Joshua Wilkins: Arranged Marriage

Chapter 8: Lydia

There were good and bad things about living with Joshua. The bad things clearly outweighed the good.

He definitely thought he was God’s gift to women. Sure, he was handsome, and his crooked smile did something primal to me. But every time he opened his mouth, I regretted feeling that way.

He would eat constantly. I think his meal count came up to fifteen one day. How can one man eat so much? It wasn’t just small snacks; it was meals, leftovers, chips and dip, fries and chicken, everything! It annoyed me beyond belief because no matter how much he ate, it didn’t show on his body. Not one ounce of fat was to be seen on him.

No matter where I was in the penthouse, he would ultimately show up. If I was in the lounging area, he would show up with a tablet. If I was in the kitchen, he would show up for a snack. If I was on the balcony, he would show up with some lame excuse. However, every time he did, he seemed just as surprised and annoyed to find me there.

There was good stuff, though. He seemed genuinely interested in listening about my day when I came home. He would ask questions and come up with ideas on how to handle the drama queens that are writers. He would always fill up my glass—with wine, water, iced tea, or whatever we were drinking—before filling up his own. It was a small thing, but a thing I liked nonetheless. Every morning, I would have to pry him off of me; whether he knew it or not, he would always find me during the night and cuddle me.

My heels clicked underneath me as I traveled to the kitchen from our bedroom. I was buttoning my cream-colored satin blouse. It suited me with my black pencil skirt and my hair in a bun.

Sasha had already put out my breakfast: toast with avocado, tomatoes, and a poached egg, with freshly ground pepper and parsley, and a latte.

Joshua was already seated at the table, reading The Wall Street Journal, in his perfect white dress shirt and black tie, with his suit jacket hung over the back of the chair next to him. His hair was set, and he smelled of his cologne. It was a perfect blend of something spicy and something soothing. It made my mouth water at the first smell.

He glanced up from the newspaper and gave me a polite small smile before looking down again. The fact that he respected my wish for no small talk in the morning was great.

“Good morning,” my voice, laced with politeness, sounded over the silence between us.

Sasha scrambled in the kitchen, cleaning up after making our breakfast. She looked amazing in her floral dress, covered by her apron. I liked that she could wear whatever she wanted and not have to wear a formal uniform.

“Good morning,” he cleared his throat between the words, just to get the sleepiness out of it.

“It looks great, Sasha,” I gave her a small smile before closing the last button.

“Gracias, Miss Lydia.” She had told me a few days ago that she was Mexican. She had made burritos for dinner, and the flavor was amazing—both spicy, hot, and warm. All the things you would want a burrito to be.

I sat down at the table and took a sip of my perfectly made latte. Joshua looked at the paper as he ate his breakfast. He was already halfway done, but as usual, his breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, sausages and bacon, toast with cheese and jam, and some fresh fruit.

He looked absolutely perfect. You could see how his muscles moved within the shirt. His jaw clenched and relaxed as he chewed his food. It almost hurt to look at him.

After cutting ties with Max, I could feel my body reacting to not getting the s****l urge fulfilled. And that made my body crave Joshua in an animalistic way.

Max didn’t react well when I told him the news. But I was to blame; I should have cut the ties long before this.

“You’re what?!” His jaw tightened as he clenched his fists. His white Olympus shirt stretched with his muscles' movement.

“I’m engaged, Max,” I clarified once again.

“Did you cheat on me?” Something shimmered in his eyes. Were those tears?

“No,” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying not to touch him and console him. “I couldn’t cheat on you, Max. We were just fucking.”

It looked like I had slapped him as he took a step back. “Real classy, Lydia.” He almost spat the words at me. He ran his hand through his hair, making it tousled just like I used to do. “How?”

“My father arranged it.” I really had fun with Max; he was a great and sweet guy, with a wonderful body and a need to give me as many orgasms as he possibly could. “I found out Saturday.”

“At dinner?” He looked at me like he was searching, like he was looking for a loophole or something. But I had already looked, I had already searched.

“Yes.”

“Who?” His fists clenched again as if he wanted to track down Joshua and beat him up. Good luck with that.

“Max—”

“Who is it, Lydia?”

“It doesn’t matter, Max. We can’t see each other anymore.”

Suddenly he took a step closer to me, fury blazing in his eyes. “Why not? It doesn’t change anything. You don’t love him.”

It had nothing to do with love. “I’m engaged, Max. I can’t see you anymore.”

“Have you already done it?” He stepped even closer and looked down at me. “Have you already spread your legs for him? Does he make you c*m like I do? Do you moan his—”

My hand met his cheek, making a loud noise as I slapped him. “Do not speak to me that way!” If there was one thing I would not tolerate, it was a man talking down to me, making me seem like a hooker. I most certainly was not.

Max didn’t react like I thought he would. It was as if all anger had left him. In a quick movement, he grabbed me and pressed his lips against mine with an urgency that made my body shut down.

He kissed me like he was dying, like this was the last thing he would ever do. Like he was deprived of oxygen and I could provide that for him.

