Married To My High School Bully

The last man I ever wanted to see again was about to become my husband. If someone had told me that when I woke up that morning, I would be sitting at a stranger’s dinner table, pretending to be excited about an arranged marriage, only to discover that the man waiting to marry me was the same man who had once shattered my heart, I would have laughed in their face. Unfortunately, life had never been particularly interested in making me laugh. “Avery, please stop eating like that.” My mother’s voice reached me through the polite conversation surrounding the table, and I slowly lowered my fork. I looked at her across the table, then glanced down at my plate as though I might suddenly discover that I had been eating with my hands or licking the plate clean. “I am eating…,” I said calmly. “…the way normal people do at dinner.” My mother smiled without showing her teeth. It was the kind of smile that looked pleasant to everyone else but carried an unmistakable warning for me. “I know you’re eating, sweetheart. I’m only asking you to slow down a little. You don’t have to finish everything on your plate before everyone else has even taken a second helping.” I looked around the table. Everyone had eaten. Some had even eaten more than I had. I looked back at her. “I’m hungry.” “Avery.” “Mom.” We stared at each other for a moment before she sighed and reached for her wineglass. I picked up my fork again, but this time I took a smaller bite, mostly because I didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening being kicked underneath the table. My mother had been like this since we arrived. She had corrected my posture twice, adjusted my hair three times, reminded me to smile at least five times, and nearly had a heart attack when I crossed my legs the wrong way. Now she was monitoring the speed at which I ate, as though the fate of our family depended on how quickly I swallowed a piece of chicken. Perhaps, in a way, it did. I glanced around the enormous dining room and tried not to feel like an animal being inspected before purchase. The Kingsley family’s house was beautiful, but there was something cold about its perfection. Everything seemed too polished, too expensive, too carefully arranged, from the crystal chandelier hanging above us to the spotless silverware and the enormous dining table that could probably seat twenty people. My mother had insisted on buying me a new dress for tonight. She had spent an unreasonable amount of time choosing it, then another hour making sure my hair looked perfect before we left home. “You have to make a good impression,” she had told me. I had wanted to ask her exactly what kind of impression she expected me to make when I was being introduced as a potential wife to a man I had never met. Apparently, the correct impression was that of a beautiful, graceful, obedient woman who knew how to sit quietly and smile while her parents negotiated her future. I took another sip of water. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Our family had reached the point where desperation had become more powerful than pride. My father’s company was drowning in debt, and despite everything he had tried, the situation had only become worse. For months, I had watched him spend long nights in his office, speaking in low voices on the phone and staring at financial reports until his eyes turned red. Then the Kingsley family offered us a way out. There was just one condition. Marriage. Their son needed a wife, and my family needed the money and business connections they could provide. So here I was. The solution to a financial crisis, dressed in a pale blue gown and sitting across from a woman who had already started talking about what I would cook for her son. It was almost funny. Almost. My mother leaned closer again. “At least try to look happy.” I nearly laughed into my glass. “Happy?” “Yes, happy,” she whispered, keeping her smile firmly in place. “You look like you’re attending a funeral.” “Maybe I am.” Her eyes widened. I continued eating as though I hadn’t said anything. “Avery, this is important,” she murmured. “For once, can you please put aside the sarcasm and simply cooperate?” “I’ve been cooperating all evening.” “You’ve only been eating ever since we got here.” “Exactly. I’ve been very cooperative with the food.” She pressed her lips together to keep from responding. Across from us, Mrs. Kingsley suddenly laughed. She was an elegant woman with warm eyes and a surprisingly mischievous personality, and judging from the way she kept looking at me, she had already figured out that I wasn’t nearly as innocent and obedient as my mother wanted her to believe. “Let the girl eat, Becky,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s probably nervous.” My mother gave an embarrassed laugh. “She has always had a healthy appetite.” “That’s a good thing.” Mrs. Kingsley looked at me with a smile. “Though I have to admit, I’m surprised. You have such a lovely figure, yet you’re eating more than my husband.” I glanced at Mr. Kingsley, who was quietly cutting his steak. He didn’t even look up. “I’m blessed with a fast metabolism,” I replied. My mother immediately nodded. “Exactly! And Avery loves cooking too. She’s very particular about her food, though. She likes to prepare everything herself, although, when she decides to make something, she can spend hours in the kitchen.” I slowly turned toward my mother. