She is happy with the simplest of pleasures. A kind thought, a sweet gesture, and I hate how sad that makes me. She should have had it all, and many believed she did. She had nothing, but a troubled childhood that she is hiding away from now.
“Allow me.”
I pull out her chair, and as she drops down into it, she smiles up at me, and her genuine delight punches me square in the soul.
Her beauty is natural, not contrived, and comes from a good heart more than skill with makeup. She is natural, kind, and caring, and I wonder why I am drawn to that.
My fingers brush her shoulder as I edge the seat forward, and I picture her tied to the black bench, her tears sliding from under the blindfold.
I take my seat, my mind ablaze with retribution because I will not rest until I’ve avenged every single one of the demons from her past.
“I wish–”
She speaks, but her wish trails off, and I lean forward.
“What do you wish?”
“It’s silly, really, but well, I got married today and even though I’m aware it wasn’t a real one, not in the traditional sense, I well, would have liked my sisters to be there.”
“It was real, Tiffany.”
I state fact and she blushes, tugging at that infernal bottom lip that is all I can focus on right now.
“I know it’s legally binding, but um, it isn’t what I imagined a marriage to be.”
“You wanted what the bride at the town hall had, I suppose. The huge white dress, flowers, and family and friends. It’s understandable.”
“It’s not a lot to expect, and don’t get me wrong, I understand why it was, well, so businesslike because–”
Her hand trembles as she reaches for the water, and I notice the simple wedding band circling her finger that chains her to my side.
“Well, we had a deal.”
“The baby.”
It amuses me to add to her discomfort, and she nods, gulping the water as I pour her a glass of champagne.
“You will make the perfect mother, Tiffany.”
Compliments aren’t usual from me, and she stills, her eyes finding mine as a blush creeps over her face.
“So, you really want to go through with that?”
“Of course. It was the condition of our marriage.”
“It’s, well, so cold, don’t you agree?”
“I only think what my father tells me to.”
“Bullshit.”
I raise my eye and she shrugs, holding my gaze with an interesting, fierce gleam in hers.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does what daddy tells him to.”
“You haven’t met my daddy, as you call him.”
It amuses me to picture him as anyone’s daddy. Cold-hearted bastard, monster, beast, devil, are some more familiar words.
