The Marriage Contract (14 page)

              “Ready to go?” he asked, walking towards the door.

              “Almost,” I said. “Judy. Can I see your I.D.?—“

              James laughed. “Oh, you’ve got to be joking—“

              “I kid you not,” I replied, staring sternly at the brunette woman. “I need to know if she’s an actual certified nurse—“

              “Dory, cut it out!” April snapped. “She’s legit! Now go, go go!”

              April opened the door, shooting a look to James, as though asking for his assistance. I narrowed my eyes, not liking their apparent team work.

              “Why can’t I see her I.D.?” I complained. “I’m not leaving you alone with a murderer—“

              “Mind your tongue, young lady!”  Judy, who had been politely silent the entire time, now stood, glaring at me. “Do not mark my silence as your license to insult me! Mr. Bellevue, I believe that during our discussion, you did not mention that bearing insults would be required of me. I will take my leave—“

              “No, wait!” said James. “Dorothy is just misunderstanding the situation. Let me talk to her—“

              “Stop referring to me in the third person,” I said. “I’m right here!”

              “And I’m leaving!” snapped Judy. “I have never seen a brazen young lady such as yourself!”

              Judy proceeded towards the door, clutching her white purse over her shoulder, her chin tilted upwards. James blocked the door, giving her a pleading look.

              My brows rose at his desperate expression, because I didn’t think he could ever drop his ego and beg for anything to anyone. For some reason, I was a bit glad that he’d proved me wrong.

              But at that moment, all I could focus on was this strange woman’s glare, for I didn’t think that I could trust her to take care of April. I couldn’t trust a lot of people, really, and a part of me worried of what would happen to April when I left. Would she take her medicine on time? Would she try to harm herself, or go through a severe depression like last year?

              I was really concerned about her, and until the moment that I had to leave the apartment, I never realized just how attached I was to her. April was my family, and if anything happened to her, I wouldn’t know what I would do.

              And now, here was this strange woman, ready to replace me.

              Was I over reacting?

              James’s hand tugged my elbow, as he dragged me to the other end of the room. I glared at him, yanking my arm out of his touch.

              “What the hell,” I said.

              His lips dropped to my ear, as I shivered, feeling his cool breath tingle against my lobe.

              “That woman you so rudely insulted- is Judy Yang. She’s been the private nurse of celebrities, influential people, and the wealthy. You have no idea how much I paid to get her to live with April as her nurse! She’s the best at what she does, so stop treating her like a criminal! April is lucky to have her, so just accept it, and let’s get the hell out of here!”

              I snapped my head towards him, and slid to the side. I took in his words- glancing at Judy, who tapped her large foot against the floor, staring at the door as though it smelled like dry fish.

              “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”

              James sighed. “Finally! You are one stubborn woman, you know that?”

              Our new home was on the Upper East Side, overlooking the New York skyline, where rows of expensive apartment buildings stood like proud statues. The soft winds brushed back my hair, which was tied in an unkempt bun behind my head- threatening to spill over my shoulders. The cotton of my grey t-shirt swayed against the breeze, as I inhaled the fresh air.

              James walked onward, not bothering to take my luggage for me, as I dragged it down the street, trying to keep his pace.

              Geez. What a gentleman he was.

              Upon reaching the building, he pressed a card against the side of the transparent door, pushing it open. He kept it open for me, as I walked through, my hand gripping the handle of the luggage.

              The hallway was wide, as a security guard stood behind a desk at the back of the room, giving me a curt nod. A large, wide chandelier, hung from the ceiling, casting a pearlescent glow to the marble floor.

              “This place is nice,” I said. “What floor are we in?”

              “The first,” said James.

              My brows rose. I always thought, for some reason, that the higher floors in expensive buildings were the best rooms. Maybe he was trying to save money? This was a fake marriage after all, so it didn’t make sense for him to waste money on a lavish place. But this apartment was lavish though- but to his standards, maybe it was just average.

              As I pondered this, a thought occurred to me.

              Why did he move to a new place anyway?

So I asked.

              “Couldn’t we have just gone to where you live? I mean…you didn’t have to spend all this money to live in a new place—“

              “Aren’t you the nagging wife,” he said, grinning. “We could move to my place, but it’s a bit far from here.”

              “Oh,” I said. “Where is it?”

              “L.A.,” he replied. “New York is my playground, but L.A. is home.”

              I smiled. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

              He turned towards me, tilting his head- his eyes peering at me in a curious way. We looked at each other then, and for the first time, I noticed the light of sincerity twinkle in his eyes.

              He opened his mouth, but then closed it, deciding not to say whatever he was going to say. The purity in his expression left, as he shook his head, creating a wall between us once more.

              “Let’s head inside,” he said, turning his back to me.

              I frowned, wondering what had caused his cheerful mood to change. The glimmer in his eyes, were replaced with a stale stare, as he turned the key through the silver knob. He would usually make a joke during silent moments, to fill in the awkward air, but at that moment, he said nothing. The only sounds came from the jingling of the keys gripped over his pale hand, twisting it over the knob. I knew I had hit a nerve, but I wasn’t sure what I had said to upset him.

              The apartment was actually a pent house, with a spiral staircase leading up to a second floor. Tall, ceiling high windows, streamed in the evening sunlight, which glistened through the pale wooden floor. My new home was perfect, and something out of a dream. But there was only one problem.