I pushed him off. He looked so hurt, so disappointed, so heartbroken.

“You knew we had an expiration date, Max. It’s now, and there’s nothing to do about it.” I turned around to leave him, to leave his apartment.

“Did I not matter to you at all?” His voice cracked. “Did we not matter to you?”

And I knew, I knew I had to hurt him beyond recognition. Because if I didn’t, he would hold out hope, he would pine and not move on.

With my hand on the doorknob, I turned around to face him. I looked into his beautiful, expressive eyes. Looked at his beautiful build and the perfection that he was.

“Max, you’re a bartender,” I knew it had to be the worst thing to hear, “you’re nothing. I can’t be with someone like you, ever. You were a good f**k and a good laugh. You made me forget about work, family issues, and the boring parties I had to go to. But you are nothing more than that. You’re a distraction.” A tear fell from his eye. “You are not—and will never be—worthy of me or my time. Goodbye, Max.”

I opened the door before the sorrow could take over me and my voice.

I’d never love Max, but he was a good friend and a good confidant. I spent a lot of hours with him and a lot of laughs too. He was, in fact, a perfect man, but it wouldn’t be us, not even if it weren’t for the arranged marriage. It simply would not work.

The rustling of Joshua turning the page in his paper pulled me from my thoughts. He took a sip of his coffee, black with a splash of milk and two tablespoons of sugar. Sugar and carbs everywhere with this man.

I looked down at my plate and picked up the utensils. “So,” I started off, “about tomorrow, what do you think we can expect?”

Tomorrow night would be our engagement party thrown by his grandparents. We hadn’t gotten much information from them, other than that the party started at seven.

He looked up from his paper and folded it shut. The slapping sound of it landing on the dinner table sounded lazy but also demanding. “Specify.” He picked up his coffee cup again and took the last sip.

“I’ve never attended a party at Wilkins House before, and I just wanted to be prepared.”

He leaned back in his chair, lifting his arms and folding his hands behind his head, making all the muscles in his upper body ripple. Imagine a Greek God in a suit and you have Joshua. Simply not fair.

“Champagne, canapés, classical music, and some photographers. That’s how the parties at Wilkins House are thrown. A lot of boring conversations, food you don’t really get full from, and expensive champagne and cocktails.” He described them as if they were hell on earth.

“Then we should probably match,” I reasoned as I cut into my toast. The yolk burst and covered my toast in the creamy goodness inside.

“Match?” He looked puzzled.

“It’s our first outing,” I explained, “and if your grandmother hired photographers to shoot the party, she will want us to match for the photos.”

Something went through his eyes, like he was contemplating what I said, or like he was considering it. “I don’t need to be dressed,” he said, sitting up straight in the chair. “I’ve been dressing myself for quite some time now.”

I couldn’t help it; something tugged at the corner of my mouth. Usually, he didn’t make me smile because his sarcastic tendencies just reminded me of my brother when he was a teenager. However, that one was a good one. “Trust me, I don’t want to dress you,” I clarified again. “I’ll just find something where we can match, and then you put it on all by yourself, just like the big boy you are.” I finished my sentence by taking a sip of my coffee.

He clenched his jaw, and I could see the battle within him. He also thought it was funny, but he was insulted at the same time. So, I simply let him sit and stew over his comeback while I continued to eat my breakfast.

Then I saw it, the surrender in his eyes. “Fine,” he exhaled. “I don’t care.”

He stood up from his chair and took his jacket. I knew he was about to leave, and I knew I didn’t want to leave it like this. I wanted to make this work between us; I wanted us to eventually become the best of partners and maybe—just maybe—once be in a happy and committed relationship.

I wanted to make amends, but how I was going to do it puzzled me. “I think I can be home by six, maybe,” I looked down at my plate while I spoke, “if you want to do something.”

The feeling of his sky-blue gaze on me lit something inside of me. I could tell he contemplated it. “I should have told you sooner,” and I could feel the rejection coming, “I’m taking a business associate out for dinner tonight.”

“Who?” I wanted to seem indifferent, but the hurt came out a little.

“Daniel Garrett.”

The name made my head snap towards him. “You know Daniel?” Daniel was like an uncle to me, or a big brother, or something in that order. He had been my rock and the male role model in my childhood. He had taught me how men should behave, and how to get what you wanted out of them.

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at me like he was trying to figure out where I could possibly know him from. “I know Mr. Garrett. He has previously bought software from me, and I wanted him to hear about my latest project.” He studied my expression.

“How do you know him?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’ve always known him. We were some of his first clients, and, well, he saw me grow up.”

He fidgeted, almost as if he was nervous to ask the next question, almost as if it was like breathing fire for him. “The dinner is at six thirty, it’s at La Grande Boucherie. You’re welcome to join us.”

It was a fancy place, a place you could show up if you had enough money, which both of the billionaires had. It was popular for business meetings among the Fortune 500 clientele. However, people from lower standings—who hadn’t climbed the social ladder yet—saw it as an upscale dating scene.

“Sasha?” I called out, soon seeing her lovely happy face smiling at me. “We won’t need you tonight, we’re eating out.”