Bartered Bride: The Billionaire’s Wife
by
Ava Lore
Part III
“I'm an idiot,” I moaned. “A complete and utter idiot.”
My best friend Sadie cocked an eyebrow and sucked on her cigarette. “I don't think that's ever been in doubt,” she told me. “You're not exactly the sharpest marble in the bag, Lis.”
“You're so mean,” I told her. Then her words sank in. “Wait, marbles aren't sharp.”
She smirked at me and blew a smoke ring.
“That's even meaner,” I complained. “My life is ending and you don't even care.”
Sadie rolled her eyes. “Your life isn't ending. You're just marrying some guy for his money.”
I threw a pillow at her,, which she dodged. “I am not.” I was marrying him to save my mom. And also because he seemed to have found my Orgasm Button. I'd told Sadie the first part, but not the second. It was too humiliating.
Tapping ash into the tray on my table, Sadie shrugged. “There's nothing wrong with marrying a guy for his money,” she said. “I'd do it.”
“You'd do a lot of things.”
“Shit yeah, I would. Besides, your little noble I'm so poor! act isn't getting you anywhere in your career, is it?” She gestured at the corner of my apartment where my latest creation languished, half-finished until I could procure the funds necessary to buy more clay. I'd had several shows, all at small galleries, and done well, but the bigger stuff required more money than I had, and more hustle than I was ever going to have after working ten hour days at the bar. I hated to think it, but Sadie might be right: marrying Waters would be good for my career.
And my sex life.
If only it didn't seem so tawdry.
“So when's the big day? What do I have to wear as your maid of honor?”
I wrinkled my nose. “He said it was going to be soon. I don't actually have a lot of say in it. He's taking me out to a quote-unquote specialty boutique in like an hour or something to pick out my dress and, uh. Underwear.”
That got Sadie's attention. “He's picking out your underwear?” she said. “What kind of marriage is this going to be?”
I glared at her. “The exact sort of marriage you'd expect from someone who wanted to buy a wife.”
She shook her head. “You can't even cook,” she said. “He could have gotten a much better wife from Russia. And she'd be, like, way hotter.”
“Yeah, fuck you, too,” I said. “Now you're definitely not going to be my maid of honor.” If I was even allowed to have one. Waters hadn't mentioned anything about friends or family yet and it was making me uneasy. I'd never been the sort of girl to dream about my wedding or pick out my bridal colors when I was thirteen or whatever, but I would have expected a little more leeway in the planning. As far as I knew, it was being 'taken care of.' And since I didn't really feel like a bride, I had to admit that it was kind of a load off my mind to just let things happen instead of struggling to assert myself in the face of... well, in the face of Anton Waters.
Sadie stubbed out her cigarette and got up. “Well, just make sure you don't forget the little people when you're rich and on the cover of all the tabloids, okay?” Sadie was one of my artsy friends as opposed to one of my bar friends, though she worked with paint and 'mixed media'—meaning trash she found in Central Park.
“Sure,” I said. “You wanna be one of my hangers-on? I'll be taking applications through the honeymoon.”
“I'd love to,” she said. “But you have to promise, or I'm leaking this to everyone we know.”
Fear drove through me and I sat up. “Sadie!” I said.
She held up her hands and laughed. “I know, I know. This was all in confidence. I promise. I just have to not get drunk between now and when you get married.” She appeared to think about this for a moment. “So it had better be in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Ugggh!” I said. “Out. Go to work.”
“Right,” she said. “Not all of
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