Bound By Contract

Chapter Thirteen

Michael's P.O.V.

It has been a tumultuous few weeks since Christina stormed out of my study. I have never seen her that mad, and to be honest I didn't think she had it in her. But however much I like to avoid conflict, the day will come when we will have to face each other.

Today is the day when the planning for the wedding starts. I am sitting behind my desk in my study with my wedding planners making some rough ideas for the wedding.

"So what are your thoughts on it, Mr. Jackson?" asks William Miller, a famous wedding planner to the stars. He's done the weddings of Mariah Carey to Tommy Mottola, Cindy Crawford to Randy Gerber and many other celebrities. But he's not alone in this venture. I've hired three of the best wedding planners in the world to combine their thoughts and ideas and turn it into the most extravagant wedding known to man.

"I was thinking for the ceremony to be held here at Neverland. I want it big, I want it extravagant and I want it amazing. Money is no object."

"Does it have to be in Neverland, sir?" asked one of the wedding planners, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and tapping his pen to his lip rhythmically. "Could we do it at an English castle? We can have you married as a king, you know, sort of playing off the title you have of 'King of Pop'"?

"We have to find something that's really you." the second wedding planner said thoughtfully. He pauses. "What about... Disneyland?"

"Disneyland?" the other two wp's say in unison.

"Disneyland?" I pause a whole minute. The wp's are hanging on my response. "I love it!"

"We could have the ceremony at Sleeping Beauty's castle in the middle of the park," one says, feeding off of my enthusiasm.

"What do you think of fan involvement, Mr. Jackson?"

Their ideas are spewing out of them at a rate of a million times a minute, it's incredible how their minds work. That's why their the best in their field. I really like where this is going.

Christina's P.O.V.

My stomach is in pain as I stand on the podium in a makeshift studio/bridal shop exclusively for me in Santa Maria. Although based in New York, Michael commissioned the one and only top designer Vera Wang to make my dress. I can't tell if my stomachache is due to nerves or this absolutely dreadful situation I'm in.

A few young and overly enthusiastic assistants are taking endless measurements for what seems like hours, and from every angle possble. Everytime I'd move even slightly, I'd get a hold still, then they'd take even more measurements. Have they no compassion? They made me wear my heels for goodness sake!

In the middle of all the tugging and pulling, my mind wanders to three hours ago. I was lounging on my cheap couch, downloading some new songs from the newly launched iTunes store, which in my opinion has got to be the best thing invented since sliced bread, when I heard another annoying beep from my phone.

You have an appointment at 135 Westbrook Ave, Santa Maria in one hour.

Short and sweet. And very impersonal. It was from Michael's assistant Mindy, which I guess is also my assistant now, because she's the one who has sent me countless texts of where I am supposed to be and where. Like almost every other day my presence is wanted at Neverland, and although I'd rather not see Michael, I'm forced to suck it up and smile and be merry in the presence of others, but otherwise I avoid him at all costs. After what he said to me two weeks ago in his study, I don't think I could easily forgive him. But when we're together, even if it's against our will, even if the smiles are forced, deep down inside me, I feel something... something. I don't know what, but it's definitely something.

"Hi, Christina, I'm Vera. It's very nice to meet you," a petite asian woman says to me with her hand outstretched for me to shake. I guess measurements had finished while my mind had wandered, and I was left alone standing on the podium. I reach for Vera's hand and shake it, getting off of the pedestal.

"Oh, hi. A pleasure to meet you, too."

"Come have a seat," she offers, pointing to a small black round table in the far corner of the provisional studio. "First of all, let me congratulate you on your engagement and I am so honored that you chose me to design your dress," she starts as we sit down at the little table.

"Are you kidding me, thank you for coming out here especially for me!" I exclaim, even though I know I had nothing to do in choosing her as a designer, and I can't really take credit for her being here, so I should be the last person who she should be thanking. However I am absolutely amazed that she will be the one designing the MY wedding dress. And I am supposed to be acting, aren't I?

Vera laughs graciously, and opens a three-ring binder on the table and puts it in front of me. "So these are the ideas I've got, based on the instructions Michael sent me."

So he's even got what I will wear controlled. I sigh. I guess I couldn't really expect Vera Wang to design the dress I would want to wear to my wedding since that would be too much to ask. It isn't really my wedding now is it. It feels as if I am in a movie, just acting the part of the bride, going through the motions for the sake of the people watching. Not what I expected when got married.

I look down reluctantly into the pages down in the professional black binder. Two pages are layed out side by side. The first dress is absolutely stunning and I gasp in amazement. A white tight fitting later top dress with red and white jewels down the torso in a brilliant blaze. "What are these," I ask, pointing to the torso area.

"That," she stresses, "is the blaze arrangement that will be embroidered with rubies and diamonds. The other dress is all red silk, satin and lace strapless dress, with rubies and diamonds embroidered on it as well. Mr. Jackson stressed the importance of red in the wedding and insisted I incorporate the color in the dress somehow. But it's up to you, Christina to choose the dress you like, or tell me what changes you would like to the cut and fit."

