Dinner is taking way too much fucking time and I don’t know if it’s the anticipation of getting in bed with her or knowingthat I still have a shit ton of work to do tonight but I order Maria to bring dessert.
It’s a massive three-level wedding cake with white cream and chocolate stuff decorating it. Larry has outdone himself. From the wide eyes of Mia, and as much as it pains me to say it, her cute as hell smile, I get she likes the sight of it, but when I look down at her thighs brushing mine, her hand fists her dress.
Alright, I think I’m getting to know a few more things about my wife. She likes to put on a show for people but her body seems to betray her when she’s stressed or afraid.
What is she afraid of? The food?
Could it be a thing?
I don’t want her to panic again, so before the waitress starts to cut it, I walk back to the kitchen myself. Even with a house full of staff today, only for today ‘cause apart from Larry and Maria, I fucking hate having folks around my home, I still like to do a lot of things myself. My dad always taught us to know how to do things ourselves, me and my sister, before we got any help. I wasn’t born in poverty, but I definitely wasn’t born with as much money as I have now. I’ve worked hard to get there and make my father’s club a true powerhouse.
I don’t give a fuck if people notice me leaving. Perks of being the boss.
What could she like?
Trusting my instinct, I grab a bowl and fill it with berries I find in the fridge. She likes vegetables; I guess there’s no reason she won’t like fruits. I don’t put anything on it when I remind myself how specific she was when she asked for no salt or oil. I wonder what that was all about. Coming back to the dining room, I put the bowl in front of her, no questions asked. If some folks’ gaze lands on her, they look away quickly because gawking at my wife is a mistake they know they can’t afford. Her bodystiffens next to mine and I can feel the eyes of her little sister on me.
“Why would you give me this?” Mia whispers.
“You’re telling me you were about to eat this cake?” Watching a blonde waitress cut the big white thing and serve it to the guests.
“It’s beautiful, and it looks so delicious. It’s actually sad we have to eat it… It’s so pretty,” she says with a fake smile, her pupils getting bigger as she keeps on lying to my face.
Oh, Mia. If only she knew how used to people trying and failing to fool me I am.
“Answer the question.” I lean back in my chair. This isn't a big wedding; there’s about forty people in the room, only close friends and family, but that's enough noise to cover our conversation.
“It’s a beautiful cake,” she says, but I cut her off.
“Cut the crap.” I point with my index finger. “If I were to give you a big large piece of it, would you eat it, princess?”
A shadow passes on her face, breaking her happy mask for a second. Then, she surprises me by shaking her head discreetly instead of snapping at me.
So no cake. I knew it.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, “for this.” She makes a motion with her chin toward the bowl.
“No problem. Next time you need something, just spill it out. I’m not a fucking mind reader,” I say more harshly than I wanted.
What is wrong with me?
She’s clearly in distress. Why do I have to expect the worst of everyone all the time?
Not everyone has two sides.
But she doesn’t answer back. She’s feisty, but she loses her sass when it’s about food. Interesting. I wonder wherethis comes from. She picks at the berries, eating them slowly, studying each bite before eating them. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, trying to decipher the puzzle she is. I don't miss how her mother stares at her, twisting her mouth in a disgusted way.
Why is she looking at her this way?
Once everyone’s done with dessert, I’m ready to call it a night. But I stop myself when I notice Mia’s father, O’brian, standing up, raising his glass.
Here we fuckin’ go. A useless speech for a fake marriage.
His wife, a Mia look-alike with less class and no charisma, stands next to him. She’s got red hair too, but it doesn’t look as natural as Mia's, hers is disciplined and sleek while my wife’s curls bounce on her shoulders like she’s been running before getting there. Her posture is stiff, too thin to be healthy, and her fingers are laced in front of her stomach like a first lady. Composed, in control.
The room takes a few seconds to fall silent. I have to say, leadership has never been a natural skill of his. He’s the kind of guy who likes to play tough but isn’t truly capable of it. He just enjoys the spotlight and the power, but he doesn’t know how to lead.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate the union of my daughter, Mia, and her husband, Ares. This marriage signifies not just the joining of two individuals but the merging of our families, our legacies, and our futures.” He smiles, palms joined.
