Arranged(45)

“Have a great day, Banks!” Jovie shouted cheerfully at my swiftly retreating back.





CHAPTER





TWENTY





NOURA


After my husband left like my apartment had caught fire, I didn’t expect to hear from him again anytime soon.

I tried not to think of him again that day, but when I did my lips and fingers trembled. If I didn’t turn my mind in another direction, the shaking moved to my hands, my arms, my shoulders. Usually I had enough self-control to stop it there, but in weak moments, when I let my mind stick on messy thoughts of him, it kept going, that trembling. It throbbed through me, always unpleasant at first, but if I let it keep going, let it move to my chest, the tips of my breasts, to my churning stomach, my aching loins, that’s when it became truly disturbing and not so very unpleasant at all.

And worse, my mind kept going back to the way he’d stood up for me with Asha. Why had he done that?

And why did it weaken me so? It didn’t change anything. One kind act didn’t change the hard facts: My husband held my whole life in his careless hands, and he did not feel one soft thing toward me.

Luckily I had a busy day. I didn’t have two spare seconds to rub together. It helped.

I was one of the lucky models selected for the VS fashion show. It was the runway event of the year. The most televised, viewed, obsessed over walk in the world. And, thanks to my fake marriage and newfound fame, I’d been selected to model two looks.

The show was coming up in mere days, and prep was well underway. The fittings lasted more than ten hours, and I was utterly exhausted by the end.

Presumable, it may have been a shorter day if not for a drawn out argument between the VS people and mine. I heard (indirectly—through Asha, of course) that my husband (or my handlers, it was never clear which) wanted me to only model all white/cream looks that covered X amount of my skin, and they were insisting on full approval rights.

The VS designers wanted me in one black, one white outfit, and they weren’t backing down on how much of my skin they wanted to show.

Eventually, late into the afternoon, Asha finally took a bathroom break.

“Just agree to what they’re saying and then put me in whatever you want,” I said quietly to Marian, the designer.

There were three other women in the room with me—Marian, who was working furiously on modifications on her laptop, a tailor fitting giant white feathered wings to my back, and another down at my feet measuring my legs for the thirtieth time.

They all froze.

“You’re okay with that?” Marian asked tentatively.

I rolled my eyes, shrugged and smiled. “My husband is being unreasonable, newlywed stuff I’m sure, but he’ll get over it, I promise. Just do what you planned, and whenever Asha makes some ridiculous request, act like you’re going along, and continue exactly as you please. It’s what I do.”

“You’re an absolute doll,” she told me with a conspiratorial grin.

After that, we were done within half an hour. I only wished I’d thought of it sooner.

I got home at eight p.m. I’d skipped lunch and dinner. Being measured in your underwear for ten hours was an unbelievably effective appetite suppressant. I was starving by then, but I was planning to ignore my hunger in favor of a good night’s sleep. It was the perfect day for it. More often than not, Jovie talked me into staying up late to watch something with her, but she had a shoot across town that she’d texted me was going to run late into the night. I was planning to responsibly take advantage of her absence and make an early night of it.

I forgot all those plans the second I walked in the door. My apartment wasn’t empty.

My husband was back. He was standing about ten feet from the front door.

I was wearing sweat pants, a hoodie, and a ball cap. He was wearing black jeans and a distressed charcoal gray pullover that hugged his shoulders and skimmed his collarbone. His wavy black hair was pushed carelessly back from his face. There was extra scruff on his jaw.

He was fallen angel beautiful. I wanted to lick him, head to toe.

His hands were in his pockets, eyes predatory. It seemed the feeling was mutual.

“Hello, Calder,” I said. I wanted to pat myself on the back for how steady the words came out. Nothing else about me felt steady. My pulse was rioting loud enough to fill the room.

“Call me Banks,” he corrected.

My brows rose. I knew why he’d ordered me to call him Calder at our wedding. I even agreed with it. His friends and family called him Banks and as far as he was concerned I was neither of those things.

What I didn’t understand was why he was changing it now. It seemed like a trap. I wasn’t falling for it.

I opened my mouth to reply, but his eyes had moved past me. “Leave us. She won’t need you again tonight,” he said curtly.

I didn’t need to turn to see it; I felt Chester’s reluctance as he left. Everyone else had already retired for the evening.

We were alone.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Calder asked me after the door shut behind me with a decisive click.

I almost lied. I tried to, but I was too hungry and intrigued not to see where this was going. “No.”

He smiled at me. Why was he doing that? It was only us in the room. “I brought takeout from Omar’s.”