I Married a Master

by Melanie Marchande

  Ben blinked, innocently. "What? It's an expression."

  "Yeah, and not one you generally say to a woman's face." I managed a weak laugh. "Even if it's an obvious lie."

  Shuffling the deck of cards, he raised his head just enough to glance at me under his eyebrows. "You've got to stop that. Learn how to take a damn complement."

  This time, I laughed for real. "I hate to break this to you, but that's not exactly a complement."

  "What, is it an insult now? I've really lost my grip on modern slang. Kids these days!" He made a dramatic gesture, which doubled as a way to deal me my first card. I felt like my eyes would actually fall out of my head if I rolled them any more, so I just picked it up and leaned back in my seat.

  "Generally, yeah, women don't like be called objects." I picked up the next two cards, smirking at him. "That may come as a shock to you, but there it is."

  "Sex isn't an object," he protested. "It's a concept."

  "A stick is most definitely an object."

  "Yeah, but I said you were on a stick, not that you were a stick." He picked up his cards. "I can't believe we're still talking about this."

  "On a stick? Like a spit-roasted pig?" Instantly I realized what I'd said, and my capacity for embarrassment came roaring back. He grinned at me.

  "I'm going to leave that alone," he said. "Because I'm a gentleman."

  I threw my cards at him.

  ***

  Four hours in, and I didn't want to leave.

  How did this happen? I couldn't be sure. I just realized I kept glancing at the time with a growing sense of unease, watching the hours pass, knowing that I'd have no excuse for staying once my street was open again. I should have wanted to run away, to scurry into some quiet corner and try to clear my mind. Start to untangle this mess I'd gotten myself into. But at the moment, nothing sounded less appealing.

  It almost felt like an adrenaline high, being with him. I was always waiting for his next move, his next word - some part of me breathless with anticipation, pushing back against the current of annoyance that always came along with it.

  Over the past few hours, he had slowly transformed. Piece by piece, he shed his work attire, the jacket now hanging by the door, his tie slung over the back of his chair. He undid his cufflinks - yes, cufflinks, in such a nimble, yet unmistakably masculine gesture that I couldn't help but stare. He didn't seem to notice, or think it was unusual to have been wearing cufflinks on a perfectly average weekday afternoon. Then, he rolled up his sleeves to the elbows.

  Oh, good God.

  "Inked" didn't even begin to describe it. His forearms were tapestries of imagery and color, words and symbols and intricate designs all intertwining. They were all different, I thought, this was the product of many years' work - but they all told one long story.

  A pair of well-toned forearms were enough of an enticement, in and of themselves. It was impossible to look at them without imagining the way they'd twitch and undulate while he touched you. But sleeve tattoos? I might have gotten over my bad boy phase in college, but once you have a taste for ink, it never really goes away.

  I became aware that I was staring.

  "Yes, my father was angry as hell, and no, I don't need to keep them covered at work. I just prefer it," he said. "To address the frequently asked questions."

  I raised my eyebrows at him. "Of course you don't have to," I said. "It's your company. Do you think they'd care if you showed up naked?"

  Why the hell did I pick that example? Instantly, I was blushing again. I'd have to remember to cake on an extra layer of foundation the next time I saw him.

  "That sounds like a challenge," he said. "But I'm pretty sure the board's allowed to vote on my dismissal if I start acting unstable. Remind me not to appoint my favorite war horse as CFO."

  "Caligula didn't do that because he was crazy, you know," I blurted, without thinking. "He did it because he wanted to mock the senate."

  "Right, because that's a sane way to express it." Ben grinned. "By the way, if I do that, you're also allowed to call your contract null and void. I mean - I have no plans to go insane, but just in case."

  I was trying to form some kind of clever response, but all my brain had to offer was: tattoos.

  This was becoming a problem.

  "Not that this isn't a lovely time - but have you checked on your street closure lately?" He coughed quietly. "I know you wanted to go home and unwind, and this isn't exactly the most relaxing atmosphere."

