Arranged to Him

Murderous Cousins

"Why is he mad I won't spend his money? Shouldn't he be grateful I am saving his money?" I asked confusedly, gently touching the costly dresses in our chosen shop. Waverly stood at the door, watching outside diligently, and ignored us.

"No, if he does not have you looking well cared for, then people will judge him. They know he's a billionaire, and what billionaire does not clothe his wife well? Everyone already thinks you are a mail-order bride. The last thing he wants is for them to confirm that rumor. You married him without a public dating phase, which is very rare in his realm, especially when he normally dates daughters of his business partners." She explained kindly, pulling out a dress that was much too long for me. All of these dresses were clearly for tall women like her.

"Billionaire?" I asked, sure I had misheard or mistranslated that word in my head.

"Surely you didn't think he was broke, right?" She said with a laugh. I was just frozen, shocked, and light-headed at that revelation's enormity.

I had not even possessed one hundred dollars before and taken that responsibility. How was I to be given access to such a vast wealth?

"Why me? He could've married anyone." I asked quietly as she pulled no less than twenty dresses out, handing them to a worker who appeared out of nowhere just to hold them. Esme didn't respond at first but, after a moment, sighed.

"I think after Amanda and how high maintenance she was, how fake and self-centered he was...he just wanted something real. Someone who could see past the dollar signs and just see him. Since you had no idea who he was, you could do that. You probably still can. I don't see you interested in the money like she was." I nodded and let her shove me into a dressing room to try things on.

I couldn't imagine going through life feeling like everyone only wanted me because of my money. It would be so lonely to be in a crowded room yet still feel alone. I often felt like that, but because my family hated me. I knew nothing of his friend who arranged the marriage, but I was sure he had to have met me before to realize that we had something so deep and so hard in common.

I looked in the mirror when I finally found a dress that was good for my height, and I didn't recognize myself. The dress was beautiful, and I looked like I could be on the cover of a magazine. There was no trace of the village girl left in the reflection. The dress was pure white and had a black ribbon on the back, bringing the dress against my shape perfectly; it fit like a glove and yet was long enough to be classy. I loved how the sleeves ran all the way to my wrists and didn't feel constricting. Esme came in and gasped, surprised and excited.

"You look so much nicer now. I doubt the paparazzi will have anything bad to say now." She said surely. I glanced out of the dressing room to see that; indeed, there were awkward old men standing around with massive cameras waiting outside the store for me like creeps.

"Great," I mumbled, annoyed at my interrupted shopping trip. I grabbed a few cute outfits, and Esme threw a few more in herself and went to check out, but the worker just smiled pleasantly.

"Oh, don't worry, we will put everything on Mr. Bramer's tab." The beautiful, tall woman said kindly. It was the first time I had ever seen anyone look at me with envy. Usually, they looked down at me with contempt and disgust since they didn't want people like me in their business.

"Why does he have a tab in a women's store?" I asked, shocked. She just shrugged, smiling like a robot.

"Don't be jealous. Lots of women want him, but you're the one who got him. He's never cheated on anyone." She told me, seeing my expression change, realizing his ex would have shopped here. He didn't even live here. Why was he having dates here with other women? It was shady at the very least and made me wonder what circumstances led him to agree to the marriage. Could he have been blackmailed by one of the girls and used marriage to me to cover some misdeed? It was all too convenient.