Marriage by Law Page 3

  "Oh yea, Aluminium, was it?" he asked.

  What?

  My eyes widened as I looked at him. Aluminium? Did he just call me Aluminium, like Aluminium foil?

  And at that moment when I realised he couldn’t even remember my name, my respect for him seeped out of my body.

  "Ivory," I muttered, my fist clenching. Even I remembered his name.

  "Oh yes, some metal it was," he said, his eyebrows knotting even further as he waved a hand. Metal? Ivory was not a metal. Was this guy stupid? Mentally retarded?

  Ivory and Aluminium weren’t even close to each other. Did he even do science in school?

  "What did you want?" he asked, taking me out of my mental rage as he crossed his arms across his chest, another intimidating move.

  "Um-" I said. What did I want? Maybe I should start by telling you that my name was nothing to do with a metal. But what did I want?   That question threw me off guard. What did I want? Even I didn’t know that and somehow the feeling of sitting down and sharing our feelings, likes and dislikes, didn’t seem like something this person would do.

  And I didn’t want to think that he didn’t even know my name.

  "Look, me coming back doesn't change anything. Just carry on like you were before and I won't be in  your way. We'll just act like the couple in social events. Alright?" he said.

  My mouth just opened, not sure what to say and how to reply to that. But he didn’t give me the chance because he turned around and disappeared into the bedroom.

  "Incorrigible jerk," I mumbled in frustration as I walked toward the end of the long corridor, where my room was. I passed the master bedroom, the room that neither of us seemed to choose. He made his point clear. He didn’t want anything to do with me. Good, because now I didn’t want anything to do with him, whose name I was going to replace with a metal and I’ll teach him what metals sounded like.

  “Aluminium,” I scoffed. If he couldn’t even remember a name, his wife’s name, how on earth was he managing a multi billionaire company?

  Chapter Three

  6 Months ago

  I couldn't even remember how I got home but I had never been happier to see the large double oak doors at the top of marble stairs. Rushing up as fast as I could, I pushed them open and was greeted by the warm air.

  "I see you have gotten wet in the rain," said my mother, walking down the large steps. I nodded. Of course only my mother couldn't tell the difference between rain and tears.

  "Well, get ready. I need to talk to you," she said. I walked up my room ignoring her, not because I wanted to but because my body acted like a robot taking me to my haven of safety, my room.

  I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket as I shut the door softly and slid down it till I was sitting down. I stared at the window.

  Did I want to see the message? Was it from Rose or from him? Against my better judgment, I opened my message.

  It's not what you think

  I scoffed, throwing the phone on the bed and laying down on the floor. Haven’t I heard that before?

  I looked at my bed and rolled over, pulling the blanket to the floor and wrapping it around me.

  My blanket was warm and cozy and instantly provided the comfort my mother would never be able to give. So it had been true, he really was cheating on me.

  I was upset. Tears were gone, replaced by insecurities and doubt inside.

  For how long would this go on?

  She said she was his girlfriend; not a fling, not a one night stand. A girlfriend.

  Did he even go on those business trips like he said he did or was he just hiding in his house making out with that stupid dumb bimbo! Wrapping myself into the blanket, I closed my eyes before tears could come back out. No, I didn’t want to waste them over him.

  The past four years I had given my heart to him with much caution, and it was sad that I had been so careful and somehow still got deceived. Like people say, Love is blind.

  What I think now is Love is just an illusion, something that could never exist in my life and I wasn’t going to let anyone try making me feel that way. Even if there were happier moments, heartbreak outweighed them.

  Present Time

  I woke up. I couldn't sleep but the moment the sun hit my face through the windows, I sat up and got ready for today.

  The only good thing about today was that it was Saturday. Saturday was the one day in the whole week I have to myself. There are no lessons, no parties, no meetings I have to attend. It was just me. And Rose was often away on work, which meant I had some alone time.

  The most important thing was that no one was coming over, which meant I can replace those tight dresses with loose clothes that don’t see daylight enough times.

  I pulled my green jumper over my head and smiled as I pulled it down. Ah, the comfort of loose clothes.

  I replaced the high heels with boots that I got from the back of the closet. Rather than wearing my fancy hair, I tied my long dark brown mess into a ponytail. I closed my eyes, feeling the sun on my face. The most joy I can get from this place was the backyard.

  I hurried downstairs to the one place I frequently visited in the months here, my haven. I had taken over the plain backyard that looked too structured and was proud to say I created chaos in it. I had planted my favorite flowers, blue mystique-orchids, childhood flowers I remembered and anything else I could get my hands on.

  As a teenager, when I saw them, I used to fall in love with those special and incredibly rare blue flowers. I had no idea what they were called till I was seventeen when a friend told me. Since then, my love for them grew.