  Oh, you have no idea, Mr. Inked Up Billionaire. No idea at all.

  "What makes you say that?" I sat up straighter in my seat, trying to act like a normal human who wasn't reduced to a drooling puddle in the presence of sleeve tattoos. "And yeah, I just looked up the DPW alerts. They're..." I was already up to my ankles in a lie, I might as well fully commit. "They're saying not until tomorrow morning."

  "Oh." It was hard to read his reaction; maybe Mr. Chase had a poker face after all. Wait a minute, had he been letting me win? That put an unpleasant twist in my chest. "Well, you know, I don't want you to feel pressured or anything, but you're welcome to stay here tonight. I've got...five or six spare bedrooms, I think."

  I laughed, even as a twinge of excitement quickened my heartbeat. That wasn't what I meant - I'd just wanted to stay for a few more hours, maybe. Hell, I wasn't sure what I wanted. "I couldn't possibly," I said, quickly. "I mean, I don't want to disturb your..." I glanced around the room for the missing words I couldn't find, my thoughts as blank as the skin on his arms wasn't. "...cats."

  Ben let out a low wicked laugh, his eyes flashing to me briefly with something that made my throat go dry. "That's the lamest attempt at a polite protest I've ever heard," he said. "You can have your pick of a room, and I'll loan you some clothes. And I'm pretty sure my cats will be fine. They'll just hide in the servant's wing."

  He was joking. I was pretty sure he was joking.

  "We should probably talk about some of the boring practical stuff," he said. "Come up with some kind of plausible relationship arc. We'll have to get our story straight for when we start telling people," he said. "Like your parents, for instance."

  Oh, shit. My parents. Somehow, I hadn't even thought of that. The utter strangeness of uprooting myself and starting in a new city must have completely scrambled my brains. I was going to have to lie to them, and I hadn't really done that since I was a teenager.

  Well, except for...pretty much every conversation I'd had with them recently. But that was different. Those were little white lies, just to make them stop worrying about me. I wanted my mom to think I was incredibly successful and happy in my new home, lest she and Dad come rushing up from their cute little retirement condo in Florida to rescue me. They'd scrimped and saved wisely for their golden years, and they deserved to enjoy it. The last thing they needed was to worry about me.

  And this was going to make them worry. It was completely out of character for me, and I didn't even know if they'd believe it. I wasn't even sure how to make it sound believable.

  "You look worried," he said, cautiously - like he was afraid of what I was about to say.

  "I just...I didn't think about that," I said. "Telling my parents. I don't even know how to start that conversation."

  He shrugged. "Just tell them you fell in love. What's so difficult about that?"

  "But my parents already know I came here for acting - not for some guy." My mouth twisted at the thought. "They know how much it means to me. They're not going to believe I left everything behind just to pursue the dream of getting some."

  "You'll have to tell them you just kept it a secret." He shrugged, unconcerned. "You didn't think it was going anywhere serious at first, and then by the time you realized it, it had been going on too long and you didn't know how to bring it up. You moved to New York for acting, and to see if it was worth pursuing something with me. But you wanted to keep things private until you were sure it wasn't going to just fall apart."

  I chewed on my lowe
r lip. It wasn't the craziest thing I'd ever heard. It even sort of sounded like me; I'd kept most of my relationships secret from my parents when I was a teenager, because I hated the thought of their well-meaning interest and probing questions. I knew they'd always suspected it to be the case, so they wouldn't be all that surprised.

  But they would feel betrayed, and I hated that thought. Doing this meant losing their trust, and that wasn't something I'd even thought about when I agreed to it. I was letting Ben into every part of my life, allowing him to affect my relationships with other people - letting him control what I said and did, even when we weren't together. If I let the truth slip out, the whole thing was ruined.

  The thing was, I wanted to help him. I couldn't really explain why. There was something in his eyes when he talked about Daria, about his past...it was different. I never saw that look, except when he was thinking about her. It was like Daria was his only weakness, the one little break in his armor where he couldn't hide who he really was.

