Chapter 5
1295 Words
After a hectic day at the hospital, we arrived at Ashers Mansion. I got to find out it was his mansion and not a hotel when we got into the vast living room and saw a few of his portraits hanging on the smooth walls. The ceiling was high with its center glittering with the light from the chandelier that hung on it.
“Do you live here alone?” I asked, unable to bottle up my curiosity.
He turned to me, brows raised as if asking, ‘Was that question meant for me?’
“Not all the time. I live in New York most of the time.”
That wasn't even the question but that gave a clarity on what I needed to know; he's a billionaire.
“Let me show you to your room,” he said flatly, heading up the stairs.
I followed him, quietly, but my mind was wondering how long it took Asher to own such a mansion. Or maybe I should tell Emjay to quit business school and start acting so he could be like Asher someday. But Emjay, he wouldn't even look at me twice. Not after he has done a whole lot of odd jobs before Michael showed up.
“Welcome home, wife,” Asher said as we both walked into a room. No! This was a palace.
“Settle in. You'll be meeting my mum tomorrow and I promise, she's headache.”
With that, he shut the door and left. No smiles and his eyes felt different. They were still brown but they just didn't look at me the same. Did I do something wrong?
I had my bath and stepped out of the bathroom to find a short lilac lace nightwear, spread out on the bed. It looked expensive and ravishing like it wasn't just made to go to bed with.
Why would Asher sneak in and out of my room like that without saying anything to me? He felt distant and I had to go find out what was wrong with him.
I took the towel off my body and slid into the nightwear which fitted perfectly.
Unsure of where to begin, I stepped out of the room and headed into the hallway, knocking on each door and leaning my ears on them to get a response that never came until I got to the last door and walked away.
The door opened and I turned abruptly to meet Asher, raising his brows at me.
“You should be asleep,” he said, coldly, holding the door shut.
I swallowed.
“Yeah. Well, I… I love the nightwear,” I stepped back, gripping the lower part of the gown to dry my damp palm.
“It's almost midnight, Priscilla.”
I nodded.
“I know. What I don't know is what I did wrong.”
His eyes narrowed and he took a few steps closer.
“Since we left the hospital, you've been acting cold and… I can't really explain it. I just want to know what I did wrong.”
“Do you feel you did something wrong?”
“No. I mean if I did, I would have simply apologized to the man who's saving my mother's life.”
“Then you did nothing wrong, Priscilla. Go to sleep.” He made to walk past me but I grabbed his elbow, barely getting my hand around it.
He glanced at my arm and back at me. Indeed, his eyes had lost that glow.
“You know, you could tell me if I did something wrong,”
“You didn't,” he replied and the smell of alcohol hit my senses.
“We'll be getting married tomorrow Asher…”
“And getting divorced in a year. So I don't want to make walking away from this difficult for you in a year's time.”
I let go of his arm.
“What if I fall in love with you in a year's time?”
With his stare locked in mine, he replied,
“Exactly. You shouldn't,” and walked away, into the room that was opposite mine.
I got into my room, closed the door quietly and leaned against it.
Could it be that I made the wrong choice? Or was he being so nice at first to get me to agree on marrying him? Why then did he leave me to drink alcohol?
I walked over to the plush bed and climbed into it, pulling the fluffy duvet over my legs. I turned off the bedside lamp, curling myself up, awaiting the headache Asher promised.
The next day, I stretched out as sun beams shone on my face.
I sat up and glanced around the room and my gaze fell on a printed document, lying beside the lamp stand alongside a pen. I picked it up and there it was in fine print
Marriage contract, presented to Miss Priscilla Briggs by Mr. Asher Lyon
Flipping through the pages, I read through the rules of the contract which emphasized no emotional entanglements, no intimacy except agreed by both parties, no refusal to social functions and gathering, mutual discretion and it should last for only a year.
My door pulled open and Asher walked in holding a platter on one hand.
“Good morning, Priscilla,” he announced with a smile. A genuine smile.
“Good morning, Asher,” I replied, confused on what to feel.
He approached and sat on the bed, placing the platter on it.
“Did you sleep well?” He asked as the smell of coffee lingered from the platter into my nostrils.
I stared at him for a while. He dared to smile at me like he didn't treat me like some kind of liability last night?
“I did.”
“That's good to know. Have you signed that yet?” He pointed at the document in my hand.
“Not yet. I was still going through it.”
“Alright,”
“How long are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?”
He leaned closer to me.
“Priscilla, there's no elephant in here. Literally and physically.”
“You were so cold shouldered to me last night, why the sudden change today?”
He let out a heavy breath.
“Isn't it too early for a couple's banter?”
“I'm not bantering. You were just acting differently last night and I want to…”
He kissed me.
I gasped as he pulled away. It was so quick that I forgot what I wanted to say but my lips remembered that his pulpy lips were soft.
I sucked my lips subconsciously and he chuckled.
“I brought you coffee. My mum will be here soon and I want your signature on the contract before she gets here.”
“Oh. I could just sign it now,” I reached for the pen but he held my arm.
“Eat first.”
“Okay then.” I dropped the document. “Alone? Am I eating alone? There's only one mug here”
“Ladies first,” he smiled. So bright that I was an inch close to seeing stars in his eyes.
“I'm not falling for that. Let's go make yours.” I quickly pulled away the duvet and got off the bed, pulling him to get off too.
“You don't have to,” he said as he tried resisting my pull.
I paused.
“You’re a little too late to stop me.”
He smiled and pulled me to sit on his thighs, burrying his face on neck as he said,
“Someone is being a copycat.”
His warm breaths tickled and my laughter erupted, echoing throughout the room.
- Writer
