The Blackmail Bride

Chapter 20

Let me just add a little more dilemma to this story as if Isla doesn't already have enough on her plate. Muah!

Conspiracy

Take her advice and earn his trust. And decide afterwards what to do with that trust.

I had wanted one thing out of this marriage. It wasn't trust. It was respect.

But respect was earned.

Trust was earned.

And in this paradox called life, how did you earn any of those anyway?

The Porter family is already benefiting so much from your wedding announcement, so keep a bit for yourself and make the marriage bearable for yourself.

What could I keep for myself?

How did one make marriage bearable?

Bearable. I was unlikely to forget that word anytime today. But it 'kind of' made sense when you took it from the fact I was raised was based on a complex set of moral standards that meant tittering at the edge of illegal and immoral means.

Ridiculous as it would sound, I had observed my parents during our breakfast. Mother had attended to my father's every need during the long thirty minutes. In return, he had complemented the way my mother had looked.

Which meant what exactly?

My analytical brain was failing me. I could not, for the life of me, take it in a relationship perspective.

Then I remembered how I brought Jace his lunch on an everyday basis, which seemed to mirror when my mother served my father. I recalled further, Jace always thanked me for the food and made sure to finish his plate... but I don't remember him remarking on me physically.

I approached the full-body mirror I had and gave myself an appraisal. Today, I was in a round-neck chiffon blouse and plain blue skinny jeans. I had on my favorite pair of white Adidas and my dark hair in a low ponytail. I was bare-faced and my blue eyes were popping with dark eyebags beneath. My red lips were chapped. Taken as a whole, I looked young.

In comparison to my perpetually-elegant mother, what complement did I want?

It was a dilemma. And in the end, I sighed and started shrugging off my top. I should wear a dress in the least. My first choice was a form-hugging wine Burberry bandage dress. V-necked and showing half an inch of my barely-existing cleavage. It had sleeves that went to my elbows and the length stopped just above the knee. It would look good with pointed heels—but then, no. There was nothing left t the imagination with how skintight the dress was, and it looked better worn at a club. I didn't go out at night. Seriously, who bought this?

It took four tries and I settled for a floral red dress by Ralph Lauren. Empire waist and lace-rimmed bell sleeves. It was modest and feminine and showed just the amount of leg I was willing to show. I paired the dress with one of my slanted- heel point-toe black ankle boots from Prada. The ponytail was discarded, and my straight hair was brushed to a shine. Then lip gloss. The final accessory was a pair of 2-carat diamond studs that I received from Grandma—just because I thought it would appease her considering last night.

I eyed the lady in the mirror and smiled. The consolation was that at least, she still looked like me—only more mature and feminine.

But the smile quickly turned into a frown.

How was this supposed to help me get his trust? Or was this to gain complements from him? And what was that that grandma said last night? She had designed me to catch Jace's eye...