The Wrong Type: A Short Story Collection

7. The Trophy Wife - Part 1

Contains: Nothing major, he yanks her arm once.

When kids learned algebra and worried about boys I was taught about men. More specifically, rich men, so when my mother put me in a rental SUV and told me to do "Whatever he says," I knew it meant I was to act the pretty blond piece on Mr Belmont's arm.

Mick Belmont turned out to be a bit of surprise. For one, he was easy on the eyes, in a hot dad kind of way, with full head of hair and a large, heavy set body. All he ever talked about was work, but I didn't mind. His voice was like graphite, rough and deep and when he showed me the diamond ring under the pretty Moroccan sky I knew our arrangement was to become something more permanent, my future set, because I would've never said no. Not because of my parents, or money or anything other than the fact that I liked him. And in my naive twenty-three year old brain I thought maybe... maybe I could change him.

He never hid what he wanted from me. In his own words as we lay under the open dome sky, he told me. "Being my wife will be your job. It's not a bad bargain, is it, Miss Matthews?"

I looked up at him, at the big Mr Moneybucks in his forties who finally wanted a family, or at least a semblance of one, and I thought myself so lucky...

As it turns out he never wanted anything other than a pretty, little bimbo on his arm, to accompany him to dinners and banquets and more dinners and banquets until I got so sick of it I started to pretend I was ill, that I wasn't feeling myself, until at last he caught me red handed, lounging by the pool, a cocktail in one hand.

"This is what you do when you're so ill you can't get off the bed?" He was home early, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his pants creased, looking tired.

"I'm just a bit under the weather," I muttered, a little shame faced, then patted the sun lounger next to me. Perpetually empty. "Come lie down with me."

"I've got work, Kyla."

Shocker. Grateful for the sunglasses shading the hurt in my eyes I leaned back on the lounger.

Feeling his touch on my foot I slid off my shades and glanced up at him. I couldn't see his face in the sun, but my eyes meandered down his body of their own volition. Disappointed as I was with our marriage, I couldn't ever say no to sex with Mick. It was too good to pass up.

"Tell me what's wrong, Kyla. This has gone on long enough."

"I don't want to go to Lehman's," I admitted. They were worse than the Morgans, and the way Cathy Lehman looked her botched nose down at me was too much.

"We agreed-"

"I know," I said, interrupting him, his hand on my leg lowering my guard. "Just seems like that's all we do. Our marriage... it seems so hollow."

I felt the change in him rather than saw it. A wave of angry energy instantly putting me on guard. "Poor little Mrs Belmont, is she feeling hard done by?"

His touch left me and in the next instant I was yanked up roughly by my arm. His suit jacket thrown to the ground, his face close to mine.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I-"

"No. Don't go back on your words, Mrs Belmont. Am I hollow? An old, empty shell of a man who does nothing but work while you waste away his millions?"

We were teetering on dangerous ground. Wisely, I kept quiet, feeling as if anything I'd say would set him off.

"You know why I married you?"

I didn't want to answer, this felt like a trap, but I felt my own resentment building. He really thought the worst of me.