Chapter 3
Charmiene sat, back facing the door. She had grown weary of banging on it. Why was she dazed? It was true she expected to marry a sickly Ammitel, but believe it or not, Ammitel was no naive man. He was rumored to be very spiteful and egocentric, and she had already anticipated an ill marriage.
The only difference between her present suffering and the one she would have had, supposing she got married to Ammitel, was the one melting out the punishment. She took a deep breath and calmed her nerves. She had to be on her best behavior; Diana was still held captive by this man. Whatever it took to make sure Diana was safe, she would do it.
If he thought she was a gold digger, all she'd do would be to clarify that she wasn't. Explain to him that she was just a contracted wife, nothing more.
The room she was thrown into was dark and very cold, and she was shivering. Slowly she felt the wall for the light switch and turned on the light. Wearily, she made her way to the undressed white mattress and slept curled up, with her long veil a form of covering for her.
In the morning, when Aeshuma came into the room to wake up his new bride, he was stunned to see her sleeping on the bed. She seemed well-rested, like one without worries, and it infuriated him suddenly. He pulled her up, and in a wrong turn of events, she landed gracefully on his chest. He stood dazed for a while, allowing himself a few moments with her lying on his body before pushing her away.
"Wake up, Lottie," he said to her, mustering every fiber in his body to seem mean and condescending.
"Good morning, Aeshuma. How was your night?" she said, her voice soft and graceful. He was taken aback.
A night in a dark, cold room was enough to make anyone hostile, at least to some extent. But she was unfazed.
"Shut up; surely you didn't expect to be married and dormant. I'm hungry; cook something for me," he said, turning his back to leave.
"What would you like to eat then?" she said quietly.
"Figure it out yourself," he said and left the room.
Still dressed in her wedding dress, she walked to the kitchen to prepare something for her dear husband to eat. It was part of the things she decided to do from last night. She would clarify the misunderstanding, and she would treat him with kindness.
Hadn't Diana said kindness was the best way to change a man? She would try to be humane to an inhumane man to teach this brute tenderness.
In the kitchen, she found some chefs and maids each performing various tasks. Some washed, some chopped, while others cooked.
"Good morning, Mrs. Aetheris," one of the maids said.
"I see you're still in your wedding dress. Please come with me," she continued, leading the way to a nice, beautiful room.
The room had dresses, shoes, makeup, and hair products. Charmiene soon found out that all of it belonged to her, the wife of Mr. Aetheris. She was told to pick whatever dress she wanted, and a bath was prepared for her.
After freshening up, she wore an apron over the peach v-neck peplum dress and made her way into the kitchen to help prepare her husband's meal. After preparing the food, she made her way into Aeshuma's room. She didn't knock; she didn't see the need to—after all, he was her dear husband.
"Dear husband," she said as she entered unannounced.
He was sitting, chest bare, on his bed. Charmiene observed him. His back was scarred, and on it was a tattoo of a huge skull and words written in Latin.
"Nec tecum nec sine te vivere possum," it read.
She was inclined to ask what it meant and what had happened to him, but she thought better of it. He had tattoos sleeve-length—one of an African woman's buttocks and the other a mixture of many things.
"He is quite vulgar and bold," she thought to herself.
"Are you done staring?" he said to her. She was flustered.
"I'm not staring," she said, stuttering.
"I brought your food," she continued.
"You can keep it on the table," he said.
He was smoking a pipe. As she walked past him to the mahogany table, she looked briefly at his side profile. He was handsome. He had a fine face, a neatly carved jaw, hazel siren eyes, and a beautiful mustache and goatee combo. She turned to leave, but he caught hold of her hand.
Slowly he ran his fingers from her face to her chin, sharply raising them to his gaze.
"I hope you haven't poisoned my food, Lottie," he said coldly.
She almost laughed. How on earth did he come up with such nonsense? He was giving her ideas. Where on earth would she get poison from? Wasn't she locked away till this morning when he, in all his grace, came to free her?
"I'll do a poison taste if that'll make you feel better, dear husband," she said, amused.
"What if you already have the antidote? For all I know, it may be in your mouth, ready to be swallowed," he said sharply, his brows furrowed like one in doubt.
"That doesn't make sense at all, my darling husband. This is real life, not some movie or Bollywood nonsense," she said, freeing herself from his grip.
She walked to the table where the food was set and had a taste of all of it. He watched her anxiously. She stood before him for as long as it took for him to be convinced that the food wasn't poison.
"Take it out; I won't eat it. I don't trust you," he said, sprinkling more tobacco into his pipe.
She couldn't help but laugh. With all his macho, he was really afraid that a frail woman he had married and locked up the previous day would poison his meal.
The chefs that prepared the meal were really exotic. The meal was heavenly, and without a second thought, she took the tray, sat on his bed, and ate his food, exclaiming out loud how tasty it was.