Mr. Blackwell's Bride: A Fake Marriage Romance (A Good Wife Book 2)

by Sienna Blake

  18

  ____________

  Noriko

  I started out of my sleep by the sound of someone opening my bedroom door. I sat up with a gasp, clutching the blankets around me.

  Mr. Blackwell was standing at the entrance to my bedroom, already dressed for work in yet another beautifully tailored suit, this time a dusty charcoal. For a second I thought he was a dream. Then I squinted at the curtains, the backs of my eyes feeling gritty as sandpaper. Dawn light trickled in. Enough so I could see him snapping his mouth shut and frowning at me.

  “Why the fuck are you sleeping on the floor?”

  I looked down. Oh, right. I threw the blankets down on the floor last night and made myself a makeshift futon. I lifted my chin and tried to look as dignified as possible while wearing Tweety Bird pajamas. “I’m not used to sleeping on a western mattress. It’s too soft.”

  His frown deepened. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Oh. I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

  He let out a noise that sounded halfway between a snort and a sigh. “Noriko, you are my wife. These people are being paid to see to your needs and wants.”

  I pouted. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of anyone waiting on me hand and foot.”

  “Get used to it,” he snapped. “There’s a charity auction tonight. You’re coming with me.”

  “Please.”

  “What?” he barked.

  “Generally, when you invite someone to come with you somewhere, you say please.”

  The crease between his brows deepened. “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” He slammed the door shut behind him.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” I repeated in a mocking tone. “Come here. Do that. Sit. Stay. Roll over.”

  The door opened again. He pushed his scowling face back in.

  Shit. Did he hear me? I sank back, feeling guilty as hell at being caught.

  “Be ready at eight.” He disappeared again.

  I poked my tongue out at the door.

  He stuck his head back in through the door. “And Loretta will be taking you out today to find something suitable to wear.” The door shut.

  I grabbed my pillow and glared at the entrance to my bedroom, daring him to come in one more time.

  Lucky for him, he didn’t.

  I hated this. My feet hurt. My stomach was growling. I didn’t care about tonight.

  Loretta and I were in the exclusive VIP section of a department store, a huge room filled with cream couches and soft lighting, a pretty set of screens in one corner to allow me some privacy as I changed. Loretta was sitting on the couch, as happy as could be, sipping on the champagne which our own personal shopper poured for us.

  I hadn’t been allowed to touch mine. I’d had to try on stupid dresses for what felt like weeks.

  Before this, we spent hours in some fancy beauty salon with a team of strangers dying, snipping, plucking, waxing me, all in the name of beauty. All the while I grumbled away. Men didn’t have to go through this crap. Why do we?

  Beauty sucks.

  In the VIP room of a fancy clothing store, I stepped out from behind the screen in a pale green flowing dress. Both Loretta and the sales lady, a stylish blond wearing too much pink for a girl over the age of ten, made the appropriate gushing and cooing noises.

  “I think Mr. Blackwell will really like this one,” the sales lady said.

  “I think,” I muttered under my breath, “Mr. Blackwell should shove this dress up his uptight ass—”

  “Noriko!” A slight crease appeared between Loretta’s brows, the only sign that she heard me. “Don’t you think Mr. Blackwell will be impressed?”

  “Why should I care about impressing him? He’s such an ass.”

  The sales lady gasped. Loretta merely snorted. “Tell me something I don’t already know, dear.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I want to go home.”

  “We’ll be on our way back as soon as we pick out the right dress for tonight.”

  “Not to Blackwell Manor.” I squeezed my eyes shut as the backs of them prickled. “My real home.”

  Loretta let out a sigh. “Sarah,” that must’ve been the sales lady’s name, “can you leave us for the moment?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. I saw a flash of disappointment flit across her face. She probably wanted more dirt on why the newlywed Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell were already fighting.

  She slowly exited the room, sticking her head back in through the door to say, “I’ll be out here if you need me.”