  He still had feelings for her. There was no doubt in my mind about that. For all I knew, this whole thing was just a ploy to get her jealous. Maybe there was no settlement.

  Well, if that turned out to be the case, I didn't have to hold up my end of the bargain either. I'd have no qualms against publicly humiliating him, and walking away. Sure, he was a friend of Daniel's, but I was sure any reasonable person would understand.

  Looking at Ben, there was one thing I just couldn't deny.

  It felt good to be needed.

  I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt that. My parents were the only people I'd been close to recently, and even that wasn't like it used to be. The first time I came back from college, I felt it. They still loved me, and they were happy to have me home, but for the first time I felt like a stranger in my own house. My room was too quiet, too clean, like a museum. I didn't belong there anymore. When I was growing up, all of our lives were intertwined, but I'd pruned myself away to grow up and strike out on my own. In my absence, they grew back together like ornamental trees, but without me.

  They kept on loving and supporting me, but there was just no room for me anymore. Not the way there used to be.

  Something about Ben was magnetic. He needed me, and that simple fact reached out and plucked at something in me. Something unidentifiable, but important.

  "Wait a minute," I said. "But Daniel and Maddy already know we didn't meet online, they're the ones who introduced us."

  He frowned a little. "So - we'll ask them to keep it a secret. Because otherwise, your parents wouldn't understand. I mean, unless you want to tell them you got engaged to a guy after knowing him for about a month, that's another option."

  "Ugh. No." My head was swimming. "They'll probably hold an intervention. Daniel at least knows you, so he'll hopefully tell Maddy there's nothing to worry about, and they won't question it too much. This is getting way too complicated."

  "Not at all," Ben said. "So, Daniel and Maddy know the truth. Right? Everything except the fact that it's a fake marriage. But they know how we met, and they know why you really came here." He picked up a pen-holder and a solid brass paperweight. At least, I thought that was brass. "This is them." He placed the two objects close together, touching slightly. "This," he said, gesturing to the rest of the clutter on his desk, "is everybody else. They're in Group 2. Total lie group. We met online, we got to know each other for a while, you came here to get to know me. So all we have to do is tell them," he gestured to the pen-holder and paperweight, "to keep the lie straight. That's manageable. The four of us can get the story straight, and then everyone else will just fall in line."

  I slumped forward in my seat. "My head hurts. Can we go back to the drawing board on this one? Maybe it is better if we just tell everyone the truth. I mean, the Maddy and Daniel version of the truth. That we, like, fell in love in a couple weeks and are just horribly irresponsible people. I'll just have to...I don't know, sound convincing to my parents. And not insane. I don't want them to think you're like, David Koresh or something."

  He sighed. "I wish we weren't on such a tight timeline. If only I'd met you sooner..."

  I let that statement hang, on its own, for quite a while. I didn't know what to say.

  If only I'd met you sooner.

  Why me?

  I wasn't special. If this was a scheme to get into my pants, it was hilariously elaborate. All he would have needed to do was...well, roll up his sleeves, apparently. No, he really needed me, and me specifically, and I didn't know quite what to do with that.

  ***

  I was standing in a shower that sprayed from five different directions.

  Ben's bathroom was exactly as posh as I would've imagined, and then some. It felt like I'd stepped into the pages of a magazine, and the thought of getting even one tiny drip of water on the beautiful stone floor was almost too much to bear. This was like some kind of luxury resort that I only could've visited if I won Wheel of Fortune or something, but it was just Ben's everyday life.

  Well, I could get used to this. Particularly the heated towel rack, and the huge fluffy bathrobe I could practically lose myself in.

  After I was finished, I stared at the pile of clothes he'd given me. No underwear, of course. My cheeks went slightly pinker at the thought of him knowing that I was walking through his house without panties. It seemed...excessively kinky, for a man I barely knew, and didn't actually plan to sleep with. No matter how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up.

