Joshua Wilkins: Arranged Marriage

Chapter 6: Joshua

I’d never thought of a hoodie as sexy. Never once in my life had I been interested in seeing what was underneath, but Lydia made me intrigued.

I knew she wanted me out of her way, so after the tour of the penthouse, I slipped into my office, hiding and pretending to work when all I could think about was her in my closet setting her stuff aside.

I would rather want office.

I could hear the words clear as day. It had surprised me beyond belief. If there was one thing I was certain of, it was that Lydia wouldn’t share a bed with me. Apparently, her wish for an office was greater than her wish to have her own space.

Of course, I didn’t mind. I would never admit it out loud, but sleeping next to someone made it easier, more pleasant, and more interesting. There definitely was a physical connection between us; a connection I felt when we were in the closet earlier.

I like this suit.

Her voice was soft and almost wondering. It had been a fluke when I bought the suit. I never wore navy blue; it wasn’t a color I liked on me. Perhaps because my grandmother always forced me into it as a young man. It brings out the blue in your eyes. Which was true, but it was not something I liked to wear.

My eyes traveled over the finalization of the new software update to our security system. It was a well-known system used by many. Even someone like Daniel Garrett used it. The most renowned man in the business wanted nothing more than to own all of my devices.

I really tried to focus. I tried to look at the screen and not focus on the messy bun of strawberry hair, on the green eyes curiously looking over the design of my penthouse.

She had not been overjoyed or complimented my decorating skills; however, she had quickly made a remark in the bathroom. And that was enough for me.

I pushed away from the desk. I had been hiding for almost two hours, and now I could use the excuse of food and dinner to talk to her.

The door clicked behind me. I had no reason to lock my door; everything was coded and had passcodes that even I didn’t know, which made it impossible to hack my stuff. Therefore, even if she went in there, she would not be able to find or access anything.

I walked across the hall and into the bedroom. The door wasn’t all the way closed, and I could hear the low humming of someone in there. I was used to the sound of Sasha humming; that was the sound I grew up with. This sound was new.

When I entered the walk-in closet, I saw her. Her hips swaying with whatever music flowed through the headphones on top of her head. She had begun hanging up her clothes on the right side, which left the left side for me. That was more than fine.

Her hoodie lay on the bench in the middle of the room, showing off her tank top that stuck to her body like a second skin. It showed off her figure. How slim her waist was, how perfectly shaped her bosom was, how toned her arms and back were. She definitely worked out.

She put something in one of the drawers, which looked like a huge bundle of lace, making something inside me twitch. How good she would look in nothing but lace. I shook my head at the thought.

“Oh my—” she stopped herself while putting a hand over her chest—her heart. She pulled off the headphones when she noticed me. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long,” I answered with a shrug of my shoulders. “You’re effective.” It wasn’t a question, it was an observation.

“I want it done,” she put her hands on her hips, “I’ll go bonkers if I have to live out of a suitcase.”

Bonkers. That was not a word I had expected out of her mouth.

Her messy bun had just become messier, which meant that beautiful strawberry blonde hair was everywhere, down her face, down her neck. It looked beautiful.

“I don’t know if I would use the word bonkers, but I get your point.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame. “Food?”

“That would be nice.”

“Chinese?”

“Get extra vegetables.”

“Vegetables?” My eyebrow hooked. Nobody orders extra vegetables when they eat Chinese.

“Somebody,” a small tug of her mouth showed her mischief, “works hard for the body they have. Chinese food is nothing but carbs and fat. I need the extra vegetables.”

“Don’t tell me you’re the I’ll just have a salad type.”

Something came across her eyes, possibly laughter or some other kind of joke. “I’m not,” she let her fingers slide through her hair, removing the strands from her face, “I love a good steak. However, I want to be in control of my body, and that means control of my food.”

“I’ll order extra vegetables.” I pushed off the frame and turned away from her. “Food will be here in thirty.”

“Then I’ll be done in thirty.”

**

“So,” I sat down at the end of the table, with her on my right side, “any other food quirks I should know of?”

I don’t know why, but what I wanted most was to hear her talk. I wanted to get to know her.

“I don’t know,” she thought as she started filling up her plate. Most of the plate consisted of vegetables: broccoli, kale, carrots, and a portion of a cucumber salad I had no idea they served. Then another big portion of meats, both beef and chicken, and just a little of the fried. Then she put on a tiny bit of noodles and one spring roll. “I don’t like dark chocolate.”

Probably the last thing I would have thought of. I looked at her as she started eating the food, using the chopsticks perfectly.

“What has dark chocolate done to you?” Something tugged at her mouth for just a second.

I poured out some food onto my plate. Both rice and noodles, lots of the fried meat, both because I loved the taste but also because that wouldn’t be good as leftovers tomorrow.

“I just don’t get it,” her gaze met mine for a second before she grabbed the glass of white wine I had poured her just minutes ago. “Why in God’s name would anyone go, ‘Oh, I’m in the mood for a treat, let me get the most bitter piece of candy that exists’? I hate that kind of people.”

She took a sip from the glass before setting it down and continuing to eat. She also ate according to the plate: vegetables and meats first, carbs at the end.

“Well, good thing I don’t crave dark chocolate then.” I thought I saw a shimmer of a smile on her lips before she took in a piece of chicken.

“What about you? Anything good to know?” She glanced at my plate before looking back at her own. Two very different plates.

“I eat what I want to,” I shrugged, “I have a high metabolism, so I don’t think much about it.”