  I felt a stab of regret. I shouldn’t be airing my dirty laundry in public. This was not the actions of a good wife. None of my actions so far had been those of a good wife. There was something about Mr. Drake Blackwell that made me so…so…damn frustrated.

  Loretta placed her champagne on the table and walked towards me. “What’s the matter? Mr. Blackwell has opened his beautiful home to you, he’s been generous enough to bankroll today’s shopping spree, which, mind you, most women would be grateful for.”

  Well, didn’t I feel like a brat. “He’s rude. He won’t let me speak to my family. He hardly speaks to me. Unless he’s yelling at me or ordering me around.”

  She sighed. “Mr. Blackwell has never had a wife before. He doesn’t know how to treat you. His parents…” Loretta’s mouth tugged down at the corners, “God bless their souls, were the worst example of married people to stain this earth.”

  The worst kind of parents…? Jesus, how bad were they? I chewed my lip. “What happened with his parents?”

  Loretta inhaled deeply. “I suppose I wouldn’t be telling you anything you can’t find out from the gossip papers and the internet.”

  I hadn’t even thought about looking Mr. Blackwell up. Perhaps I should? Not that I had access to a computer. I couldn’t find one at the manor.

  Loretta took my arm and we sat on the couch together. She glanced at the door before speaking in a low tone. “Drake’s mother was only seventeen when she married Drake’s father. He was fourteen years older than her. His family didn’t approve. He had come from a long line of wealth, you see. She hadn’t. He cut off his whole family for her. He loved her and, apparently, she loved his money.”

  I blanched. This story sounded too similar to Mr. Blackwell and me.

  She continued, “She fell pregnant almost immediately. It was a difficult pregnancy. I don’t think it helped that Mr. Blackwell moved to another bedroom during her pregnancy. He said that it was because she kept him up all night. Truth was, she became difficult to deal with, constantly needy and overly-emotional at everything.

  “Soon after Drake was born Mrs. Blackwell began an affair…a torrid, passionate affair. One of her husband’s business associates. They met at a party of her husband’s. Ironic, really.”

  “Did Mr. Blackwell know?”

  “Of course he did. Everyone knew. You couldn’t be in the same room as Mrs. Blackwell and her lover without knowing something was going on. Mr. Blackwell couldn’t stop her. He never really could control her. He loved her, so he wouldn’t leave her.”

  “Why didn’t she leave him?”

  “Drake. She had a pre-nup. If she left him, she got nothing and she lost her son. Mr. Blackwell would get full custody. I heard him threaten her several times that if she left him, he would ruin her. Eventually Mrs. Blackwell and her lover ended things.”

  “What happened to him? The lover, I mean.”

  “He used to be a very wealthy man. Not as wealthy as Mr. Blackwell Senior, but he still controlled a company and had a small fortune. After Mr. Blackwell found out about the affair he made sure that no one would ever hire the man or do business with him in this country again. He went bankrupt, had to sell everything. Business-wise, he was finished. Rumor has it that he moved to Australia to start over, got himself an Australian wife, eventually had children of his own.”

  “How tragic.”

  “The real tragedy is how i
t affected Drake. He was a young boy by then. After her affair ended, Mrs. Blackwell became more and more distant towards Drake. She refused to spend time with him, refused to play with him. I think she blamed him for the loss of her lover and of the life she could have had. Although she loved him, he became another shackle on her ankle.”

  “And Mr. Blackwell Senior?”

  “He started drinking. He would fly into the most furious rage. He’d start yelling at her, breaking furniture. Eventually, he hit her. His drinking got worse. He began to beat her regularly.”

  “Oh God.” My heart twisted.

  “Her affair turned into affairs and packets of white powder to escape from him.”

  “What a horrible, horrible man.”

  “She became as bad as he was. Drake was a young teen when their relationship became violent. She would pull Drake right into the middle of all their fights, trying to manipulate him against his father. Sometimes she would use Drake as a shield, hiding behind him when Mr. Blackwell was violent. Mr. Blackwell would get so drunk he couldn’t tell who he was hitting.”