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was she describing me or advertising a product? Mrs. Kingsley’s eyes brightened. “Really? That’s wonderful. Damien needs someone like that. He works too much and barely remembers to eat when he’s busy.” My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. There it was again. Damien. My future husband. A man who had been discussed throughout the evening as though he were already sitting at the table with us, despite the fact that he had yet to make an appearance. “If he doesn’t like my cooking,” I said lightly, “he can always order takeout.” My mother kicked me under the table. I smiled sweetly at Mrs. Kingsley. She burst out laughing. “Oh, I definitely like her.” “She can be very outspoken,” my mother said quickly. “I noticed.” Mrs. Kingsley waved her hand. “That’s not a bad quality in a woman. Men need someone who can tell them when they’re being foolish.” Her husband finally looked up. “Are you speaking from experience?” “Of course I am,” she replied without hesitation. He shook his head, but I noticed the faint smile on his lips. The two of them had the kind of marriage that didn’t seem entirely terrible. They teased each other, disagreed openly, and yet there was something unmistakably affectionate in the way they looked at each other. It made me wonder what their son was like. Then I immediately decided I didn’t want to know. The less I knew about my future husband, the easier it would be to pretend this was temporary. Mr. Kingsley glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. His expression remained calm, but the slight tightening of his jaw told me that his patience was beginning to disappear. “When did Damien say he would be here?” he asked. Mrs. Kingsley let out an irritated sigh. “An hour ago.” Mr. Kingsley frowned. “An hour?” “An hour and forty minutes ago.” My mother immediately tried to smooth things over. “He might be busy. I’m sure he must have been caught up with something important. With the responsibilities he has at the company, I’m sure he didn’t intend to be disrespectful.” Trust my mother to make excuses for someone who clearly didn’t deserve them. Busy? Sure. Busy being late. I rolled my eyes. They might not have been in a hurry, but I certainly was. We had been sitting there for nearly two hours, waiting for the mysterious man I was apparently supposed to spend the rest of my life with. Mrs. Kingsley turned toward her. “Becky, stop defending him.” My mother blinked. “He does this all the time,” Mrs. Kingsley continued. “He knows perfectly well that he was supposed to be here. I reminded him this morning, then again at lunch, and again before he left the house. That boy never listens to me and does whatever he wants. Ever since his sister died, he’s become impossible!” Her voice wavered slightly, and her husband immediately reached across the table to pat her hand. “Sweetheart, perhaps these aren’t things Avery needs to hear tonight,” Mr. Kingsley said gently. “Oh, posh posh!” she exclaimed. “She’s practically family already. She should know what she’s getting herself into!” She turned to her husband with an accusing look. “Besides, you’re the one who spoiled him. You took him to work instead of letting me raise him properly. What did you expect? He was practically raised by secretaries and accountants!” As she launched into her complaint, my mother leaned toward me and whispered, “Remind me to use this argument against your father next time.” I covered my mouth to hide my laugh. Mr. Kingsley, apparently realizing he had no chance of winning against his wife, picked up his phone. “Damien, do you have any idea how aggravated you’re making your mother? You have fifteen minutes to get here, or I swear I’ll make your life a living nightmare.” He glanced at his wife before adding, “And trust me, I’m very motivated.” Mrs. Kingsley leaned toward me with a mischievous smile. “Kingsley wife rule number one: a little drama goes a long way.” I raised an eyebrow. “Good to know.” “If you can cry on cue, you’re already halfway there.” I was just wondering how quickly I could escape through the nearest window when the butler appeared at the entrance. “Mr. Kingsley, Damien has arrived.” About damn time. If lateness were an Olympic sport, this man would already have a gold medal. Mrs. Kingsley immediately sprang into action. She rushed over, fixed my hair, pulled out a lipstick, and applied it before I could protest. “There! Now you’re perfect!” I silently mouthed ‘save me’ to my father. To my surprise, he smiled. It had been so long since I’d seen him genuinely smile that apparently being attacked with lipstick was enough to accomplish what months of bad news couldn’t. “Oh, darling,” Mrs. Kingsley said, cupping my face. “I hope he likes you.” I hope not. I forced a smile. Then I heard footsteps approaching. His cologne reached me before he did. Expensive. Masculine. Familiar. I straightened in my chair as a deep, confident voice filled the room. “Good evening, everyone. Sorry I’m late. I had some things to finish at the office. And apparently, my mother threatened my life again.” Mrs. Kingsley covered her face with a groan. Damien greeted my parents first, charming everyone with effortless confidence. When he finally turned toward me, my heart began pounding. “You must be the lovely Ava,” he said, extending his hand. “Actually, it’s Avery.” I placed my hand in his. Then I looked up and my breath caught in my throat. The smile disappeared from my face. It was him. The boy from my past. The face I had spent years trying to forget. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to disappear. “Are you all right?” he asked, his smile fading. I snatched my hand away. My heart hammered against my ribs as memories came crashing back. I had to get out. “I…” The room spun. And everything went black.