  I pulled on the workout sweats, which were too long for me, but definitely too tight in the hips and thighs. Serviceable, though, in a pinch. The tee shirt was fairly crisp, from some Chase Pharma corporate fun run five years ago. I guessed he'd thrown it in the back of his closet and never worn it. It smelled vaguely of cedar. Irrationally, I wished he'd given me something that smelled like him.

  As if it wasn't intimate enough to have my bare ass pressed against the inside of his old workout pants.

  I surveyed myself in the now-defogged mirror. It wasn't exactly runway material, but I didn't look terrible. My makeup was all washed away, and I didn't have anything to touch up with. But I was surprised to see that my face didn't look as pale and plain as I feared. There was a certain brightness in my eyes, my cheeks, and even with my hair hanging heavy, lanky and damp, I looked kind of...pretty.

  Not that it mattered. I mean, he was marrying me for the way I looked in public. It didn't matter if I was a complete troll around the house.

  Laughing to myself, I hung up my towel and robe and padded out into the hallway. Ben turned around almost immediately, as if he'd been examining one of the paintings across the hallway.

  Was he just standing there...waiting for me to get out of the shower?

  Weird.

  "What's so funny?" he asked, ambling towards me with his hands deep in his pockets.

  Red alert, red alert, tattoos on display.

  "Nothing," I said. An image of putting one of those shower heads to a very different use suddenly flashed into my head, and I was blushing. Again.

  He had the good grace not to mention it, but I could tell he noticed. There was always a little smile that accompanied it, his answer to my embarrassment. He liked it. Of course he did.

  "Like the shower?" His smile widened a little. I wasn't sure if he was implying what I thought he was, or not - my grip on reality seemed to be coming looser by the second.

  "It's incredible," I said, letting the curve of my lips betray a hint of innuendo. Hell, I might as well have a little fun with this. "I wish I could use it every day."

  "Yeah, that's what they all say." He was grinning.

  The word echoed in my head.

  All.

  All the women he brought here.

  All the women who showered in his home.

  None of my business. None. And yet, something quivered inside my chest.

  His forehead creased slightly, and his smile disappeared. A moment later, he recovered, and I wasn't sure if
he was simply reacting to my stony silence, or if he actually regretted saying it.

  "I'm going to have a drink in the library," he said. "Maybe write some dirty words in my zen garden. You're welcome to join me, or I can show you to your room."

  In spite of the lingering discomfort from imagining him with all those other anonymous women, I laughed. "Why don't you just write BOOBS on a calculator?"

  "Please, that's amateur hour. I'm a professional. I use my tiny sandbox to write all the names I wish I could say to the guy who's running the conference call and won't stop clearing his throat."

  He wasn't kidding - he actually had one of those little zen gardens, complete with white sand, tiny polished rocks, and miniature wooden rakes. There was nothing but abstract designs at the moment, so I picked up one of the rakes and used the flat side to smooth out all the sand before carefully tracing BASTARD.

  Looking up from his glass of scotch, he lifted his hand to his chest in mock appreciation. "Oh, is that for me?"

  "If the shoe fits." I sat down, smiling at my handiwork.

  "You have any auditions lined up this week, Little Miss Can't Be Wrong?"

  My lips thinned. "It would be great if you could never, ever call me that. Ever." I sighed. "But, to answer your question, no. I was hoping the one I went to today would pan out, but..."

  "But?" He raised his eyebrows, silently prompting me to go on.

  "But, it was just some scam, and I'm pretty sure the guy offered to put me in porn."

  The eyebrows went up a little further.

  "No comment?" I said, after a moment.

  "I'm really sorry that happened to you," he said, sounding for all the world like he actually meant it. Well, okay, that was a surprise.

  I shrugged. "It wasn't the worst thing ever. I just, you know - psyched myself up, and then it was nothing. Not even worth leaving the house for."

  "But you gotta get back on that horse." He frowned. "That might have been a poor choice of words."

  Okay, slightly less of a surprise.