  Oh God. My heart ached. How could a mother do that to her son? How could a father?

  “They were a perfect and terrible example of a violent, destructive cycle,” Loretta said quietly.

  I began to understand a little more about the man I’d married. No wonder he felt that it was safer to “buy” a wife than to risk falling in love. Look at the examples his parents made of themselves. No wonder he was guarded and distant with me. He thought marriage was a game of power.

  I thought back to the photo of a young Drake that I found in his mother’s room yesterday with a new understanding.

  The armor around my heart began to loosen, the muscle swelling with empathy and sorrow. Oh, Drake, you poor thing.

  “Noriko,” Loretta said, “I can see you’re homesick. But for whatever reasons, you agreed to marry him. You agreed to be his for life.”

  I flinched as I remembered my promise to my father. I wasn’t here for life, just for one year.

  “Please, give him a chance. Show him another way. Don’t leave him cursed by his past.”

  “I—”

  “The ones who push love away the hardest are the ones who need it the most. You’re the only one who has a chance to get through to him.” Loretta gripped my hands, her eyes boring into mine, begging me to save her master. A man, I realized, she saw like a son.

  I remembered the flash of deep pain Drake let slip through his eyes when he caught me in his mother’s room.

  I lost my mother. I could at least understand that pain.

  I nodded, my throat in a knot. “You’re right. I will try.” I really vowed to.

  At least, for the year that I was here.

  I walked behind the screen again and slipped out of the dress I was wearing. I fingered through the rack of dresses back there, grabbing one that stood out to me, before pulling it over my head and zipping it up.

  I smoothed it down and stepped out from behind the screen. “What do you think?”

  Loretta sucked in a gasp. “Oh, Noriko.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “Yes, this is the one.”

  19

  ____________

  Drake

  “Where is she?” I paced the marble foyer in front of the front door.

  The limo had been waiting outside for almost twenty minutes. I had been waiting for ten. I couldn’t remember the last time I had to wait for anyone.

  “Give her a few more minutes,” Loretta said. “Be patient.”

  I let out a frustrated growl. “If she’s not down in two minutes—” I cut off as Noriko appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Oh my God.

  She took my breath away. Literally.

  Her hair was up in an artful bun, exposing her slender neck. Her dress was a sumptuous red, the color of ripe cherries, with sheer lace sleeves to the wrist, hugging her body in all the right places, making her breasts look fuller, cinching in her tiny waist and skimming over her hips to stop mid-thigh, revealing lean and shapely legs. Her mouth had been painted in the same deep red color as the dress, those piercing eyes darkened.

  I tugged at my collar—damn thing’s too tight—and stared as she stepped down the staircase, as graceful as a swan, to stand before me. She was wearing heels, I realized, when the top of her head came up to my mouth.

  “Oh, Noriko, you look lovely,” Loretta exclaimed beside me. She smacked my arm with the back of hers. “Doesn’t she look lovely?”

  “I…um, yes,” I mumbled. Mumbled? Drake Blackwell didn’t mumble. What the hell had happened to my voice?

  “Thank you,” Noriko said. She was watching me with suspicion, a small frown between her brows.

  I slapped myself internally and cleared my throat. “I’m afraid Loretta is wrong. You are beyond lovely, Noriko. You’re an absolute vision.” There, better. I didn’t know where the charming and suave Drake Blackwell went for those few seconds but he was back now.

  Her features relaxed. She granted me a smile, a wide, genuine smile that reached the corners of her exotic eyes. Something kicked inside my chest. I found myself smiling back.

  This was my wife.

  My wife.

  My chest filled with pride. “Shall we?” I held open the door for her.

  She walked past me. I choked on my tongue. Holy shit.

  Her dress was backless.

  Backless.

