Real Love, Fake Marriage

by Vesper Young

  There hadn’t been much point in going to work since I was utterly ineffective that day. Mindy controlled my thoughts utterly. Had I ever been more preoccupied by a woman?

  For a year, we’d worked side by side. I’d mostly ignored her, reducing her in my head to merely another productive employee. Now, I wanted to unravel every layer of her, understand what made her tick. Every weekly date was a game to coax her into sharing. This weekend, she’d offered more than before, hinting about her mom.

  I was tempted to call up the investigator I kept on retainer to do a report on her mother. Yet I resisted. Normally, I wanted answers, no matter what it took. But for some reason, it was like that would be a betrayal. So I was back to the slower method of convincing Mindy to let down her walls.

  She arrived at lunch, sandwiches in hand. We left, a prompt five minutes after, since apparently my wife didn’t want to be known for banging her husband—in his office. I told Claudia to cancel my afternoon; I was taking a long lunch.

  I barely shut the door behind us before I dragged her lips against mine and kissed her.

  Now, Mindy was an open book. Her body opened for mine, her arms possessively gripping my back.

  We broke away for a moment. I tossed off my jacket and was ready to set to work on her button-down when she spied a box next to the door.

  “Is that our clothes?”

  I appraised it impatiently. She was too damn quick to leave my arms. “Just like I said.”

  She rifled through it, pulling out her outfit from Friday.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “About?”

  “The outfit. Do you like them?”

  Mindy could be stunning wearing a cereal box, so it wasn’t really a fair question. Still, she’d looked especially good on our date. “I do.”

  She grinned. “Perfect.”

  “What’s the significance?” I asked.

  She gave me a wide-eyed look that was a hint more seductive than I think she intended. “Why, dear husband, it means I’m gonna go thrift an outfit for Thursday.”

  It took me a moment to recall. Thursday. Dukas. I vaguely remembering to some stipulation since it meant she’d at least accepted the possibility of having another dress bought.

  “Buy whatever clothing you want,” I told her. “Right now, however, I want the clothes you’re wearing off.”

  I was more than happy to assist, though I would owe her a new shirt for my methodology.

  In retrospect, there had been no need to hurry. I took the rest of the day off to enjoy my wife. The past few days were intoxicating, and I felt the need to touch her as keenly as I felt the need to breathe. From her reactions, Mindy matched my eagerness level for level.

  I caught myself wondering how I’d manage to ever give this up before tossing the thought aside and ravishing my wife.

  ***

  We arrived at the restaurant exactly at six on Thursday. Normally, I had a penchant for being early. I considered it professional. But then I’d seen how Mindy looked in the fitted number she had apparently “thrifted.”

  She counted our delay as proof she was right to buy second-hand clothing. I thought it was unfair when the dress had clearly been built for her figure but kept it to myself as it turned into a win-win.

  Beautiful woman on my arm and in my bed? Even I knew when to quit while I was ahead.

  Of course, that didn’t stop me from giving her a necklace to go with it. I’d initially planned on having Claudia pick something up, but for whatever reason, I found myself on Fifth Avenue instead. I settled on a necklace. A string of simple, elegant pearls. The moment the jeweler presented me with that option, I’d known that was what I’d get her. Simple yet elegant was exactly how I thought of Mindy.

  She’d gasped when I opened the box, and once she caught her breath I knew she’d go on a tirade about it being too much. I was tempted to tease her and snap the box shut, but there was no need t let her know I’d watched Pretty Woman, while working one slow day. Now, I worked fast. By the time she could speak I’d fastened the string around her neck.

  “Deacon, they’re beautiful. But it’s too much,” she’d said, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Call it a compromise,” I’d told her.

  “A compromise?”

  “I could’ve bought the matching earrings. Besides, they don’t do returns.” Truthfully, I hadn’t know one way or another, but now that I’d seen how perfectly they suited her, there was no way I’d get rid of the necklace unless she actually didn’t like it, but even then she’d run her fingers over the pearls.

  I’d kissed the base of her neck then, quelling further protests. And ruined any chance of us arriving early.

  In the end, it didn’t matter since Rose and Elias were twenty minutes late themselves. With Rose, I wouldn’t doubt it was a tactic to throw us off given her approach to business. But Elias seemed jovial enough I doubted there was any malice.

  Once they sat, we took our time, ordering and sampling things on the menu. Internally, I wanted to hash out our business arrangement. But that technique had proved ineffective with the elder Dukas, and given the effort it took to get him to the table—literally and figuratively—I was careful to not upset the flow of conversation, however much I despised the small talk.

  Mindy, however, easily picked up the slack on that front. Her inquiries were simple and harmless, how often he was in town, where he preferred to spend his time, what he most enjoyed about the shipping business, yet they gave me access to information even my P.I. would’ve struggled to unearth.

  Even Rose seemed charmed, to a degree, though she seemed to spend as much of the conversation analyzing us as I spend analyzing her father.

  By the time dessert arrived, Mindy had maneuvered the conversation back to my corner: what Blake Enterprises could do for Dukas’s company.

