CHAPTER 7
"Didn't you get enough sleep last night?" Betty asked with a curious look on her face.
"Not really, why?"
"Eye bags," she motioned to my eyes. "They are prominent. Use a cold compress on it."
"Will do. Thank you."
The eye bags were bound to be visible. I didn't sleep all night because I was thinking about what happened at Richard's study last night. When I told him I was going to marry him, he didn't believe it at first. He thought I was just pulling his legs. I understood where he was coming from for just some hours to that time I was hell-bent on not accepting his proposal.
I had to assure him that I was going to. Which was crazy from my perspective. How the table has turned.
He said he was going to come by at my closing hours for us to peruse the contract he had prepared.
The thoughts of the content of the contract, ran through my head the whole day as I brewed coffees.
I hope he doesn't expect me to perform some marital duties.
He wouldn't.
My shift ended at 5 pm, I sat on the same rusty bench I was in while waiting for Abigail yesterday.
I was waiting patiently for Richard when I saw a black Audi driving towards me and later stationed in front of me.
A man in a black-clad suit stepped down from the car and made his way towards me. I craned my neck to look at him. It was the same young man who had been with Richard, the first time he came to see me in the coffee shop.
"Good evening Miss Gale. I am here to take you to where Mr Berlette is." He said in a curt and stiff tone.
"Yeah. Alright." I blurted, unsure of what to say.
I grabbed my things and followed behind him to the car. He opened the back door and gestured for me to get in.
I slid into the car gently, settling my belongings on the empty seat beside me.
He slammed the door and positioned himself in the driver's seat. He set off into the street.
"Umm excuse me, where exactly is he?"
"He is waiting at Caviar Kaspia."
"Oh, thanks."
I had no idea where that was, but the fancy name gave me a clue of what to meet and I wasn't sure of what I felt about it. I'll probably just sign the contract and leave immediately.
He brought the car to a halt in front of a luxury building that looked like a hotel.
My eyebrows curled against each other. "A hotel?"
"Yes, Mam." He paused. "The restaurant is in the hotel," he added, reading my confused expression.
We emerged from the bustling lobby of the hotel to find Richard Berlette waiting, leaning up against the wall, looking like a Ralph Lauren model in a pose for some high-end magazine.
"Thank you, Eric," Richard muttered in the direction of the black-clad suit guy, standing upright.
He nodded briefly in reply and left immediately, disappearing from sight.
"Pardon me for not coming to get to you myself. I was on a conference call with the prospective business partners I talked to you about." Richard said.
"It's fine," I replied.
It was not like I was exactly expecting him to come get me or anything. I felt no form of ill feeling whatsoever. Perhaps the nerve-wracking thoughts I had about the content of the contract overcame whatever sort of feelings that could surface.
He grinned.
"After you," he said, holding out his hand for me to go first. I made my way down the corridor, my legs wobbly, my stomach doing somersaults, and my heart in my mouth thumping a dramatic, uneven beat.
We strolled together down the side hotel corridor to the elevators. Silence engulfed us.
Should I say something?
Now you are getting ahead of yourself Marah.
You just have to walk through.
His warm voice startled me from my trance."How did you and Abigail get to know each other?"
"Where I used to work. She stood up for me and, you know, the rest is history."
"Stood up for you?"
"Yes. My boss wouldn't stop picking on me, she happened to witness one of his confrontations and decided to help me. She is a good friend."
"Hmm." He replied evasively.
What is he thinking?
At the elevators, he pressed the call button, and the bell rang instantly. The doors slid open, revealing a couple making out. They looked like the hotel housekeepers judging from their uniforms. Petrified and sheepish, they jumped apart. They bowed their heads, averting their gazes. Richard and I stepped into the elevator.
I was struggling to maintain composure so I leaned my head on the wall panel, tilting my head down. I peeked up at Richard through my lashes, a faint smile played on the corners of his lips. We traveled up in silence, the couple said nothing. No one did.
The elevator doors opened, taking me by surprise, Richard took my hand in his. Currents ran through me and my already rapid heartbeat facilitated.
Richard Berlette is holding my hand.
Wait!
Why is Richard holding my hand?
My eyes fell on our clasped hands in disbelief. I returned my gaze to him with uncertainty. I have always known Richard to be a private person. Never in my wildest imagination did I see this coming.
Heck, Marah! Never in your imagination did you see yourself entering into a contract marriage.
