“Okay...” The surprise in Joe’s tone is palpable.
“Darling, I want to dance,” the older woman says to Joe, tugging on his arm.
“Ah, Magda, you are such a great dancer,” Griffin chirps. It’s so unlike him. “Go show my assistant how it’s done.”
“That’s my plan.” Magda looks at me and winks. I ease up on my assessment. She’s just here to have fun. “He’s a good one. Make him happy, dear,” she whispers as they pass.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a secret society of people faking it to make it.
As the night continues, a toast is made to our marriage. Griffin makes a speech about the day he met me and how he knew the moment we locked eyes that I was "The One." He keeps the specifics vague but goes into poetic detail about the color of the sky and the divine guidance he felt brought us together.
I stand there smiling like an idiot.
I have one more drink that I barely touch. I take another stroll around the ballroom, and then finally, Griffin calls his driver. No one looks at me anymore, but I feel their judgment. I doubt one person in this room believes I’m doing this to become a defense lawyer who represents the marginalized. Not one person seesme.
The jewelry itches my neck. The clothes constrict my ribs. The wealth is overwhelming. And I am always nauseous.
This is what three days of marriage looks like.
When we get into the town car, Griffin finally drops the act. He loosens his tie with a sigh.
“You did well,” he praises.
“These events are really uncomfortable,” I say honestly.
“You’re telling me. Tomorrow is your appointment with Beckett’s OBGYN friend. You’ll be fitted with an IUD. I’ve heard it’s minimally invasive. I also want to discuss the terms of our sexual arrangement, as it is proving to be an issue.”
Wow. He really is a lawyer.
“We need to have clear boundaries around our sexual relationship,” he continues. “I don’t want to always wear condoms or be forced to pull out. It’s more satisfying for both of us if I can come inside you.”
Barf.
I take a new approach. “You are so good at fucking. I really like being fucked by you, Griffin. You’ve got skills... mad skills, and an enormous cock.”
He knows what I’m doing. He glares at me. “Get to your point.”
“In all thirty-two pages of our marriage agreement, not once was sex mentioned as a requirement. An IUD wasn’t a line item. Neither was you splashing your funk on my stomach. The frequency of intercourse wasn’t negotiated. All of it was by my consent, you said.”
His face falls into a frown. “Do you feel like I’ve forced myself on you?”
“No. I feel like you’re a guy I met at a bar and, by some weird twist of fate, I landed a gig as your temporary wife. Who is Griffin Calloway? Who areyou?”
I look at him. For this moment, I’m in charge.
“Do you even know or care who I am? What are you expecting from me sexually? Am I supposed to be available allthe time? Like ‘bend over, wife, I’m home?’ We don’t have a relationship, but we fuck. Do you fuck other people? Can I? I mean, if I have an IUD, I should be good to go, right?”
He turns to face me. Hard as a rock—again. He’s always got an erection. Whenever I’m wearing less than battle armor, he’s stiff.
“Where the hell is all of this coming from? I already told you, neither of us is having sex outside of this marriage. It’s too risky.”
“It’s coming fromme. I’m a person, Griffin, not just a body that keeps you popping a boner.”
He rolls his eyes. “With your consent, I’d like to have sex with you. If we don’t...” he sighs, letting the threat hang.
“You’ll go elsewhere and handle your junk. I get it. Why exactly are we sharing a bed? No one comes in and checks where I’m sleeping.” I want out of his bed and out of his life if he doesn’t start treating me like a human being.
“The staff at Vilken Services will know. If you aren’t sleeping in my bed, word will get around. The Christopher Street Society has eyes everywhere. We need to live like a husband and wife. This is a non-negotiable condition. And until recently, you had no problems having sex with me. Bored already?” he snaps.
