The Transient Wife

Chapter 4

"You didn't tell her," were Philip's first words when Kurt Anders answered his phone.

"I never planned to. Cassandra will not talk, Philip. I know my daughter. But she is one hell of a curious individual. She will want to know everything if I tell her what you said I should and I do not want her to know everything."

His jaw tightened. "And she is not curious enough now? She does not believe the crappy tale of an arranged marriage, Anders. We can get into more trouble if your daughter's curiosity gets in the way."

"Cassandra will most probably spend the entire six months inside a room with her canvas and paints. She has an exhibit coming up soon. She will be very busy. Before she starts to wonder about the hell she is in, it will be over and she won't ever have to know about it. For now, you simply have to do what I asked you to do. We had a deal."

"If she gets in trouble, it is not my fault."

A long silence reigned from the other end. "Keep her safe and your friend gets everything."

Philip shook his head. "And they know? About the marriage?"

"Yes, I relayed the news."

"How did they take it?"

"You are asking if they are still watching you?" Philip did not reply and waited for Anders to continue. "Of course they are. You have to keep playing the game, Philip. We can't have them doubting us both now."

"No," he said in a cold voice, "You keep playing the game, Anders, or we are both dead before we know it."

"Of course, of course. Just keep marry my daughter, seal our family's union and keep her safe. You are new to this game, but this is how things work. We make commitments beyond business."

Philip shook his head. "Give your daughter a pep talk. I don't want to babysit a child," was all he said and he ended the call.

*****

Cassandra didn't really have anything to wear to an elegant dinner. Sure, she attended events and all, but that was before two years ago. Lately, she was just not into socializing and it was now a problem because all she could see inside her walk-in closet were just shirts—a lot of it—some tattered or paint-stained pants, shorts, boots, scarves, sweaters, and more of the same things but no dresses of any kind.

Out of desperation, she remembered her basement and ran all the way down barefooted. The boxes were still there—including the one that contained the white gown she never got to use. Trying her might not to look at the box where her worst memories had been hidden for years, she busied herself through the bigger brown boxes and finally found the one labeled DONATION: CLOTHES which she never got to hand out since she was still figuring out which charity would accept such clothes. Opening the box, she heaved a sigh of relief that the plastic coverings were still intact. She took a black evening dress which she only wore once, closed the box before she saw another one which would just create further confusion, and ran back upstairs. It was already six and she hadn't showered yet. Smelling the dress, she contemplated for a moment, shrugged and went to grab her strongest perfume and sprayed some on the dress. Contented, she dropped the dress on her bed and looked for the pair of black pumps she got from her mom last Christmas, ones she never got to use.

After her shower, she dried her hair and did the usual hair and make-up, dressed, put on her diamond stud earrings and no other jewelries since they made her itch, and waited for her future husband to ring her door. She doubted at first if he knew where she lived but remembered that he already got her phone number so why not her address?