Asher stood in front of the mirror, checking himself over. He had an appropriately casual suit; dark blue with a silvery undershirt. A matching blue tie collared him and kept him from putting on properly casual airs, so he slipped it off and tossed it to the floor.
He wondered, really wondered, why he was going through with this. Why had he asked Jessika to father his children? Not that he required her to do much more than be a donator for his infertile wife, but to help sweeten the deal with Beatrice he'd asked if Jessika might be willing to carry the child to term, too.
And her answer? Well, why didn't they just have sex! She said it more shyly than that, a certain sense of demurity in her manner, but the audacity of it. Or, what others might think as audacious, at least. Asher had thought quite long and hard about her proposal.
Really, why had he done what he did yesterday? Yes, he was upset about her destroying his book. Granted, he knew it wasn't really her fault, and an antiquarian might be able to restore the book to its previous, undestroyed appearance. It wasn't even about the book, though. He loved the book, appreciated Dante's Inferno and Dante's intent behind writing a work of that nature, but…
There were more books in the world. More copies of Dante's Inferno, too. Probably even a copy exactly like the one she destroyed. It was expensive, but he could afford it.
He'd been on end, though. Nerve-wracked. Beatrice's trip to the doctors kept him anxious. He knew what she wanted out of it, and she'd gotten exactly that, but what did he want? He wanted a family, children, a normal household, somehow, amidst his wealth and otherwise abnormal life.
Jessika was normal, in a way, but then again, she wasn't. Asher recognized it in her immediately. He had a flair, some otherworldly knack, for understanding intelligence, and Jessika definitely had what he wanted. Women cared so little for reading these days, or so it seemed. Perhaps he only based his judgments off of Beatrice and her callous disregard for anything bookish. They had a magnificent library at home, with every sort of book imaginable, and yet she rarely bothered to go in there.
And, truth be told, she rarely bothered to remain at home, either. How many years had it been now since they'd started trying for a child? Only one, but it seemed far longer. They'd tried, seriously tried, only a few times during that year, too. He'd almost chalked it up to unavailability, but in some scheme of hers she'd suggested a visit to the doctors.
He understood the reason immediately. She didn't want children, but felt obligated as his wife. He could respect that. With this, with medical confirmation, she'd absolved herself of those marital requirements, though. But then, he thought, what else was there?
He'd met her through an arrangement between his mother and his mother's associate. He and Beatrice hit it off fairly well from the start, but she always kept herself reserved. At first he thought it was a privacy issue, where she was guarded and cautious, but after four years of marriage he'd learned that was just how she was.
Not with everyone, though. With most, and with Asher, but she had acquaintances who she acted more sociable around. More… herself? Asher wondered sometimes if he actually knew her. He knew things about her, knew what she liked and disliked, and other tidbits of information that lovers knew, but he didn't know if he really knew Beatrice.
And he absolutely knew he didn't know Jessika. Jessika seemed more… real… though? He chalked it up to a fascination. In all likelihood, she was more attracted to his money than him, and he understood that. Nothing wrong with it , per se, since he realized that was the life he lived. It was difficult to find people who appreciated the smaller things in life as opposed to those who desire a higher monetary existence.
Silly for him, the CEO of a multi-billion dollar enterprise, to think this way, but he didn't care. That was how everyone rich thought, wasn't it? Woe is me, everyone only wants me for my money.
Suck it up, Asher, he told himself. No one cares about your ridiculous billionaire problems.
He fetched his cufflinks from a drawer in the top of his dresser and pinned them into the cuffs of his silver dress shirt. Perfect. He had just enough time to arrive early for his and Jessika's lunch date at The Simple Path.