  I peeked out of the corridor downstairs. It was still early and the sun had just risen, which meant the incorrigible bastard who thought I was something you wrapped sandwiches in was probably still sleeping.

  It wasn’t that I was scared he’d see me like this. It was that I didn’t want to see that ugly face of his and let it ruin my day.

  Tip-toeing out quietly, I ran toward the end of the house and past one of the maids cleaning and to the back door.

  "Slow down, dearie, you might trip over," said Margaret when she saw me coming and opened the door for me with a knowing smile.

  I smiled cheekily, grabbing the watering can and tools from the small box outside.

  "I will," I assured her as she opened her mouth, probably to warn me about cutting myself on the pliers and knife like I did nearly every week.

  "Are you sure you should be doing this? Dar-"

  "I don’t think he cares,” I replied, and I doubt his care factor would even bother him.

  Margaret nodded, ushering me out. I left out the part about him saying I can do whatever I want as long as I was out of his way. That was fine with me. In fact, that was what I wanted.

  These orchids were the only things that make my time worthwhile on those days. I never knew you can grow blue orchids till I met someone selling them, and boy was I hypocritical that he sold me some rubbish. But I did hope that he was telling the truth and they would come out blue and purple, not white like Rose had said. She was just as hypocritical but I didn’t want to take a chance.

  Whistling to myself, I enjoyed the warm sun on my face as I walked over to my little orchid bed near the wall and fence and sat down. From here I can see the garden, and the mess, or masterpiece I created.

  A small dirt path was between the various colored roses that led to a flat patch of grass where you can lay down and look at the stars at night. Some of the roses still had clothes tied to the bottom, special fabric that acted a dye to create the colour you wanted. I was still waiting for the ‘black’ roses to blossom, if they ever would. Some of the roses had turned out as a disaster, wilting before they even reached the colour I desired.

  But I was expecting all of them to be successful. It was just experiments.

  The other side was a wall of Jasmines, my childhood flowers, and the scent of them was intoxicating.

  I gripped a weed, pulling it out of the
mulch and throwing it aside for the garden maintainers to clean. I should also remind them to clean the dirt path, maybe replace it with some stones or rock. It looked tardy.

  I wiped my hands on my jeans and looked at my babies.

  "How was your week, my darlings?" I whispered as I flicked a bug off the orchid bud.

  "Yea well, I didn't have an eventful one myself," I replied, plucking the bad leaves off. Talking to the plants was meant to help them. I wasn’t crazy. I felt sorry for them at times, probably having no one to talk to. The only difference between myself and them was that I was inside the house and they were outside, and I had legs, ate more and wore clothes.

  There were three buds in total and I frowned. They had been like that for weeks, were they actually going to blossom? I got up, dusting myself as I picked up the watering can and filled it up.

  I watered them, washing the mud off some of the leaves, thinking to myself.

  "Maybe next Saturday I can go out with Rose," I said, looking at the plant.

  I stroked the soft silky leaf, rubbing it softly. I can smell the amazing jasmines, and soon the roses would fully blossom and the garden would be overtaken with the mixed smells.

  I picked up the spade, turning it in my hand and looking at the sharp ends. Maybe I can get some more flowers, the rare type. But then I had no more space to plant them and I wanted that patch of grass to sit down and relax. Maybe I can put in a proper seat.

  I started digging a hole near the orchid, letting my anger out at the world. I can’t believe he didn’t remember my name. It was a name, and it wasn’t a hard name. It was three syllables. Instead, he replaced it with a weirder ‘name’ that was five syllables.

  I looked up to his window to mutter some curses at him but instead saw the curtain move and my hand stabbing the ground stopped.

  Was he watching me?

  I met his malachite green eyes and he turned to leave and I stared at the window for a few more seconds.

  What if Margaret was right and he was going to yell at me for being outside and re-doing his garden without his permission? I shuddered thinking of it.

  If he was normally that cold and scary, I couldn't even begin to imagine him when he was angry.

  I looked back at the orchids, sighing. No, I shouldn’t let him scare me. I was going to stand up for myself, well, maybe in a while.

  "I guess this is goodbye for now. Hurry up and grow, my babies," I whispered. I bent down kissing the plant and stood up gathering my stuff.

  Margaret was waiting outside with a wet towel for me to wipe my hands on. She shook her head as she watched me and I looked at her.

  "You cut yourself again, dearie," she said, handing me a wet towel. She led me to the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit.

  "I didn't."

  She grabbed my right hand and my finger next to my thumb and I gasped. Oh yes, I seemed to have pricked myself.

  I let out a nervous laugh; wiping it on my jeans and earning another nasty stare from her.

  "It's nothing, just a prick, probably from the roses," I said.

  "It can get infected," she said, taking out rubbing alcohol from the cupboard.

