate to think you were disappointed.”
My grip tightened around my glass. His eyes flicked to my hand for a second before going back to my face, like he enjoyed that reaction more than anything else in the conversation.
“Relax,” he said, leaning back again. “I’m not that hard to deal with.”
As if!
“And no, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I blinked.
“…You don’t?”
He gave a soft, amused breath like I had just asked something innocent.
“Why? Were you planning to be jealous already?” he asked lightly.
I stared at him. He clearly enjoyed this too much.
This man had been annoying me since yesterday, and now he was laughing at me for reasons I didn't even understand.
“Look,” I said. “I don't know why you're acting like this, but I'm not interested.”
His brow lifted. “Not interested?”
“In whatever you're saying.”
That only made him grin. “Princess, you think way too much.”
I set my glass down. “You know what, I’m leaving you now. I need to go back to my room—"
“Who exactly do you think you're marrying?”
The question caught me off guard. “What?”
“Your future husband?”
“Well...” I hesitated. “Your father, obviously.”
For a second, there was complete silence. Then he barked his laughter.
“What is wrong with you?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, still trying to stop laughing. “Do I really look like the son of a ninety-year-old man to you?”
My stomach suddenly dropped. What?
My heart started beating faster. For the first time since meeting him, I had a feeling I wasn't going to like whatever came next.
He pointed casually at himself. “Nikoulai Sinclaire.”
Then his smile turned downright irritating.
“Your future husband.”
- Writer