  It looked decent from the front. But the back—Jesus Christ, the back—was open all the way from the base of her neck, dropping in a low scoop to the top of her ass. I could see the beginning of those curves and the hint of her… Was she even wearing panties?

  “You can’t go out like that,” I spluttered.

  Noriko spun to face me.

  “Drake Blackwell,” Loretta admonished. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “She’s practically naked,” I ground out between my teeth.

  Loretta let out a snort.

  Noriko glared at me. “If you’d prefer I can go and change. I think I have something that would be suitable for a nun to wear.”

  “That would be preferable.”

  “Noriko, you will do no such thing,” Loretta exclaimed. “Mr. Blackwell, you are being ridiculous. She looks stunning, you said it yourself.”

  Noriko and I stood there glaring at each other. Neither of us prepared to budge. Neither of us prepared to speak over Loretta either.

  “Go on, you two. You’re going to be late for your function.” Loretta practically shoved Noriko out the front door and into the waiting limo.

  Before I could climb in after her, Loretta grabbed my arm. “You behave yourself, Drake Blackwell,” she hissed under her breath. “Don’t you dare say anything more about that dress. Don’t make me ashamed of you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I muttered, as I wondered exactly which one of us was the boss.

  20

  ____________

  Noriko

  In the limo I sat, legs crossed and arms across my body, as Mr. Blackwell sat on the other side of the limo from me.

  I was absolutely fuming.

  And totally confused.

  When I reached the top of the stairs and my eyes met his, I swear I saw awe. There was a look upon his face. That look. The way that Papa used to look at Mama like she was the most beautiful creature to ever grace this Earth. I felt, for the first time in my life, like a woman. Like a beautiful, cherished woman.

  He had to go ruin it all by snapping at me over the dress. I shifted in my seat. What the hell was wrong with this dress anyway? I thought it looked good on me. So did Loretta. Didn’t he think so?

  Why did I care what he thought?

  I don’t care.

  Mr. Blackwell cleared his throat. “I may have…possibly…maybe…overreacted. Back there. About the dress, I mean.”

  I glanced over to him. He looked so uncomfortable, tugging at his collar, fidgeting with his diamond cufflinks, I almost laughed. “Go on.”

&n
bsp; “You do look…nice. The dress is…fine.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Are you apologizing?”

  He let out a huff. “It appears so.”

  “Haven’t done it in a while, have you?”

  “No,” slid out between his teeth.

  I softened my voice. “People usually use the words ‘I’m’ and ‘sorry’ when they’re apologizing.”

  He glared at me.

  I smiled at him, batting my lashes.

  He sighed. “Fine. I’m…sorry.” He almost sounded like he was in pain.

  “Apology accepted.” I uncrossed my arms and smoothed down my dress over my thighs. It wasn’t lost on me that his eyes followed my hands, a hungry glint growing in them. Suddenly it felt very, very hot in here.

  It didn’t help that I suddenly heard the limo doors locking. The partition between us and Felipe was fully raised. It was just me and Mr. Blackwell here in this limo cabin that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller by the second.

  Jeez, it was…stuffy in here.

  The gates of the manor opened. Under the flood of spotlights, I spotted a crowd of people on the other side, some of them with placards. I could hear chanting muffled through the windows but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Who were these people?

  We drove through the gates, the security guards coming out of their box and walking behind us, I assumed to make sure these people didn’t get into the grounds. I gasped and sank back into the seat as the crowd swarmed us, their faces and hands banging on the car, pressing against the glass. They looked angry.

  Mr. Blackwell slid into the seat beside me, startling me as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said softly in my ear. “They can’t get in.”

  I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. His presence was like a hot balm against my side. His nearness calmed me. God, he smelled good. A fresh cologne like a sea breeze. I couldn’t help but press closer.

  The driver proceeded slowly until we broke away from the crowd. I looked back at them through the window, their chanting fading. I noticed that Mr. Blackwell had not loosened his hold on me. Even stranger, I didn’t seem to mind it. “Who are those people?”