Cruel Beloved

He calls me rich girl, and he probably thinks I don’t know how to cook. Granted, I don’t know a lot, as we always had cooks. But Emma’s mother is a chef, and on the weekends that I spent with her family, we cooked in the kitchen and her mother would always help me to learn. It was a nice change to being totally ignored.

Making a simple mac and cheese with grilled chicken doesn’t take me long. I don’t know exactly when he’s due home, but it’s an easy meal to reheat and it’s why I chose it. Just as I sit at his dining room table, I hear his footsteps. When he reaches me, he stops, looks to my plate with scrunched brows, then at me. “You order in?” he asks.

“No, I cooked. Yours is still warm in the oven.” Going back to my book at the table, I don’t watch him for his reaction. And soon I hear the door to the oven open before he walks over and sits by me.

“You cooked for me,” he says, sitting down next to me. Whiskey places a hand on my book, stopping me from reading. I can’t read it anyway with him sitting next to me, I’d be reading the same line over and over again, he’s that type of distraction.

“I was hungry. Wasn’t sure if you’ve eaten already, so I cooked.” I shrug.

“No one has ever cooked for me before,” he says, making me look up as he starts eating. “Not someone who wasn’t getting paid for it that is.”

“Not your parents?” I ask.

“Nope, just you.”

“Well, didn’t that make this awkward,” I say, taking a mouthful.

He eats it without one complaint, and we don’t talk until he’s finished.

“You sleep naked?” he asks, eyeing me, making me feel uncomfortable. His hands are on the table next to his empty plate.

“Do you sleep naked?” I ask.

He leans over. “Yes. And you would have known if you removed the mountain of pillows when you slept and stopped snoring the house down.”

“I don’t snore,” I argue back.

I like to think I don’t, but I know I do.

“Keep telling yourself that. Maybe next time I’ll record you and show you.”

His words make my spine straighten.

Does he do that often?

Is this some sort of a thing for him?

Whiskey notices my reaction. “It was a joke. I’ll never record you again without your permission. I swear,” he says.

“Do you do that kind of thing often? Record unwilling victims?” I ask, trying my hardest to keep the venom from my voice, but it shines through anyway.

“Is there something you want to say to me, rich girl?” he asks, egging me on.

My hands fall to my lap and I squeeze them tight.

Make him fall in love with me.

Not hate me.

But he seems to like the game we play.

“I said it, did I not?”

Whiskey stands, pushing his seat in, and walks his plate to the sink. I watch from my spot, still seated.

“You’re interesting, to say the least, and not quite what I was expecting.”

“Were you hoping I’d spread my legs for you every night, to make this arrangement easier for you?”

He laughs at my words. But I can’t say that thought hasn’t run through my head.

“To be honest, yes. I was hoping for a repeat. But we have a year to build up to that, now don’t we?” He smiles as he walks away.

Like I needed that reminder—one long year.

Doing the same thing, I walk into the room, my dress lays on the bed.

“Tradition doesn’t bother you?” he asks, nodding to the dress.

“It’s in a bag, you can’t see it. Plus, it’s not like this is your ordinary wedding where two people love each other.”

“True,” he says, removing his jacket.

Why does he always have to undress around me?

It’s entirely unfair and makes this so much harder than I thought it would be. Because it makes me want him. And I don’t want to want him.

Picking up my dress, I walk over to him before he can fully undress and push it to his hands.

“Since you like to arrange my things, put this away.” Whiskey takes it, because if he didn’t, it would drop, and turns around, hanging it up right next to his suits. Taking a deep breath, I start to remove my own shirt, so I am left only in my black bra, then slide my pants down my legs, leaving me in a small G-string. When I turn around, his eyes are darker and he’s watching me with intent.

“I’m showering first.” Then I walk into the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door behind me. After all, he’s seen me naked before, fuck he’s kissed and licked every part of me. When I remove the last of my clothing, I notice his reflection in the mirror as he stands at the closet not moving. Quickly showering and getting out, I reach for the towel to see him already there holding it in his hands for me.