Arranged: Bound By Contract (girlxintersex)

Chapter 43

Chapter 43
Stella POV

How to be a wife? I grumbled as I browsed through the Google search results. Something daring pricks my heart. I've never had something reach out to me like that before.

Being a wife stems from the heart.

I was skimming over a few of the phrases and reading aloud what really resonated to me.

To be delighted to satisfy your husband.

Wanting to see your husband happy, and the same goes for him.

I wonder if this applies to us. It was prearranged. We didn't bump foreheads and look into one other's unfathomable eyes, and fell in love and married. In a sense, we were forced on each other—well, more accurately, she pushed on me.

But maybe I should stop looking at it that way.

I need to look at it from a new aspect. I jotted down a note on my phone's screen. In the title, I wrote. "How to Be a Wife?"

1. Cancelled the arrangements.

I should definitely quit believing that she owns me. I should quit worrying about that ridiculous deal. It was Saturday, so she was sleeping. I look over to the contract that was on the stand. I got out of bed, picked it up, and shoved it into the drawer. Out of sight, out of my mind.

2. Quit trying so hard to be a wife.

It's probably not that difficult. I jotted down a few additional steps.

But my gaze keeps returning to number two. I intended it in an ethical sense. I gazed at her. I don't think I've treated her with respect. I am aware of this, but I choose to turn a blind eye—spitefully.

She seemed serene. How could I not adore her? Because I do not. I do not want to. I don't want to be trapped—ok! Stop thinking of my marriage as a trap. It's not a trap. What if she truly loves me? Could she not? We do not know each other. I chuckled aloud to myself.

I was clearly insane as I stared at a sleeping woman, debating if I loved her or whether I should force—no.

I do not want to use those terms anymore. Trap, control, and force. I want them out of my vocabulary when it comes to our marriage.

It should be cheerful, courteous, and free. I grinned. I am free. I am free. I am free! She doesn't own me and I don't own her. We're there for each other. But I don't love her. Yes! It's just been two weeks; I can't possibly love her, and she can't possibly love me—but I do! I don't love her.

Get over yourself, Stella! I stared at her again. She looks stunning. She constantly sleeps with her face toward me and some portion of her body touching mine.

presently her fingers were tenderly clutching on my waistband. I gently grab her hand and guide it back there. I certainly despise her. I do not love her and will never love her. But I aspire to be the best wife. The wife of all wives. Thank you, Mom. You're a bitch, but I get what you're saying. I re-positioned myself in bed. Sleep has gradually returned to me.
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I wake up, and yesterday seems like a dream. I feel something in my tummy. As if I were missing something. My eyes widened as it tracked across to the bed, which was vacant.

My eyeballs sprang out. I leaned over for my phone because I was too terrified to breathe in her aroma. It was 1pm in the afternoon. Breakfast! And why didn't she wake me? She typically did.

I checked my phone again, seeing messages from my friends, but I pulled the notification away; something told me most of those messages wouldn't be all lovely stuff about Mateo. Not when everyone despised her. She must feel good about it.

I find myself downstairs when I haven't seen her in her office. I entered the kitchen, where she was, with Nathalie.

Mateo appeared to be in her own universe. While overwhelmed by the strength that Mateo exuded, Nathalie appeared to be ready to disappear entirely from the face of the planet.

"Morning...well afternoon." I greeted.

Both eyes glanced at me. Nathalie sighs with relief. She appeared to be struggling to accept that I was still alive.

"You're okay."

"Why wouldn't she be?" Mateo asked before I could. Her face turned pale, and she did not respond until she hugged me.

"I assumed she killed you and stuffed your body into the closet."

I smiled and gently shook my head. "I will most likely murder her." I squared up to Mateo. I believe I am capable of taking her on. My smile faded. I didn't get up early enough to prepare breakfast. However, as I opened my eyes and spotted the empty dish in front of her, I knew she ate.

"Did you cook for her?"

Nathalie shook her head. "She cooked. I eat. She cooks better than I."

"Really?"

"Yep. I'm so jealous. But she's terrifying. She literally watched me eat."

"This seems like something she would do."

"I'm right here," she said.

I walked up to her. Her focus on her phone.

However, when I began speaking with her, she switched it off and slipped it inside her sweatpants. No suits. No work, I assumed.

"I don't think you are scary." I grinned. She grinned.
"I believe you are awful."

Her smirk lowered. "I believe you are drop dead stunning."

"And I thinks you're hideous."

I let out a big gasp. "You are expected to say something nice." I said, my smile trying not to show through. How had I missed the possibility that her facial characteristics may be softened? Her eyes were not like harsh silver bullets, but rather a cooler tone. I wanted to gently kiss her. No lust. Just gently draw her in, taking my time to feel her delicate skin.

Stare into her eyes and slowly bring my lips to hers. Ah! Shut up! Maybe one gentle kiss won't indicate I adore her. I go in on my own, slowly and steadily, ready to win the kiss if only there was a clear throat—the sound of a throat destroying it. I looked over to Nathalie. I forgot about her.

I stood up. "I need to shower."

"And I should leave; I have some flowers to tend to."

Her expression is one of a little infantile smile. I rolled my eyes, irritated by it. She slowly began to reverse her steps, which led her to the front entrance. I followed in her footsteps.

"what's so funny." I scoffed.

"You like her." She let out a teenage-sounding giggle.

I scoffed, as a defiant adolescent would, when she said she didn't have a crush. "I don't."

She giggled more, and it was pure divine. It makes me feel pure in heart and flushed on the cheeks. Now I'll be thinking about it all day, or at least for the remainder of the day, given that I dreamed it all away.

"I like you both; it's lovely." Her nose crinkled in a charming, playful way. "So adorable!" Her giggle became louder.

"Stop it. I do not like her."

"Well, then it's love." She pulled the door open and ran out. I went out the door. She had already crossed over my grass and onto hers.

I cried, "Maybe!"

Her giggling could be heard even after I shut the door. As I turned on my feet, my back was shoved at the door, and my lips were gently covered. I almost melted during the kiss. Okay, I like her just a little bit. However, I kissed her in the same way I would kiss my first love, if I ever had one. Where we didn't use too much tongue, we usually glided gently, with our lips and hands moving in non-sexual spots, but enough to create tension—the magical kiss—the kisses of all kisses.