I shrugged the thought off. I shouldn't generalize the behavior of private people I knew nothing of and I definitely didn't know Richard that much to judge him for holding a lady's hand in public especially when the lady is about to be his fake wife.
We stepped into a rooftop restaurant, the relaxing evening breeze enveloped me. The aroma of expensive food I have no name for pervaded the air.
I would have been conscious of the work clothes I was wearing if there wasn't only a table and two chairs situated in the middle of the rooftop.
Something at the back of my mind was telling me, there should be more tables here.
Richard had gone out of his way to make our contract review like some sort of romantic dinner for two. What was he trying to prove by making it look like one?
The hostess's kind and gentle smile greeted us. "Good evening Mr Berlette, Miss Gale. Welcome to Caviar Kaspia."
She led us to the only table and motioned for us to sit. Richard pulled out a chair for me, making sure I sat comfortably before going to sit on his.
"This evening, you'll be having our classic, blinis and toast points for starters, bouillabaisse Imperiale which will be served with croutons and sauce as the main meal, and dulce de leche ice cream as dessert." The hostess announced with an ounce of vigor.
The food was brought to the table. We ate in silence for a while, and I took a moment to study him. He was indeed handsome, I could never bring myself to dispute that. The strong jawline, that straight nose, and his thick dark hair. How could a man in his mid-forties have hair this dark?
He is probably dousing it in dye. The little voice in my head mocked.
But I couldn't help but notice something strange about his appearance and how he and Abigail have no sort of resemblance. I must have pointed it out before to myself because there was no way I would ask Abigail why she looked so different from her dad.
The ocean blue eyes of Richard contrasted with Abigail's forest green. The auburn hair that cascaded down to Abigail's back was in no way near the dark black hair on Richard.
Maybe it was the hypercritical part of me or I was just overly observant. Her mother's genetics must have won the battle in the womb not giving Richards a chance.
"I spent the whole night thinking of what to input in the paperwork, I wanted to make sure you would be fine with all the nitty-gritty of the contract but couldn't bring myself to draft the contract."
He handed me a plain sheet of A4 paper and a fountain pen. I eyed the items in my hand warily not having an idea what I was to do with them. If he doesn't want the marriage anymore he might as well say it.
"What should I do with these?"
"Write down what you want in return for marrying me."
My eyes roamed over his face, his expression carefully guarded. I wondered what he thought I wanted from him.
What do I want from him though?
I racked my brain, thinking of what I desired the most.
Love. I scoffed inwardly. I wouldn't tell him that though, he didn't need to know. And asking for love from a contract marriage would make me look like a love-starved idiot.
I hesitated but went on. "Are you sure about this?"
He smiled at me. "Tell me your requirements." He said, gesturing for me to write.
I nodded tentatively and glanced down at the empty sheet of paper I was holding. I placed it on the already cleared-up table.
I tucked my hair behind my ear and inhaled deeply, gathering courage in the process. I inked down the second closest thing I desired from a person. And signed at the bottom of the paper
I returned the paper back to him. He brought another pen from the breast pocket of his navy blue suit and signed on it.
"Marah," he said, his tone firm. "There is one more thing. A clause."
"Which is?" I asked, straightening my back in an attempt to look confident.
"I don't want Abigail to know about this agreement."
I tilted my head to the side quizzically.
"Why?" I queried, completely befuddled about what he just said. "Abigail should at least know about this."
"I rather she doesn't. It would complicate matters."
I stared at him for a moment. "How so?"
"It's one thing telling her I'm getting married to her best friend, it's another telling her the marriage is contractual." He cocked a brow in question. "Are you clear on that?"
I shook my head slowly. "I really don't."
"Telling her it's a contract marriage would lead to questions, and answers I wish not to let her know."
Like the question of "why Marah?"
It wouldn't be surprising if that was the first question she asked. I have little or no imagination of how I would react if I found out that my dad was getting to my best friend, but I had a feeling that I would ask the same question if I was caught in that situation.
"Alright," I said, shrugging his reply off. "What do we tell her then? We don't exactly have a story about us compelling enough to tell people."
"I do have a story."
My brows furrowed, demanding an answer. "You do?"
"Yes, and it's a real one but I don't think you remember. It's quite evident."
I pondered on what the story could have been and why I couldn't remember. I could bet on my life that I had only seen Richard whenever I was with Abigail and that was before he broke the streak when he came to see me at the coffee shop and brought up the contract. There was no way the story he was about to tell me was not contorted with lies.
"We met months before you knew Abigail."