07BarteredPainThe BillionairesWifeARE Read Online Free Page B

passed
across her face. "That's what you have to say about him? He's not a bad husband?"
    I was aware of how it
sounded, but I didn't want to commit to more than I knew I was able. My growing
affection for Anton was well-guarded. I took it out at night when he slept
beside me and turned it over in my mind, letting myself explore its edges and
contours before putting it away again. It was small now, but with care it could
be something very real.
    "Yes," I
said. "That's what I have to tell you. He is not a
bad husband. I know you wante me to be happy with the man I marry, and right
now I'm feeling okay with the way things are going."
    My mother sat back,
somewhat mollified, but clearly unwilling to let this go. "I don't
know," she said. "I don't like the changes I see in you."
    I frowned. "What
do you mean?"
    Waving a hand she
attempted to encompass all of me. "Your clothes. Your attitude. I haven't
seen you do your art the whole time I've been here."
    I shifted,
uncomfortable. I knew what she was saying, because I had the same feelings. Misgivings,
really. But I tamped them down. I depended on Anton to keep her alive. I leaned
on him when I felt weak. Which was more and more often.
    I stared at the fire.
Before I knew Anton, I'd lived alone. I'd worked hard. I'd been my own person.
A messy, unkempt person that my mother always lamented of ever learning
glamorous personal grooming, but my own person all the same. Now I was falling
into Anton, fading into the force of his personality, of his dominance. It
sheltered me. But shelter can be an awfully small space.
    I couldn't let my
mother worry about me, though. "I'm fine," I said. "I'm just
stressed out. When this whole wedding thing is over, I'll go back to working on
my art and stuff."
    With a sigh, my
mother deflated. "Felicia," she said again, "please, take this
seriously, and answer me honestly: why did you marry this man?"
    I couldn't tell her
it was for the money, and I certainly couldn't tell her it was for love. What
could I say to the woman who gave me life, and now feared I was throwing that
life away?
    I gave her a wan
smile. "For the right reasons," I said. "Trust me."
    She held my eyes for
a long time in the dancing light of the fire. "I will trust you," she
said. "And I hope you are right."
     
    *
     
    The fallout of the
tabloid pictures wasn't half as bad as I'd feared. Most people just acted
faintly embarrassed when they recognized me, but my blog saw a huge uptick in
traffic and, true to Anton's predictions, I sold everything that was for sale
in my storefront. Unfortunately, I couldn't find time to go down to my old
apartment to package everything up and send it out because wedding preparations—and
Anton—took up all of my time.
    Dress shopping, gift
registry, gift bags, decorations, catering, drinks,
bridesmaids, colors, flowers, silverware patterns, and getting tied up and
fucked each night and most of the days took up a lot of time. Getting married,
it seemed, was a full time job that did a lot to alleviate any obsessing I
might have done. Besides, after a few days the embarrassment of being photographed
in intimate positions wore off, especially when tourists from out of town
stopped me on the street and asked to take a picture with me. Of course, they
never asked while Anton was there. Anton gave off a forbidding vibe.
    By the time the week
was up, I was feeling better about the world, but I was still looking forward
to fresh tabloids so my picture would get off the cover. Sadie and I were
walking to the nearest drug store so I could grab myself some Midol—my period
was coming up and the beginnings of crankiness and cramps were making
themselves felt—and discussing how to get her picture in the tabloids so she could sell
some of her work.
    "We should
kiss," she said. "The next time you see a papparazo, you have to tell
me so I can mack on you."
    "I'm not kissing
you to get you into the National
Enquirer," I said.
"Why don't I just advertise your shit