The Marriage Contract (PUBLISHED!)

Chapter Seven

To say I was nervous- would be an understatement.

My hands clenched and unclenched under my thighs, as I stared out the window of James's car, watching the evening horizon dim to a deep lavender. The warm winds kissed my cheeks, as I exhaled a deep breath, wanting my heart to still its tumultuous beat.

"You gonna puke?" asked James. "You look like you're about to any second now."

I turned towards him, my eyes narrowed at his carefree posture. One hand rested on his thigh, while the other lazily drove on the highway, his head nodding to a chirpy pop song from the radio.

"I can't do this," I said. "I can't lie to all of them and pretend like I'm in love with you. This is wrong—"

He chuckled. "It's a bit too late to object. You signed the papers. And besides, we need each other. Anyways, you should see this whole pretending to love me act, as a kind of school project. You're an acting major, so this'll be fun for you. Chill out--"

I snapped my eyes to his.

"How did you know that?" I asked. "That I'm an acting major. How did you?—"

He rolled his eyes. "Quit being a kid. I obviously did some research."

"Right," I said. "That's kind of creepy."

He laughed. "Is it?"

His smile extended in an upward curl, his lips parted, revealing a wide grin, as the evening light gave his teeth a pearlescent glow. The warm winds brushed back his loose bangs, which danced over perfectly arched brows. His lips, full and inviting, pursed together in a line, and when my gaze rose to meet his milky brown stare, I blinked.

"You want to wipe that water off your mouth, sweetheart? You're drooling."

My cheeks reddened, as I looked away, feeling my heart drum loudly. I had no idea why I was staring at him, but something about his face was so unnerving, that I didn't want to look away. Of course, I would never admit that to him- his ego was big enough.

"You have something on your nose," I lied. "It's disgusting. I wasn't staring at you. I was staring at...your...booger."

I cringed. I hadn't used that word since I was ten, and it was really the stupidest word on the planet, but there I was, using it. Was my brain taking a break today or something?

I glanced towards him, and frowned when he began to laugh, almost choking in the process.

"You're cute," he said, laughing. "Oh, I forgot to mention. There are a few people you need to know before actually meeting them. Hold on."

I stared blankly, as he took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, throwing it at me. The paper landed on my lap, and before the wind could whisk it away, I picked it up, opening it. Holding the sheet in both hands, I stared at the contents, looking over pictures of seven strangers, who sat on the white document, gaping at me.

"Who are they?" I asked, looking over the document once more.

He exhaled a deep breath. "The person on the very top- is my grandmother, Gweneth Bellevue, but if she likes you, she'll demand that you call her carrot. She loves carrots- that's the only explanation I have for that ridiculous nick name. The person below her- is my father, Edmund Bellevue, and if he likes you, you probably will never know it. You see, he invented the word 'poker face'. Not literally, but you know what I mean. The lady below him is his wife, Rosaline Bellevue, but was once known as Rosaline Rogers, from another marriage. She's my stepmother. There's not much to say about her, except that she's like an expired piece of cake. On the outside, she's all sweet, but then, when you get to the inside, you realize she's rotten. Steer clear of her, Dorothy. Anyways, moving on. See that guy just below her, he's Rosaline's son, Tate Rogers. He's an alright guy, but keeps mostly to himself. I think he studies art in some community college, but I'm not sure. He's a weird one. The one below him- is Bethany Rogers, Rosaline's daughter, and someone I care for. I'd do anything for that brat. She's a freshman in high school, and I hate it. She's growing up too quick...anyways, forget that. The last and final person on that list- is George Bellevue, my Grandfather. There's not much to say about him, except that he's a nice, square, decent guy. He has a drinking problem though, and I'm not referring to alcohol. He loves mango juice, and drinks too much of it. The doctor told him to stop, but we all know he sneaks a drink every other day when he can get away with it. Anyways, getting back to the point...when they ask you how we met, tell them it was love at first sight or something equally sappy. Make up a story if you want. Got it?"
He spoke slowly the entire time, as though speaking to a child, and I listened, soaking the words in like a sponge. I took his words in with a grain of salt, because he had to be exaggerating about some of the stuff he said, like comparing his stepmother to expired cake.