If my brother thought this version of natural would be a punishment to me, he’s sorely mistaken. Her hair smells fresh – I can smell it from where I stand – and perfectly clean. The natural coils are twisted into small dreadlocks and braided into a beautiful pattern on her head where the locks then hang in waist-length twists.
She’s breath-taking. Unlike any woman that I’ve ever dated or even bedded for the night. When you already have everything you could ever desire, what you want more than anything in the end is to feel like you’re different – and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.
Zack knows more about her background than I do, but I know from the instant I set eyes on Cullen that she is more than beautiful enough for me. I find her breathtaking. From her skin tone to her hair to her figure, to the way her features are set on her face. The deep dark brown tone of her eyes draws me in like a deep well. I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking as I consider her.
Most likely, she thinks I’m a cynical monster willing to buy a bride.
And she would be right. I simply didn’t think I wanted this. I would do just about anything to save money on taxes, so when Zack made the proposal, I barely considered the possibility that meeting my wife would impact me in any meaningful way. Standing face to face with Cullen, all my assumptions feel so foolish, totally disregarding the possibility that there could be any woman on the planet who might move me like this.
Is this what Zack expected? Or did my foolish brother think I would dash her away simply because of her skin color.
“Padraic Tyler, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Even the officiant shows a measure of concern that I might not answer “I do.”
Chapter Four
Cullen
Iexpected to close my eyes and wait for the ancient billionaire who bought me to “get it over with” when making our marriage official. I won’t get away that easily. Padraic Tyler isn’t ancient. His physical appearance is daunting and so attractive that he must beabsolutely insaneto use a government program to find a wife instead of looks that would cause any normal woman to melt. If I hadn’t signed a bunch of contracts, I would have been tempted to sprint out of the room the second I saw him.
But I feel too determined to go through with the marriage to confront how terrifying the reality of this arrangement has become. I didn’t knowwhoI would be marrying until the man their weird ass family paid to play my father walked me down the aisle. I panicked for a moment, mistaking the brother for the groom. But when I see him looking at me, scrutinizing the thick veil for clues to my appearance, I realize this is the man who will be my husband.
My body reacts immediately to his presence. There’s a moment of utter fear as he exposes my face and body through the veil. I resist his creepy, blue-eyed stare that roams all over me, yet leaves his face with a totally indiscernible expression.His hair is a light brown color, almost a sandy blond, but his eyebrows are a darker shade of brown that frame and highlight the pale blue eye color eating up my flesh.
Does it matter if your husband in an arranged marriage feels any attraction to you?
He says the words. We both say “I do” and then we sign all the documentation. We separate again, Zack taking me aside to the dressing room to remind me of the next part of the contract.
“There’s a nice room upstairs that he had made up specially – not the master bedroom. There’s an expectation that you two… consummate.”
My cheeks darken with humiliation. The only thing that makes this experience tolerable is that nobody I know is in the room with me. It’s like I’m living this fever dream side quest to get out of trouble in life and a part of me is pretending that I’m a character in a book, not a woman selling her sex to a crazy blue-eyed billionaire, who I’m now married to.
“Oh. Thanks…”
“Welcome to the family, Cullen. If you have any problems getting through to my brother, come talk to me and I’ll do my best.”
I wish I could appreciate his offer to help. I offer him a half smile and say thank you as much as possible – I think I muster up a squeak. We part ways at this point. Padraic Tyler has an entire workforce and two maids with neat buns lead me to the bedroom where I prepare to meet the billionaire about to ravish my body. They say very little to me and I give up making conversation quickly. They have their instructions which apparently don’t include much conversation.
I need help getting out of my wedding dress, but then they help me take a shower and wash my makeup off. It’sembarrassing at first, but I might as well get used to being naked in front of total strangers. How can I possibly have chemistry with a husband that I’ve never met? I don’t even know if Padraic felt any attraction to me, if he’s attracted to black women at all or if his desires lie along the lines of an evil or sick fetish rather than a craving to be with a different kind of woman.
Once they get me clean, one of the maids leaves the room and returns with a large white box. They open it and reveal what must be my wedding lingerie. This is what my new strange husband wants me to wear when he takes my body for the first time. I shiver with a strange sense of fear.
It’s too late for me to turn back, but I feel as if I’ve done something to myself that I will never be able to undo. The lingerie is ivory white. The lace bodysuit fits my curves perfectly. The underwear part of the suit features a pearl thong. The pearls are natural, in strange shapes, and they sit uncomfortably between my ass cheeks which feel suddenly too full. This feels like a Kardashian sort of world and I feel too thick and out of place here.
The maids pull the thick white ribbons holding the bodysuit against breasts tightly. I suck in, pulling air into my lungs and then shifting around so they could get my shape right. I’m scared to see what I look like. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like an object presented for a billionaire’s satisfaction. He wants my hair natural and my face bare, so they moisturize my skin and make me look like a pretty, natural, dark-skinned work of art for the white billionaire who bought my hand in marriage.
And my pussy.
“He wants you kneeling at the foot of the bed,” the maid announces once they’re done with me, using a detached tonethat only further objectifies me. My body belongs to this cruel billionaire now and there’s nothing I can do to change that.
There’s a thick fluffy white rug at the foot of the bed. I wonder if he put it there for me to kneel on specifically, or if it’s a part of the decor. He won’t even allow me into the master bedroom yet – that’s how objectified I am.
I kneel, like my new husband instructs and await his entrance, entirely afraid.
Chapter Five
Padraic