  Oh no, she didn't.

  "It's fine. It’s just a cut, you know. Small, tiny, puny,” I replied, running out of synonyms and stepping back.

  "If you get sick, he will be furious knowing I did nothing. Stand still.”

  I scoffed. Oh yes, he would be so sad that his beloved wife, whose name he doesn’t remember, got cut. Maybe I could let this blood drop and wish something. If it worked for Snow White’s mother, it should work for me. Or did I have to get pricked by a red rose and be on the second floor of a building?

  Margaret took my distraction and placed the swab on my hand and I snarled, cursing in a very un-lady like manner. And thanks to perfect timing, he had to just walk in at that time, giving me a strange look. Maybe it was because I yelled out “Apple fucking minestrone” out.

  It was fine being weird, but then I had my swear words, which were just as weird.

  I looked back to meet his stare. I wasn’t going to appear weak. I was the queen of stare downs.

  "Margaret, take all calls for me. I have to run an errand," he said. Margaret put down the band-aid and nodded. I took this time to escape as he spoke to her, more like giving her commanding instructions. I suddenly felt sorry for her. She had to put up with him all the time.

  Errand, my arse. Probably off to see his model girlfriend or something. It was possible. It happened before. I was replaced like that and James wasn’t even attractive. So I can only imagine how many strings of girls Darius left behind with both his not good looking looks and money.

  I walked up the stairs, quickly sucking on my finger that tasted quite bitter. Oh right, rubbing alcohol. I grabbed my phone off the bedside table and opened up Rose's contact number. I sent a silent prayer that she wasn’t at work and sent her a message.

  Wanna meet up and have fun like 1984?

  I messaged her, joking about the novel we had to read during school, brilliant novel, as I laid on my bed till the familiar message tone came back.

  Betty's in five?

  I smiled, getting up. I walked over to my wardrobe and grabbed a hat and sunglasses and put them on so I wouldn’t run into someone I knew who would run back and complain to my mother.

  I should have done this six months ago.

  Chapter Four

  Six Months Ago

  I walked downstairs dressed in my pajamas and feeling warm and comfortable. All I needed was a tub of ice cream and I wouldn’t even get out of bed even if you gave me a million dollars.

  I walked toward the private parlor where my parents probably were talking. Even if my mother disapproved of my choice of nightwear, I was going to wear it. I was sick of her meddling with my life. She didn’t have one kind bone in her body. Plus, who can resist such comfortable clothes?

  I opened the door cautiously and entered the room, feeling both pairs of eyes on me.

  My father gave me a strained smile, beckoning me over to the couch while my mother stared at me, probably judging my outfit as she stood near the fireplace. But this was no new story.

  "Come in, Ivory, sit here."

  To say I was my daddy's little girl was an understatement. I was always with him, in my view he was my real parent, and he even made up for my mother, even though I barely got to see him.

  My mother had never acted like a parent and I doubt she had the capacity to either. It was always the house nanny’s job to look after me.

  She was never one who showed emotions or gave physical contact, something every child got as a kid but I don't even remember the last time my mother even made an attempt to hug me. Oh wait, she never did. Emotions made you weak, that was what she always told me when I was growing up. There was never a goodnight hug, or a kiss, and she disapproved when my father showed any affection.

  She told me often that the only reason I was even born was so there was an ‘heir’ to the family line, so our money didn’t go astray. Who would tell their ten-year-old daughter that?

  Sitting on the couch next to my dad, I felt him wrap an arm around me and I placed my legs on the seat, enjoying the warmth from the fire. There was something tense in the room as my parents had a stare down and I shifted uneasily in my seat. I had never known the meaning of tension in the air better than now.

  My father sighed and turned to look at me, his eyes analyzing my face, and frowned. It was like he knew.

  "Is everything o-"

  "Your father and I have something to discuss," said my mother, cutting off whatever my dad was going to say. For someone who claims she has no emotions, she sure got jealous when father spent more time talking to me.

  I sighed and looked up at her, raising my eyebrows to question her. And here I thought my dad wore the pants in this relationship.

  "Years ago, a man had saved his business rival from a horrible death. He has made a promise," she started. It was easy to
zone out when my mother spoke and watch the flickering fire or even the way the ducted heating blew a piece of fluff from a jumper across the room. It brought up questions like, why have the heating system and the fireplace at the same time? Wasn’t that a waste of energy?

  Her voice was that monotone. Made me wonder what my dad saw in her to marry her.

  "The promise was that the first granddaughter he had would be married to his best man's family. Back then it wasn’t about money, it was about word. When someone gives their word, they stick to it. They care about loyalty. The two businesses had enough power to overrun each other and send one sinking to the ground, which in these days can cause a great global financial crisis with the way both businesses have risen. To make sure that didn't happen, they made a promise."