The Wife He Didn't Choose

Chapter 1 Rose’s POV I was touch-starved. Well, if you exclude seven weeks ago when my husband staggered into the house, reeking of tequila; or maybe it was vodka. I never really knew much about alcohol. I exhaled, dropping the vibrator back into my underwear drawer, guilt creeping beneath my skin each time I had to touch myself. I’d lie on our matrimonial bed that James never slept on, close my eyes and imagine his strong hands caressing me so gently. Like I was something fragile he didn’t want to break. And I’ll get wet just by thinking about it. If only James could just oblige me once—or come back home drunk and horny every day. I glanced towards the digital clock on my nightstand and gasped. “Shit.” It was four-thirty p.m. already, and he had briefly mentioned being back home early today. Putting on some clothes hastily, I rushed out of the bedroom and practically ran to the kitchen to make some food for him. We had a chef and maids—but doing this was just my own way of still feeling useful in this marriage. I couldn’t blame James for being so distant—no, scratch that, I was needy. Always wanting to spend time with him, for him to tell me about work while I helped him relax. But James didn’t care about all that. He liked to be left alone, which made me the worst possible wife for him. Cold air rushed to my face as I pulled out the steak from the freezer, laying it on the counter to thaw. I grabbed the rest of the ingredients and began prepping the meal, chopping up some garlic and onions, then peeling the potatoes. James’s favorite food was steak, mashed potatoes, and gravy, so I tried to make it as often as possible. It was the only thing that could make him and me sit at the same dining table for at least forty-five minutes. Just as I got started on the steak, the smell of the meat searing in the garlic-butter combo made my stomach twist, bile rising to my throat. “f**k,” I gasped, turning off the stove immediately. I ran out of the kitchen only to bump into a hard, solid wall. It was James. “Hi, you’re back,” I said in a breathy voice. “I was just making di—” Greenish-yellow liquid poured out of my mouth before I could complete the statement. “s**t—” more came out. “I’m so sorry,” I heaved, looking at him with apologetic eyes. His expensive Armani suit was covered in puke, seeping slowly into the fabric. I hurried to a nearby cabinet to get a napkin, immediately wiping. “f**k off,” he spat, pushing me away. The force sent my dizzy self staggering backwards a bit. “Ma’am, don’t worry about this,” the maid, Tisha, said to me with a pitiful smile. “No… it’s my mess, I can do it myself and…” Tisha gave me a knowing look. “Why don’t you clean yourself up?” “Right.” Walking up the stairs was a nightmare. My legs wobbled with each step I took, and I was so grateful to make it to the landing. I wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong with me. Lately, the smell of things I loved had started to have the ability to make me throw up. After washing up, I looked through the medicine cabinet for some aspirin. I groaned in dismay, realizing there was none. Going out was so not in my plan. I changed from a towel into something simple and headed out to the nearby pharmacy, the cool evening air whipping through my hair. The smell inside was revolting—that disgusting smell of fresh drug cartons together with the mix of sweating bodies. “Can I get some aspirin?” “Of course,” the lady said. She was probably thrice my age. The fluorescent light cast a glow on her dark forehead. Her face was in a smile as she pulled out a container. “That’ll be one-fifty, love.” “Okay,” I replied, already rummaging through my purse. “Are you sure you’re good?” she questioned, peering at me. She had an accent from what I noticed—African, maybe. “Yeah, I just…” “Aspirin doesn’t fix everything. Maybe try the hospital first?” “Nah, I’m goo—” I swallowed the bile down immediately. “Just some nausea and headaches.” The woman looked at me intensely again. It was as if she was seeing something in my eyes that I wasn’t. “Are you sexually active?” “Um…” I trailed off, not sure why she was asking. “Not really.” “When was the last time you had s*x?” I shrugged. “Over a month?” “And your period?” Shit. My eyes widened immediately. Was it possible that I was pregnant? I had only had s*x with James once. The woman pulled out two pregnancy test kits. “You can take them in the bathroom or at home.” “Bathroom is fine.” I followed her directions and quickly used it, holding it with shaky hands as I waited for the results. In less than two minutes, a line appeared. Positive. Excitement soared through me, but just to be certain, I used the second one. Still positive. I flushed, washed my hands, and returned back to the counter with a smiling face. Finally, something was going to bring joy into my lifeless marriage. “Mhm-hmm,” the woman at the counter smiled knowingly. “Can’t wait to tell my husband,” I squealed, handing her some money with a very generous tip. I was overjoyed and definitely in the spirit of giving. “Happy for you, love. Now you take care of yourself.” I practically skipped all the way home. James was by the dinner table, eating some steak. My guess was that the chef had completed dinner. “Heyy,” I drawled, unable to keep my voice from sounding normal. “What?” he asked, not looking at me. He picked up his phone just then and frowned. “What?” he asked again, sounding annoyed. “Sorry, I was just waiting for you to be done with that… I—” I cut myself off, knowing James hated rambling. “I’m pregnant.” That did it. James dropped his phone immediately. I expected him to stand up—throw his big arms around me and lift me up, kissing my nose. I expected him to be happy with me for the first time since our marriage. Instead, a look of mortification flashed across his face briefly, and with a voice colder than ice, he spoke. “Abort it.”