The banging on my door woke me up late in the afternoon. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness that clung to me, wondering what the ruckus was about.
Boredom had been my only companion all day. My mind had wandered into dark places. Luckily, I dozed off before my idleness caused Leah's ridiculous messages to resurface. The softness of the sheets had cocooned me into oblivion.
Sluggishly, I dragged myself out of bed, sleep still clinging to my eyes. My mind was foggy, everything a haze as I stumbled toward the door. When I opened it, Clara's annoyed face came into view.
"I've been knocking." She snapped.
I wasn't in the mood for her sass. My brain still felt foggy from sleep, "what do you want, Clara?"
She folded her hands over her chest, then scoffed. "Christian has been trying to get through to you. Pick up your damn phone. I'm not your errand girl." Her tone was sharp and very disrespectful.
I clenched my jaw, my patience for her nonsense running thin.
"Do you have a problem with me?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
She didn't answer, only forcefully shoved a small package to my body and almost knocked the air out of my lungs. My hand flew to my stomach instinctively, cradling the small black box, my eyes wild with incredulousness. She rolled her eyes, sighed and walked away, leaving me standing by my door in shock.
The photo Leah had sent me flashed through my mind, putting a damper on my mood. Not that I had been happy before Clara's very brief visit.
I closed the door behind me, the sound echoing in the silence of the house. Then I flopped on my bed, placing the small box beside me. I reached for my phone that was underneath my pillow.
With a tap, I removed the Do Not Disturb mode, then began scrolling through the messages and calls I'd missed.
Like I had suspected, Leah had tried to reach me. And so had Christian. But they weren't the only ones. To my surprise, a number that hadn't bothered to call me for almost four years now, had called.
Dad?
My finger stopped scrolling, my eyes peeled on the number that wasn't saved in my phone, but I knew it all too well. How could I not. Once upon a time, he was my favorite person.
I had trouble memorizing numbers, even my own. But I knew Dad's number by heart. Even in my sleep I could say it.
I didn't need a genie telling me why he had called. I knew what it meant. The reason was obvious.
But why did it hurt that this was what it took to see his call on my phone. The sting was sharp, and the contrast between the thoughts in my head and the fluttering ache in my chest made the decision whether or not to call him far more complicated.
My brain never missed a chance to remind me that they'd abandoned me. I had every right to shut him out. But my heart, foolish and naive, was simply glad that he'd reached out.
I didn't even realize a few tears had escaped my eyes until the teardrops splashed onto my phone screen, smearing the glass. I wiped it, feeling a little embarrassed by emotions I had zero control over.
It took a few long minutes before I came to a decision. In the end, I chose to put off making any major decisions. At least until I had a grip on my emotions. Until I can talk to dad with an impassive expression, it would be a bad idea to see him.
I put it out of my mind, my focus now on Christian. I tried to return his call, but he wasn't answering. So I picked the black box and unwrapped it. After opening the lid, I pulled out a black card. I scrutinized it and that's when I noticed the almost invisible letters etched at the bottom in silver.
Mrs Gulf.
The word was beginning to trigger my anger. I was about to call Christian again, when my phone rang and his call came in.
"What's this?" I asked, my voice tight with a mix of confusion and offense. The more I thought about his gift, the more offended I got that he'd given me a credit card.
I had no plans of living off him. We'd never talked about it. And Christian being the insensitive dominating bastard that he was would have never guessed it, but I had plans of working. Being Mrs Gulf was not going to deter me.
"I'm guessing you're referring to the card?" His voice oozed with amusement.
"I'm not going to live off you. I don't need your money." I tried to keep the defensive edge from my voice, but it was hard when my pride felt so bruised.
He sighed, his voice almost sounding like he was tired of dealing with my nonsense. "But you do, Alora. You don't have any money. Not a penny to your name. And besides, isn't this why you married me?" His last statement made me nauseous. And it hurt.
"I have plans of working. I'll get a job soon." I bit on my lip to stop my voice from breaking.
"How much can a job with a high school diploma pay you?"
I had nothing to say to that. Not just because the amount was nothing compared to what he made. I couldn't trust that I wouldn't break down when I spoke.
There was a long pause before he spoke again.
"Take the card, Alora. It's in the contract. I'll provide for you. My money and power is yours to do with as you please. For the next five years, I am your husband. And if you want it to be more, that can be arranged too." His tone was kinder now.
His jesting calmed me. I felt myself slipping away from the edge. I shifted on the bed, trying to shake off the discomfort.
The sound of trickling water reached my ears, and I suddenly realized where he was.
"Where are you?"
"About to take a shower."
I immediately regretted asking. The image of Christian naked popped into my mind and my cheeks flushed. Good thing this was a phone conversation.
"I wish you could join me." He said, laughter bubbling in his throat. It's like he lived to tease me.
Even though I knew this was only play for him, my lips spread into a wide smile. I couldn't help but feel a blush creep across my cheeks. It was ridiculous, but I was a mess of emotions when it came to him. Even now, I could feel my imagination spiraling, thinking about us together in that intimate space.
"Maybe another time," I muttered. I tried to join the play, but my voice came out shaky.
His laughter filled my ears. "I'll hold you to that, Mrs. Gulf," he said, his voice still lighthearted. "I have to go, Mrs. Gulf. Oh, one last thing. About my parents, I apologise if they were rude. I know they can be difficult."
That was a shock. Christian, apologizing? A real apology? It caught me off guard. This was the second time. I believed the first time he apologized was because he wanted something, but now I was beginning to think that maybe he meant it. I mean, this is the man I thought I knew, the one who rarely, if ever, showed any type of emotion. Here he was apologizing for his parents' behavior. I dared to think it, but maybe the next five years wouldn't be so horrible.
"Wait."
"Have something to say to me, Alora?"
"Uhm, I'd like to go out and look for a job tomorrow." The words felt strange coming from me. I wasn't asking permission, but the way I said it made it sound like I was.
"I don't think that's a good idea. Unless you want people to find out I'm in Greece and you're not."
"So you're saying I have to stay inside until you come back? That's ridiculous. That's not what you're saying right?"
His tone turned cold. "It's only a month, Alora. If you need anything, ask Clara to get it."
"A month? A freaking month? I can't go out for a month? Am I a prisoner? Seriously. What the fuck, Christian?"
This man knew just what to say to make me blow a gasket. I couldn't understand him. It's like one minute he's nice to me. And the next he's being the most cruel he could be to me.
"It's your choice, Alora." Abruptly, he hung up.
Fuck! I was really getting tired of the way he was treating me.
My phone chimed. In my anger, I tapped on Leah's message. I was going to reply to her and make her understand that I didn't give a damn about what more she had to say.
Another picture. This time, the Christian that was in the photo was older. And once again, she was standing by his side. Every doubt I'd been clinging to dissipated.
This was two months ago. The message under the photo read.
It was her. It was definitely Clara. Even the small mole on her arm that I'd noticed just this afternoon was clear in the picture. This wasn't photoshop. Christian and Clara were in a relationship. Maybestillare.
My stomach twisted, and I felt the contents of my breakfast rise up in my throat. I rushed to the bathroom, retching. With every passing second my heart sank deeper.