The Contract (The Contract 1)

After I showered, I looked in the mirror at my reflection. The outside shell envied by many. The one that covered up the empty, lost person inside. I had ignored and buried him for many years, and now Katharine was going to bring him to the surface.

I shuddered, dropping my towel on the floor. I dreaded the conversation.

Crossing the room, I opened my door wide, even though I knew there would be no comforting wheezes for her tonight.

I slid into bed, a strange yearning drifting through my head.

Wishing she were lying there, waiting for me.RICHARD

I WAS SITTING AT THE counter, nursing my third cup of coffee when she came downstairs Sunday morning. She fixed herself a mug—I still hadn’t attempted to use the coffee maker that had appeared one day last week, so she had to make do. I could sense her stolen glances as she waited for the Keurig to perform its magic.

“What?” I sighed.

“I fell asleep.”

“You were exhausted.”

“I woke up in my bed. With my dress off.”

I arched my eyebrow at her. “It is customary for a husband to carry his wife over the threshold and remove her wedding dress the night they are married, I believe.”

Deep crimson flashed across the top of her cheeks, highlighting the delicate bones.

I grinned and shook my head. “You helped me, Katharine. You fell back asleep; I covered you up and left the room. I thought you might be uncomfortable otherwise.”

“Oh.”

She sat beside me, and sipped her coffee before noticing the wrapped package on the counter. “What is that?”

I pushed the box toward her.

“A present.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

I discovered she was a ripper—no gentle peeling back of tape and carefully removing the paper. She grabbed at the corner and tore it off with the glee of a child on Christmas morning. It brought a small smile to my face. She stared down at the box.

“What?” I smirked at her confusion.

“It’s a waffle iron.”

“You said you wanted one so I got it for you. Like a wedding gift.” I chuckled. “I couldn’t fit a table into a gift bag. I guess you’ll have to pick one out yourself.”

She lifted her gaze to mine. “The gift I wanted costs no more than a small piece of your time.”

She was wrong on that. I knew what she wanted, what I had promised in order to get her to marry me.

“You won’t let this go, will you?”

“No. You know my story. I want to know yours.” She lifted her stubborn chin, the cleft standing out. “You promised.”

My coffee mug hit the granite with a little too much force. “Fine.”

I slid off the stool, tense and agitated. I stomped over to the window, looking at the city, the figures small and distant—much the way I wanted these memories to be.

Yet, Katharine wanted them brought into the open.

“My father was a playboy. Rich, spoiled, and a real bastard.” I barked out a laugh, turning to look at her with an intense glare. “Like father, like son.”

Katharine moved to the sofa, sat down, remaining silent. I turned back to the window, not wanting to make much eye contact.

“He played hard, traveled a lot, basically did what he wanted, until my grandfather called him on it. He told him to grow up and threatened to cut him off financially.”

“Oh dear,” she murmured.

“He and my mother married a short time later.”

“Well, your grandfather must have been pleased.”

“Not pleased enough. Not much else changed. Now they partied together, still traveling, spending lots of money.” I moved and sat across from her on the ottoman. “He was furious, and gave them an ultimatum: unless he had a grandchild to bounce on his knee within a year, he was pulling the plug on both of them. He also threatened to change his will, cutting out my father completely.”

“Your grandfather sounds a little bossy.”

“I come by it honestly.”

She rolled her eyes, and indicated I should continue.

“So, I was born.”

“Obviously.”

I met her gaze. “I wasn’t born out of love, Katharine. I was born out of greed. I wasn’t wanted. I was never wanted.”

“Your parents didn’t love you?”

“No.”

“Richard—”

I held up my hand. “My entire childhood, my entire life, I heard about what an inconvenience I was—to both of them. How they had me to make sure the money kept coming. I was raised by nannies, tutors, and as soon as I was old enough, shipped off to boarding school.”

She began to worry the inside of her cheek, not saying a word.

“All my life I was taught the one person you could rely on was yourself. Even when I went home during school breaks, I wasn’t welcome.”

Bending forward, I gripped my knees. “I tried. I tried so hard to get them to love me. I was obedient. I excelled at school. I did everything I could do to make them notice me. I got nothing. The gifts I made at school for Mother’s and Father’s Day were discarded. My drawings were trashed. I can’t remember goodnight hugs or kisses, or having a parent read me a bedtime story. There was no sympathy for scraped knees or bad days. My birthday was marked with an envelope of cash. Christmas was much the same.”