I Married a Master(20)
Author: Melanie Marchande

"Nothing," I told her. "I’m as serious as a fucking graveyard."

"I don’t think that’s a saying." She looked at me, searchingly. "Are you really…I mean, why me? And more importantly, did you think this through? It’s a terrible idea. I’m not even sure I buy your story. Who willingly signs away a majority share of their business on that kind of condition?"

"A very stupid man," I said. "But I think that’s been well established, at this point."

Her face softened slightly. To my utter astonishment, she drifted to one of the stools and sat down. "You still love her, don’t you?"

My mouth twisted. "Not even remotely. I promise."

"I don’t believe you," she said, softly. "You mean there’s not a place, in the corner of your mind, where you’re still together? Where you can’t just write off? You can’t pretend it never happened?"

For the first time since Daria left, I felt that peculiar sharp pain in my chest.

"No," I said, sharply. Too quickly. "I’m done with her."

"That’s not what I asked." She cocked her head. "There’s what you decide about somebody, and there’s the way you feel about them."

"Thank you, Dr. Jung." I was walking away from her, without consciously meaning to. I was heading for the fridge, seeking the comfort I’d forsaken long ago. There was nothing but half a box of muesli and some almond milk. Ever since I’d been single, I’d completely lost the ability to control my eating habits. My only option was to buy nothing but whole-grain cereals and vegan milk substitutes – otherwise, I’d be filming my own special for TLC.

"That doesn’t even make sense," she pointed out. "Did you ever study psychology?"

"No." I stared at the muesli like it had personally betrayed me. "Do you want to order a pizza?"

There was a moment of silence.

"What?" she asked, barely stifling a chuckle.

"Nothing." I turned around to face her. "If you don’t want to, then, fine. I meant what I said. There’s no pressure."

"I mean, never say never." Jenna grinned. "I could always go for some pizza."

"I’m not talking about the pizza." With a quiet noise of frustration, I raked my fingers through my hair. "The pizza is off the table. The other offer stands, at least until you stab me in the throat."

"I would never," she said, with a sparkle in her eyes. "You’re not worth it."

Well then.

"But I don’t know why you’re writing off the pizza. I think this conversation would go a lot better over some cheese and pepperoni."

The memory came back in a rush. Daria and I had our first date in a hotel, watching Mystery Science Theater and eating thin crust Domino’s with cheese and pepperoni.

I was a different person back then. Everything felt so important, every moment filled with the kind of overwhelming passion that most people only ever read about. We were smugly absorbed in our delirious love, and anyone who told us we should think about gently, gently applying the brakes – well, they just didn’t understand.

To put it plainly, we moved too fast.

I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. No matter how much Jenna made me wonder – made me want to know how much of a smartass she’d be, once she was crawling across my kitchen floor in nothing but a frilly apron – I wasn’t going to rush into anything again.

Sex just confused everything. Sure, when I’d met Daria, I was nineteen – I liked to think I’d matured considerably since then. Certainly, my brain had. I wasn’t sure about other parts of my anatomy.

And that was why I had to stay far away from Jenna. Well – unless she agreed to be my wife. But even then, I’d be careful.

You’re being an idiot, is what you’re being. You really think you’ll be able to resist her, once she’s living with you?

Doesn’t matter. She’ll resist me.

I liked to tell myself that, but there was absolutely no denying the way she looked at me. Beneath all the exasperation and frustration, there was always that undercurrent – a certain look in her eyes, or a curve to her smile, betraying how much she just wanted to peel off my suits and find out if I really looked as good as the expertly-tailored fabric implied.

Jenna was still staring at me, with something like pity on her face. And I absolutely could not abide that.

"If you don’t want to do it, fine," I said, making a dismissive gesture as I turned back to the fridge. "I’ll find someone else."

The thought of finding someone else brought on that rising tide of panic, the one that welled up in my throat, threatening to drown me. How? Where? It had to be someone I could trust, someone I knew I could live with…

Jenna didn’t really fit either of those stipulations, but for some reason, the idea of her as my fake bride was soothing. Maybe because I knew I could count on her honesty. Maybe because, as an aspiring actor, she was motivated.

And maybe because I wanted to torture myself.

"Wait." She was chewing on her lip, thoughtfully. "A million five. And I still get to live my life. I’ll fulfill my obligations in public, of course, but you’re not going to control what I do in my time off – as long as it doesn’t undermine the show we’re putting on."

I stared at her, my mind racing. "Are you bargaining with me?"

"Yes," she said, archly. "So, go on – what, exactly, would you need me to do? What’s it going to take to convince your ex-wife and her lawyer that we’re really an item?"

Clearing my throat, I turned back to face her. "Well, there’s the obvious. We’ll need to be seen together, and frequently. You’ll be visiting my office at lunch, and coming to meet me after work – the way any disgustingly love-struck couple would do. You’ll come with me to every charity dinner, every fundraiser night. I’ll pay for everything, of course, your clothes, whatever you need…that goes without saying."

"I should certainly hope so." She crossed her arms, a gesture of hers I’d grown to hate. And not just because it covered up some of her charming assets. "And that’s it?"

I didn’t know what she was driving at. "More or less, yes."

"What about…" she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, delicately. "Public displays of affection?"

"Oh." I shrugged, unable to tear my eyes away from her lips. I really hadn’t been thinking about that before, but I sure as hell was now. "We’ll hold hands, sometimes we’ll kiss, I guess. Just follow my lead."

Jenna let out a little closed-mouthed laugh. "There’s kissing, and then there’s kissing," she said. "Which one are we talking about, here?"