  Once Elias Dukas had been wined and dined, he became a different man. I saw the shrewd businessman that would make him a good partner for the international expansion, and now he was receptive to listening. I may have loathed the small talk aspect of my job, but I knew I could sell my idea. And I knew I had to.

  From there, it took little effort to come to an informal agreement before agreeing to go our separate ways. With Elias signed on, he authorized Rose to negotiate the details with me. I had no doubt she would draw that out just as much as she had this meeting, but I was hopeful. I had only a few months before the end of year report to finalize this plan and present it to the board. I needed them off my back about jumping ship, and a half-baked proposal wouldn’t cut it.

  We got home that night and shared a celebratory drink. It occurred to me she didn’t have to do so much. Her presence would’ve been enough to meet our contract, but she’d worked with me to guide Dukas in ways even I couldn’t have managed. Perhaps the new development in our relationship could justify her investment, but even before things had changed, she’d charmed Dukas at our dinner party.

  Whenever we inevitably spoke about the business, she had intelligent observations and quickly picked up on any foreign concepts. Even as my secretary, she’d been sharp and effective.

  Not for the first time, I wondered how it was a woman like that could accumulate so much thoughtless debt. My P.I. hadn’t bothered me with an item by item analysis, just told me it was consumer debt rather than medical or somesuch.

  The next day still, I thought about that. The reality was, whoever had accumulated the debt wasn’t the Mindy of today.

  So perhaps it was time to trust her.

  We went for our weekly date night. It was a quiet venue with live music, so a bit dressier than the burger place of last week. If we were being technical, yesterday’s dinner with Dukas would have sufficed, but our days were no longer completely defined by the marriage contract.

  “How did you ever get so much debt?” I finally asked. The question plagued me.

  She got a faraway look in her eye and I almost regretted asking. Even before
she spoke, I knew she wouldn’t answer.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I told her. “You’re smart, sensible.”

  “Oh, you flatterer, you.” She grinned at me. I resisted mentioning beautiful and funny, since they really weren’t pertinent to the discussion.“You loathe spending money. Yet you allowed the spending to cripple you to the point of living in that dirty apartment.”

  “Hey, it may have been small, but I kept my studio clean. Some of us don’t have cleaning services.” There was iron in her voice.

  “My apologies. But it still begs the question of how it happened. It doesn’t fit with what I know about you.”

  “But why, Deacon? Why do you have to know?”

  “Because I want to know you. Yet you keep these secrets.”

  She gave me a long look. “Just because I don’t tell you something doesn’t mean it’s a secret. Deacon, if we’re only in this for six months, or however much is left, then it really doesn’t matter how. I can promise it’ll never happen again, though.”

  “Good,” I said, ignoring the comment about the months left. If she wanted out at the end of the contract, I couldn’t blame her, even as my pride stung.

  I reached into my pocket. “Because I have this for you.”

  I slid the card over. Embossed on the bottom was MINDY BLAKE.

  “Deacon, what is this?” she asked quietly.

  “It’s a credit card for day-to-day expenses. Easier than using cash.”

  “It has my name on it.”

  She said it like it was a bad thing. “Someone’s feeling observant tonight,” I teased.

  “Don’t snark at me,” she snapped.

  I blinked in response. I’d thought she might be happy; it would give her more independence, removing the cash allowances from the equation. I said as much.

  “I don’t want a credit card.”

  “Tell me why.”

  She didn’t answer, instead getting up and walking away.

  She walked away from me. Over the damn credit card.

  Or something more.

  I followed her, waiting outside the restroom while she composed herself. When she reemerged, she seemed surprised to see me.

  Her face switched from surprised to distrust in an instant. “How did you open a credit card in my name?” she demanded.

  “Technically, I didn’t. I simply made you an authorized user on one of my credit lines.”

  She took in a breath and let it out through her nose. “I still don’t want it.”

  “And I need to know why,” I said.

  Of course, she didn’t answer. “How do you know I won’t just rack up major debt, again?”

  I tried not to laugh since that would probably just piss her off more. But the woman who condemned me for buying coffee instead of homebrewing every time was going to somehow make a dent in my wealth? Bacon would have feathers from all the pigs flying soon after.

  “I trust you’ll use it wisely. You said yourself, you’d never let that happen again.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I hate when you use my own words against me.”

  I grinned and extended the card to her. “I take it you’re coming around.”

  Her hand reached out for a moment before she drew back. “Deacon, it’s unnecessary. Nothing good comes from credit cards.”

  “Ah, my wife seems to forget there’s this great thing called cashback.” She gave me a confused look. I changed tactics. “Look, that doesn’t matter. Next month, the hospital that my father was treated at is having their annual charity gala. Even if you thrift a dress for it, it’s going to cost a few hundred. Now, if you want, I’ll be more than happy to give you cash to pay for it. Or I can send Claudia to get something. But I figured this would be the most elegant solution.”

  She harrumphed and looked at the card.

  “You can decide over dessert.” A matronly woman was glaring at us for blocking the bathroom entrance.

  Mindy devoured her cheesecake at an unusually slow pace—meaning I saw the fork touch down at least twice.

