Arranged(69)

As I spoke he watched me intently. His eyes were so soft. All that cold gray had gone melting warm.

Why were they melting at me? Why were they melting me?

“Can I ask you something?” he asked me. “I’m not trying to fight, I want to keep this truce. I’m just curious.”

“That sounds ominous, but go for it.”

“Why’d you do it?”

I couldn’t help it, I flinched just the slightest bit. Things were going so well. Why did he want to drag this up? It was bound to happen sooner or later, I supposed.

I chose my words carefully. “I guess I saw the writing on the wall. Models are a dime a dozen. We’re throwaway creatures. For most of my career, I’ve shared a tiny room in a tiny apartment with eight other girls.”

“You make good money,” he pointed out.

My mouth twisted bitterly. “I make great money now. And I did well enough before, I suppose, but most of the money I’ve made has gone toward my family, in one way or another.”

“Tell me about them. Your parents.”

Eyeing him warily, I did. “My dad was laid off at his job at GM exactly one week after my mom was diagnosed with bone cancer. I had the opportunity to move to New York for modeling. I did it. I wanted to be with her, but I felt useless staying when I could leave and help make ends meet.”

“Jesus. How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Is that even legal?”

I shrugged. “My parents agreed to it, so yes, and my agency helped me get set up in an apartment, like I said, with eight other girls. For that they got a percentage of my jobs, and what I didn’t need for food or transportation, I sent back to my dad. Every spare cent I made went to my mother’s bills. None of it saved her. My dad swore it helped, but it clearly didn’t help enough. My mom didn’t last a year.”

“My god. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes I regret leaving her. I was so busy working to help that I didn’t see her much in the end. And when she was gone, I still didn’t go back home. I wanted to stay busy. Distract myself out of my grief, ya know? So I stayed, kept working, figuring my dad still needed help with his bills anyway.”

“You were a good daughter.” He had the grace to look sheepish. “I’d heard they passed, but not all the details. Tell me the rest.”

“On March 26th.” I saw him flinch at the date, the same day as our wedding. “The two year anniversary of my mother’s death, my dad’s crappy old truck broke down on the side of the road. It was below freezing and his cell didn’t have any service. He fell asleep in his truck and never woke up. Strangers found him a full day later. I was saving up to get him a better car. I was too late by two months,” I finished bitterly. “After that I became obsessed with planning for a better future. I planned how to never be two months behind surviving again.”

He stroked my hair comfortingly and I let him. And I kept sharing.

“Modeling’s a volatile industry. We’re young, vulnerable, and for sale. This business is full of corruption, especially for a single girl without any protection. Not a good scene. When I lost my parents, I felt very alone. And far from safe. I didn’t have anyone. I was so alone. That’s why I’d never had a drink before the wedding. The parties my agency sent me to . . . I was afraid of being drugged. It happened to girls all the time, and they’d just shrug it off, like it was part of the job. I wasn’t willing to shrug that off. Modeling’s not known for its job security. And say I get a nasty scar or gain fifteen pounds. It’s all over. I won’t even get into how fast I’ll age out of it.” I paused. “I wanted security.”

“You could have tried to find security and love.”

I stared at him. “How naive do you think I am?”

“Touché.”

“I’ve seen how it works. Models are treated like commodities to rich men. I decided to make that work in my favor. I wanted to matter,” I continued. “People like you matter. People like me and my family suffer and die tragically and no one cares. Both of my parents died with only me to mourn them. If I became one of you, I knew the world would care when I died.

Anyway, I heard of the Bride Catalogue somewhere along the way. Models talk about it a lot in certain circles, though none I knew ever admitted if they’d submitted their profiles for it. You know, sometimes when girls disappear into harems for a few years, I always wonder if that was the Catalogue. And of course whenever I see a model in her prime hooking up with an eighty-year-old billionaire, I do wonder if it was the Catalogue that set it up. Regardless of all the rumors, though, I was always reassured that the girls had the final say in the arrangements. By the time I turned eighteen, I’d already made up my mind. It certainly turned out differently than I pictured. No one’s ever going to suspect us. You’re too young and gorgeous for anyone to believe you’d need or want to buy a bride.”

“I wasn’t the only one who saw your profile,” he pointed out. “You know there was a bidding war.”

I couldn’t hold back the barest flinch. “I’d heard there was some attention, but I’d never heard it worded precisely that way. Do you think someone will talk?”

“No,” he said after a time. “No one bidding would be well served by outing the Catalogue. Well? Did it work out how you’d hoped? Does this make you feel safe?”