              “This place is amazing,” I said, turning my head towards him. “But…there’s no furniture.”

              He shrugged, not seeming to care, as he walked towards the kitchen at the end of the room, and sat against the wall.

              “I’ll have an interior decorator come in tomorrow,” he said. “Take a seat, Princess.”

              I sighed, leaving my luggage at the center of the room, and walking towards him. He gave me an expectant stare, and I diverted my eyes, sitting a foot away from him, my back pressed against the wall. I lifted my knees to my chest, hugging them, as I looked over the empty room.

              “So this is home for a year,” I stated blandly. “What now?”

              He rubbed his hands over his face, then turned towards me, giving me a blank stare.

              “We make rules,” he said. “Well, I already wrote my rules, but it’s only fair to let you make yours—“

              I sat up, facing my body towards him.

              “What kind of rules?”

              He smiled, ruffling the top of my hair, and jumping to his feet. I watched as he walked towards the kitchen, grabbing a sheet of paper from the counter. As he turned, heading towards me, I realized what it was.

              “So those are your rules for our marriage?” I asked. “Like…a marriage contract?”

              His eyes lit, as he paced the room.

              “Exactly,” he said. “A marriage contract. I’ll read my rules first, and then you write your rules, and we both sign the papers, and the final piece of the puzzle is done. It’s that easy—“

              “But what if I don’t agree to your rules?”

              He stopped pacing, his eyes focused on the white wall ahead.

              “You don’t have a say in the matter,” he said. “But don’t worry, I didn’t create any sort of rule that you would object to. Can I just read it?”

              He sounded impatient, and I nodded my head, wanting to hear these “rules”.

              “Alright,” I said.

              James commenced pacing again, and it was giving me a headache tracing his walk as he moved to and from either side of the wide room. My eyes dropped to my lap, trying to still my head from dizzying from his walking.

              “Rule number one,” he began. “We don’t get to question where we go. For example, if you come home at three am in the morning, drunk as hell, I do not have a right to ask where you went, who you went with, or what you did. Your life does not concern me and my life does not concern you. Rule number two. No jealousy. I love women, Princess, and monogamy isn’t my thing, so if you come home one day, and see a scantily clad blond sitting on my lap, don’t mind it. The same thing applies if you bring home a guy...but I doubt you will since you confessed you’d never been with a guy before. But hey, if you ever decide to change your mind and bring someone to bed, just make sure to leave a note on the door that says “keep out”. Again, since it’s you, I highly doubt that would happen. Anyways, moving on. Rule number three. No personal questions. Rule number four. Act like you’re in love with me when we go out in public. This includes, meeting my family. Rule number five. Don’t let others think that you’re having an affair. Sure, we can have lovers on the side, but as long as no one finds out. That rule is especially important. And lastly, the most important rule of all…Rule number six. Don’t fall in love with me. I can’t fall in love with you either, but I don’t think I ever will, since you’re far, far, far from my type. Well, that’s my batch of rules.”

              I scoffed.

              Don’t fall in love with him? Did he seriously think I would? He wasn’t my type either! Whatever my type was, it definitely would never be him.

              Standing, I walked towards him, narrowing my eyes.

              “My turn,” I said, taking the paper from his hands. “Got a pen?”

              “It’s on the kitchen counter.”

              “Great,” I said. “You’re not my type either, by the way. And I will gladly adhere to all your rules.”

              He winked. “I’ve hurt your ego.”

              I shot him a glare. “You most certainly have not!”

              He chuckled, as I walked towards the counter, gripping the black pen. Feeling his stare pierce a hole through my back, I began to write. My pen scraped through the paper, as I rested my elbow on the grey marble counter, writing my list of rules. When I was done, I sighed, held the paper in both hands, and turned towards him.

              He stared expectantly at me, and this time, I began to pace.

              Pacing felt good.

              “Rule number one,” I began. “We share all the chores. We can’t leave the house on our free time, unless the chore is complete. We do the dishes together. We do the laundry separately. If I vacuum one week, then you must vacuum the other week, and so on and so forth. Rule number two. No hogging the shower. We cannot take three hour showers. Rule number three. Don’t be a slob. No dropping clothes on the floor or leaving a mess on the table. We must always clean after our mess. Rule number four. No loud, blaring music. We must be respectful of each other’s ears. Rule number five. No touching. We cannot touch each other, and that includes kissing. Rule number six. Don’t make loud noises when you…well….when you...sleep with other women. I don’t want to hear it, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear that either. Um…where was I? Oh, right. Rule number seven. No lying. Since we’re now roommates, we should give each other the respect of honesty. Rule number eight. We must sleep in separate rooms.”

              I stopped pacing, and briskly turned, facing James.

              His expression was blank, but the hint of a question brimmed in his eyes, and it frustrated me that I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. We stood five feet apart, and in our distance, remained that question on his lips that he dared not ask.

              “Sounds good,” he said.

              Sounds good? That’s all he had to say?

              I chewed my lower lip, as he strode past me, opening a door at the end of the room, entering it, and closing the door behind him.

              I stared at my luggage, chewing the side of my lip, and wondering why he hadn’t given any response to my rules. Did he think they were dumb rules, or perhaps, he just didn’t care?