She is silent for a few moments to let me ponder the two dresses. "The rubies and diamonds on them look like they will be stunning on both dresses, but I can't help to be more fond of the white fabric instead of the red." It is a wedding after all, I want to be in a white dress.

"I understand. So how about the cut, the train?"

"This cut is nice, the train seems way too long to be honest."

"The actual length of the train was a must for Mr. Jackson," Vera explains.

"Everything is fine then. I like the white dress and the strapless cut."

"Perfect," Vera says excitedly. "I'll be off to New York then right away to get working on this. Please do expect there to be more fittings. I'll be in contact," she says shaking my hand professionally and leaves hastily.

"Perfect," I sigh and sink back low into the plastic chair.

Christina's P.O.V.

We get out of our limo in silence and I follow Michael up the steep steps of St. Jude's Children's Hospital in Memphis. I don't know why we're actually on this trip, as now more than ever no one tells me anything. When Michael's bodyguards open the entrance doors for us, I unexpectedly feel him grab my hand.

"I thought girlfriends don't hold your hand," I say spitefully.

I don't think he was expecting anything to come out of my mouth judging by the way he whipped his head around and furrowed his brow at me. But as quickly as he did that, his countenance softened and he smiled sweetly. "You're much more than a girlfriend, Christina."

Unbelievable. I smile back, a little too late, and he stares at me, just a little too long. Fortunately flashes of light interrupt our exchange, and as we enter the double doors of St Jude's entrance Michael twists around to wave to the cameras and quickly gathering crowds.

I get out of the limo just as soon as it parks in front of the main house at Neverland, running past it quickly towards the movie house. At this house I feel like an outsider, and the worst thing about being an outsider is that there is nowhere I can go, nowhere that is my safe haven, a refuge, nowhere for me to go to just vent and feel safe. I'm constantly in someone else's turf and inevitably always alone.

After closing the door I find the theater seat that is front and center and sit down, pull my feet up to my chest and sulk. Here, no one gawks at me, I don't have to pretend I'm happy when I'm really not. Inside I feel like I'm screaming, trying to claw my way back out of an abyss, but instead of seeing the light again, I just seem to keep falling deeper into loneliness. I know now, that when I signed this wretched contract, I didn't have a clue what I was getting into.

"Christina!" I hear Michael's voice shout near the entrance of the theater. I don't turn around, I know we're alone and there's no having to pretend for anybody. I feel him sit down in the seat next to me.

"Christina, you can't just ignore me, you know," he says after taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He seems bothered.

I take a deep breath, his scent of cologne arriving to the delight of my nostrils just then. God, why does he have to smell so good?

"I can, and I have as a matter of fact." I shoot back.

"No, actually you can't. We have a wedding that we're in the final stages of planning. We have places and functions to attend. We have to be on the same page, and might I mention you are under contract, so you must deal with me."

"The contract, the contract, how can I forget the contract?" I say sarcastically. I'm on the brink of tears, I can feel it. "You won't let me forget it either, will you?"

It was his turn to sigh and sink into his seat. I could sit here and tell him exactly how I feel, but I am fed up. I know I have five long years left on my contract, but I do feel, in fact, fed up. I get up hastily and head for the door in hopes of avoiding him further, but I feel a firm hand pull me around by the arm.

He searches deep into my eyes for awhile, still holding my arm. He looks confused. He looks concerned.

Seeing his expression, I break into tears. I feel everything is just a little too much for me; for him to have been so sweet to me at times and at others so mean, exhausts me to no end. We have nice conversations, he can be so gentle and takes my hand, even gives me sweet kisses, you can even say leads me on, then he has me sign a ridiculous contract and is constantly reminding me that all we have together is indeed just a contract. He makes me feel so good at times, and at others so silly. I feel like I've literally been tossed around like a rag doll and it doesn't feel good. When is it an act, and when is he for real? I just don't know when to believe him, I just don't know...

I feel him take my other arm, gently this time and pull me close. His long arms wrap around me tightly. That makes me cry even harder; I needed a hug. Just not from him. God, not from him.

I feel him pull back from me slightly, I put my head down, blinded by my very own tears. His big hand cups my chin and lifts it up again, with his other hand he wipes my tears and I can finally open my eyes. I'm surprised and saddened to see a single tear fall from his right eye, and as it falls he brings his face close and rests his forehead on mine. I close my eyes again. This feels like a man who cares. Why can't I just believe him?

Suddenly I feel his lips pressing against mine, soft and warm. I am caught off guard, but feeling his warm lips part and kiss each lip tenderly, the touch of his hand gently cupping my face, the warmth of his body so close to me I suddenly feel safe; I feel home. I open my mouth in turn to willingly receive his soft kisses; I can feel him react to me, biting my lower lip delicately. I am tormented by my contradicting feelings, but just for now, I let myself live in the moment, enjoying the bliss that is being in Michaels arms.