married for a year

chapter 8

Jones's POV

I sat in the rear of the Mercedes Benz that is bringing me home and inspect the picture of my helper,

Anita, with a sigh of relief that I made the perfect choice.

She is the best contender for the post.

I can understand why she doesn't have a boyfriend: she needs to fix her awful fashion choices.

Not some educated, pampered brat who would destroy everything for me and make it exceedingly impossible to end this charade of a marriage we are about to embark on, but rather the precise person I need, and she is not the social kind.

Anita won't be a harsh person, and her lack of social skills may be something my mother appreciates about her.

Between my mother and my late fiancée, this was one of their grounds of contention. I knew that even though she never expressed it to me. Mother can disguise her feelings fairly successfully.

As I continue to scroll down, I notice other images of Anita's ruffled dresses, plain black gowns, skirts and tank tops, and many more out-of-style clothing.

I'm trying hard not to chuckle.

I obtained further information on her from my private investigator.

I have only known her for roughly a year, so my understanding of her is limited.

I was only able to recollect her first name, Anita. I don't like to refer to my staff members by titles.

A few days ago, I even called her Miss Terry rather than Miss Calleges, as I remember. I wonder why she did not correct me since I am bad at using formal names.

Additionally, he provided me with a snapshot of her ill grandma.

I'm not sorry I provided help. I'm not sorry I gave her more than I did initially.

Robert drives into the vehicle garage and hurries down to open the door for me as soon as the car stops.

I close the laptop and hand it to Robert after giving her gorgeous face one last look, then I step out of the van with my luggage.

I signed the contract and let Anita go home soon after, so I had a long day at work today. She was upgraded to the status of my wife, hence she is no longer my personal assistant.

We can't work together any longer because we are going to be in a relationship, but in a year I will attempt to find her another job.

What to make of my relief is beyond me.

Whether it's because I have positive news to share with my mother right now or because I'm relieved not to have to go through the tiresome process of searching for someone suitable for the position, I'm not sure.

My mother is a kind, frail woman who sees my single status as a disease that has to be treated immediately.I realize that it would be impossible for me to request for divorce a year later, but if I knew she would go too far, I would have enabled her to pick my husband.

My mother has been pretty busy taking care of me ever since my cousin gave birth to two kids a year ago.

Her current top objectives include getting married and establishing a family, which she informed me immediately away was what she considered would be perfect.

However, I had no interest. My life was better spent on other things. All I wanted was a calm life free from overwhelming guilt.

Mom is oblivious to that.

She feels that having a family and kids would make her happy and that her single desire is to be happy.

I don't believe I'm ready to establish a family.

Even the thought has grown on me. I suppose I'm still recuperating from the trauma of losing my wife and baby since it gives me a form of awful horror. I can't bear to have kids and watch them go away once more.

It's not that I want babies. I can't tell my mother, however. I'm unable to explain to her why, either. Even if they don't sound genuine, that's what I seek.

Entering the residence, I remove my suit and grip it hard in my left hand while my butler removes my briefcase and the laptop bag I gave Robert.

"Greetings, sir. The head maid, Anne, lowers her head properly and says, "Your mother is here."

I wrinkle my brow. Is Mom present here? What a wonderful moment!

I was just thinking of having myself a bath and giving her a call to let her know I had something essential to share. Though I'm sure she would be thrilled, I'll disregard it and carry out my plan. I have to show her that I am okay without getting married and that I don't need a lady in my life.

Contrary to common assumption, marriage is not a bed of roses.

I don't consider my mother's marriage as one, although it may be one.

Marriage is marked by ups and downs as well as hurdles, challenges, and knocks on your door.

Matrimony cannot stay as wonderful as it was in the beginning. At some time, the love will be inferred, and finally, it will come apart.

There will be a reduction in the two partners' attraction. Divorce will start as it is presently happening all over the world.

Lisa, one of my largest customers, was unable to attend last week's board meeting as her husband was pursuing a divorce.

I'm afraid of all of them and I can't continue to permit the misery to return.

My actual love, Grace, is someone I will never be able to find again. She has departed.

Indefinitely.