“Of course not,” she narrowed her eyes before she took another sip of wine, “any allergies or favorite dishes?”

“No allergies.” I looked in the back of my mind for something, for the favorite dish, but it was hard choosing just one. “Roast beef perhaps?”

“You’re asking or telling?” A hint of amusement struck her green eyes.

“Actually, I’m not sure.” Then something clicked in the back of my mind. Her ring. “Just one second.” I lifted my index finger before standing up. I went over to the all-and-everything drawer and opened it to find the blue velvet box. I went back through the kitchen to her.

“How nice, finding my ring in between cutlery.” She folded her hands under her chin, watching me closely as I approached her.

“Not the cutlery, the tape measure, the loose batteries, the forgotten business cards, and all the other things you don’t know where to put.” I sat down in my spot again.

“You know just the right things to say,” the mockery thick in her voice, “such a romantic.”

“Anything for you, dear.” I mocked the nickname and handed her the box.

“Call me that again, and you won’t live to see the wedding day.” Her threat didn’t bother me, it actually only made me like her more. She had a different kind of humor, and it was refreshing. Kind of like the humor my friends had.

She took the box from my palm. “I don’t expect you to expect me down on one knee?”

She puffed out a sound of ridiculousness. “I don’t expect you to bend the knee for anyone,” she stated, before she looked at me, “actually, if we’re to marry I must insist, do not bend the knee for anyone—”

“It’s a weakness,” we both ended at the same time, making me smile slightly at her. “Don’t worry, that’s not happening.”

She looked back at the box before opening it. I wanted her to like the ring. I wanted her to appreciate the fact that I actually thought of her when I picked it out this morning.

Something crossed her mind as her glance reached the oval-shaped diamond on the silver band. It was simple, elegant, and shone of power. Just like her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said before her fingers closed in on it and pulled it from its rest in the box.

She slid it over her left ring finger, over her perfectly manicured hands, her French tip nails, and it fit perfectly.

“If it doesn’t fit, we can get it altered.”

“It fits,” she answered immediately. “I like it,” she looked at the ring on her finger, “thanks.” The thanks came out weird, but not any weirder than I had thought it would be. Because what could she say? What would be the appropriate thing to say in a situation like this?

“I’m glad you like it,” I nodded at her before I continued eating my food.

We sat there in silence as her finger now shone in the dim lights from overhead the table. When she had finished her plate, I started pouring out my second portion. Instead of eating more, she chose to fill up our glasses. She leaned back in the chair and looked behind me, looking out of the window, watching as the last of the sunlight cascaded in beautiful colors across the sky. One of her legs was up while the foot rested on the seat of the chair. She draped her arms over the knee, with the wine glass in one hand.

“I would like to put down some ground rules,” she stated while I was still stuffing my face.

When I swallowed the food in my mouth, I wiped it with my napkin before leaning back myself. “Of course, me too.” I tapped my fingers on the table. “You go first.”

Her gaze found mine again before she looked back at the horizon, back at the sky. “I want complete honesty,” she started, “I get that there are some things you can’t tell me, company stuff, and the same goes for me, but if I ask you a question you can’t answer, I want to know why you can’t answer that.”

It made sense. Complete honesty. Did that also involve my reasoning for this union? Maybe, maybe not. If she asked me, I would answer, but if not, maybe I wouldn’t tell her.

“I can live with that.”

“That also includes,” she took a deep breath, “your s****l escapades,” she finished, which almost made me choke on my food. “I get that you might have lived a life before me, and I get if you want to continue that, but I want to know with who, when, and where. I will not be kept in the dark.”

She talked as I coughed up my food, trying to digest it properly. “You want to see other people?” My voice cracked.

“No,” she answered, making my heart slow down, making my body ease, “but technically I am, or I haven’t had a chance to end things yet, and I will.”

“Who?” I hadn’t ever seen her with anybody or heard of anyone involved with her.

“Nobody you know.” She took a sip of wine. “I will break off all ties with him and stay faithful to you, of course.”

“Of course.” What in the living hell is this?! “I will do the same.”

“Okay.” She nodded, not as if her fiancé had just promised to be faithful, but like I had just told her I preferred my coffee with milk and sugar.

The silence took over. Maybe it was because I felt stunned. I had just taken our faithfulness as a default, I had not once thought it could be up for debate.

“I am my own person,” she said, breaking the silence between us, still with her gaze set on the sky outside, “I believe you are the same. I do not expect us to eat dinner together every night, I do not expect us to do couple things together. However, I value my time, and I have a feeling you do too,” her piercing green eyes met mine, “if we plan to meet up, if we arrange a date, I expect you to show up on time or at least send me a text.”

“So, basic human decency.”

“It is not like that for everyone.” She clarified.

“I expect the same from you,” I stated. “My time is valuable, so it’s good to know I won’t be wasting it.”

She nodded as a reply before taking another sip. I took my own glass, taking a drag before nesting it in my hands. This conversation had gone totally different from what I’d expected.

What had I expected? Don’t come home drunk. Don’t throw your underwear on the floor. Clean up after yourself. That wasn’t her, and she didn’t waste time bullshitting.

“I have one too,” I said, looking down at my glass and the liquid in it. “I want to know where you are, and when you will be there.”

“Why?” When I looked up at her, she looked back at me puzzled.

I drank the last of my glass before putting it down on the table. “Let’s just say, I protect what’s mine.”