  I found her appetite endearing. To me, the restaurant food blurred together after so many years but she seemed to savor every bite. Actually, I found a lot about my wife endearing. Though the fact she was counting down the days until our divorce didn’t make the list.

  Finally, she set the fork on the plate and pushed it away.

  “So if I take this card, we have an understanding it’s just for this stupid fancy dress I’m getting?”

  “And any other incidentals,” I added, extending the card to her.

  She made a sound through her teeth that meant there would be incidentals over her dead body. But at least she was agreeing. She took the card then stared at it.

  “Is this… metal?”

  I nodded. These days, some cards were metal, some plastic. What did it matter?

  “Frickin’ rich people,” she grumbled.

  Mindy 28

  A little over a month later was the night of the gala. Getting dressed was an endeavor, to say the least. Finding a dress fancy enough was hard. People went hard for these things—I’d looked up pictures from last year’s. Tuxedos and ballgowns for everyone. Some women even wore gloves, like in fairytales. Cinderella would’ve fit right in.

  I, however, did not.

  First, I’d gone to my favorite local thrift store, but they had nothing even near the level of fancy-shmanciness required. I’d tried a few others, and still no luck. The closest I came were discarded prom dresses but they weren’t gonna cut it.

  So I did it. I swallowed my pride and went to a mall, then promptly almost threw it back up, along with my lunch, looking at the prices. Deacon had definitely undersold the expense as a “few hundred minimum.”

  Rich people spent way too much money.

  In the end, I found a dress that was stunning but far from the most expensive. Still, the price tag had a comma. A comma.

  Now, I stared at it, trying to forget the price. Admittedly, it was one of the most exquisite dresses I’d ever seen. A royal blue color, it had an A-line skirt and off-shoulder top, accentuating my collar. I accessorized it with the pearl necklace he’d given me, completing the look with an up-do that took far, far too long to figure out. But damn did I look good.

  We arrived in a limo, because why the hell not? Admittedly, it did give me a chance to see—and feel—how good Deacon looked in a tux.

  Really, really hot.

  The past few weeks it had been hard to keep my hands off him, and frankly, I had no desire to. The sex was out of this world. Every touch, every look, set me alight. And it wasn’t just the physical aspect. We laughed until our sides hurt, we talked about everything from philosophy to the best waffle recipe. He’d even surprised me last week by converting one of his spare rooms into a state-of-the-art sewing room which I’d enjoyed while he was at work.

  But as happy as it made me, I wondere what the point was given our contract. I knew he minded that I kept holding back, but how could I not when every day another piece of my heart belonged to him?

  We were, what, three months from our divorce? I wasn’t foolish enough to think someone like Deacon Blake would ever really pick me for a wife.

  And as much as I loved him, maybe that was for the best. Because if a guy was gonna marry a woman just to have a more successful business, how could he ever be the man for me?

  So, three more months. Three months of date nights and lunches and playing housewife and being arm candy at galas like tonights.

  Deacon lent me his arm as we entered, ever the gentleman. It was good he was holding me because I missed my footing, caught ogling at the venue.

  Wow.

  The room was massive, and filled with people dressed to the nines. Or maybe even the tens, because, seriously, some of them could’ve stepped out of a princess version of Vogue. Even the caterers were in tuxedos. The venue itself was stunning. Towards the back was a grand staircase that diverges t
o either side, with a space in the middle for a podium.

  The room was extravagant. Deacon had assured me that the upper echelons of society were a lot more generous when they got to play dress up, but this was still crazy.

  Still, it was for a good cause. St. Vincent’s had taken care of his late father, and I had no doubt that if Deacon picked out a hospital, it was the best. I wondered if being here made him think of his father. Probably, knowing him, though he’d certainly box up the emotions.

  “How are you doing?” I asked Deacon.

  “Great. How do you like the gala?”

  “It’s stunning,” I said honestly. “I was just wondering, well, is it painful to be here?”

  He looked at me, and I could see the emotion plain on his face. Unguarded, then gone in an instant. But it had been there, the grief.

  I squeezed his hand, and he gripped my palm.

  “The location doesn’t matter,” he said. “I think about him often, and I wonder. But I have a purpose, and I believe he would support me in it.”

  My heart ached for him. It had been a few months, but some wounds never really heal.

  “Is that Donna?” I asked, spotting a woman across the room who looked familiar.

  Deacon followed my gaze. “Yes. I invited her.”

  We went over. Even she was in a gown, but hers was utterly sophisticated. It was black, though it came off as elegant rather than dour. Her curls were pinned back in a twist.

  Upon seeing us, she lit up and pulled Deacon in to kiss his cheek, then me.

  I grinned. “Hello, Donna.”

  “Buona sera! It’s been too long since you visited,” she said, wasting no time chastising her former ward. “And you look stunning. Married life treating you well?”

  “It is,” I said sincerely. I was hard-pressed to complain about my days, lately.

  Deacon's arm moved to my waist, allowing him to pull me in for a brief kiss. “And me, as well.”

  Donna laughed, a hearty sound that made me want to join in. “I can see that.”

  I let the two of them speak for a moment. My attention wandered and settled on a voluptuous woman in a dark red dress. She turned for a moment, and I recognized her.