My heart is no longer with me. I no longer have a heart to love. "Son, the minute I set foot in the vast downstairs living room, Mother gets up." The remark that my mother was there prohibited me from utilizing the staircase to get to my room.

"Mother", I stretch my arms and we offer each other a hug.

I examine her face as she breaks away from the hug and realizes she doesn't look joyful.

"What's the matter?" I inquire as I move to settle down on one of the sofas.

"Nothing, I'm fine," is her answer, but I know she's not.

A fifty-year-old woman, who is usually cheerful and gorgeous, assures me that nothing occurred, but her countenance stays melancholy.

I think I understand everything about this.

I place my hand on my elbow and ignore her, without demanding to know what the matter is.

She cries out, pouting, "Jones". "Won't you ask me why I am sad?"

I scoff. "I thought I just did?"

She gives a scent. "An incident happened. Something wonderful. Though I should be happy, I'm not."

What a drama queen!

My father doesn't make jokes with her because of this. Their communication and understanding of one other is exceptional. I was taught to believe in pure love, and I loved their sort of love.

I did have trust, but I have a lot in store for destiny.

I was left feeling dejected and unable to mend my broken heart while destiny had other plans. My life has shifted substantially in the preceding two years. I no longer believe in love and fairy tales, to mention just a few of many characteristics in myself that have altered.

"Won't you ask what it is?" She hits again, she looks sad.

With a frown, I query. "What is it, mom?"

She cries, "Angelica gave birth to a princess last night," and I see a tear fall from her eye.

That same cousin, Angelica, gave birth a year ago, which is when my mother began pressing me to get married.

After barely a year, she is already expecting a child? I giggle to myself.

"Angelica is pleased that the baby is a girl because she thinks she is so cute. You know, they're naming her after me. Isn't it adorable?

Though my initial instinct was to query her if this is the same Angelica who gave birth to a set of twins last year, I agree with her, stating "It is, mother."

There's no need to inquire again as I already know she's the one.

Considering that she told my mother that the kid would bear her name.

My mother and Angelica's mother are sisters, but Susan, Angelica's mother, died away many years before Angelica wed her husband, an Italian chef.

"Won't you ask me why I am sad?"

"Why are you sad, mother?" Meekly like a dove, I implore.

"It's because I wish your wife had given birth instead of you.

I would have been pleased if that had been the case. Jones, can you please do me this favor before I die?

Her eyes begin to brim up with tears. "I want to see my grandchildren, I want to see you happy again."

It begins to disturb me to see her sobbing. She is aware of my aversion to watching her cry.

"Mom, I told you to give me time, right?" She offers a nod.

"The timer is already running out.

Your father will be sixty, I will be fifty-one, and we won't have a grandchild yet by the end of the year. That's not just.

"Do you want me to make a wrong choice of a wife?"

I ask her in a firm and straightforward way.

"What? "Of course not," she answers, expanding her eyes and brushing away her tears.

"Good", I offer a head nod. "That is why I am taking my time."

"All right," she merely responds, looking downcast.

We both get quiet and cease communicating to one another. I'm not sure how to approach her about Anita, but I want to tell her about her.

I can only imagine her delight if I informed her I'm getting married soon.

So that she can be more thrilled about the whole affair, I think I will offer her the opportunity to select the wedding date.

"Mother?" When I call, prepared to tell her what I want to do, she doesn't pick up.

I am aware of the trick. I said, "I have good news for you," and my fake worked. She whips her head up, comes racing to my side, and stares curiously and expectantly at me.

I offer myself a tiny smile.

She says, gripping my arms, "Good news? What's a good word?

"Yes," I say, a smile playing across my lips like that of a person anxious to wed the love of his life. "I am planning to get married to...."

She quickly rises up, halting me in my steps, and breaks into ecstatic laughter.

I'm not sure when I start to grin too, but when I do, it becomes a huge smile and she spins around the living room with joy.

When she stops, she is already breathing hard like someone has just done a marathon run, she comes to my side again and asks from me. "Who are you getting married to?"

Her expression is full with amazement and optimism again, and I blurt something out. "To my Assistant, Anita."

She takes some time to grasp what I've just said, but when she does, her eyes shoot up and her jaws collapse. "What?!"

Can the billionaire marry his helper if his mother approves?

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