Choices. Everyone in the world had a choice. It didn't matter what the choice entailed; a person had one even if it appeared insignificant. Sometimes though, choices were forced down upon a person, choices which were able to destroy or derail a life. But what if, even a forced choice got taken away? What did one do when the mind believed in a way out but the heart whispered it impossible?
The reasoning tap-danced inside Milira's skull, replaying like a sick accord. Her mind and heart fought over the choice she supposedly recieved. The irritating need to nibble on her fingernails overwhelmed her as her hand rose to her mouth. Milira cursed, slapping her hand down onto the stone railing of her private balcony. She never understood why her mother had the nervous habit, up until now. Jeez, how she wished she smoked or drank, at least it might numb her mind.
Outside, the indivisible tip of a paintbrush, tinted the sky with tranquil water colors of ginger, reds and blue-purple light. A flock of birds added a pinch of black to the canvas. She wanted to soar with the birds and become unreachable to those on the ground. With a sigh, she leaned forward on her elbows, the cold stone traveling up the length of her arms, cooling her hot skin.
She stood on the balcony until the first twinkle of stars dusted the sky and her mind ached from thinking. She turned and stepped into the room. I need a second opinion. A mother's opinion. Her mother would stand by her regardless of the consequences but she faltered when she reached for her cell. How did she recite her uncle's traitorous actions to her grieving mother when his secrets still rattled her? Maybe she could fake it and tell her mother she fell in love?
Who am I kidding? Mom would smell a rat.
No. She would need to be honest with her mother. At least she could present solid facts to her mother. She considered the pros and cons.
Pros included providing everyone living and working on the Darken Estate a stable future for the next two years. It also included, much to her ire, the settlement of the enormous debt her uncle owed. Her own future would be free from debt, and she could find her niche in life. She would be free from Kelpmonth's clutches and be able to keep the Darken Estate in the family.
The cons were fewer but outshone the pros. She would be forced to be a doting wife who went unloved. Damon Carleton, despite his dashing good looks and magnetic physique, didn't appear pleased with her. Whatever his reasons for agreeing, he didn't do it with high expectancy. She couldn't visualize them greeting one another after a long day and chatting over dinner much less carry out a day-to-day routine together. Dear Lord, what if he wanted to have sex with her? Hell, she would fall into his bed the moment he batted his thick eyelashes at her.
They could learn to get along. Be friends. She huffed and flopped down on her bed, giving her phone another glance. She reached for it and dialled her mother's number before she could rethink the action.
* * *
Two hours of painstaking chit-chat, fact checking, and back and forth was spent with her mother on her cell. By the hour mark, Milira switched to speaker because her cell become overtasked and hot. She listened to her mother taking a deep breath. Her mother searched all the corners of her brain to find a solution but none equalled success. Though, Milira admired her mother trying to shift the world for her daughter. The effort her mother showcased made her realise that she did have someone baking her. She wasn't alone.
Somewhere along the way, the dam wall broke and she began sobbing. Half of a box tissues laid scattered across the floor and duvet. In her room, with her mother, she could be herself and inside the walls, her facade cracked and the realization sunk deeper. She wanted to believe she was delusional and that it was all a dream, but her mother subtlety pushed her to stare reality straight in the face.
If my body consists of eighty present water than then I'm sure I'm down to only five.
"Mom, am I doomed?" she asked, her lower lip quivering.
"Darling, you're not doomed. You may feel that way now, but tomorrow could deliver a different outlook."
Her mother injected optimism into her tone but it didn't have the same fire she got used to hearing from her. They were both tired, betrayed and broken. Milira's eyes fluttered close. She licked her salty lips, and wiped at her nose before she exhaled and took the inevitable plummet.
"I have to accept, don't I?"
There was silence from her mother followed by an intake of calm. "My angel. I cannot answer the question for you. Nor is it my choice to make. I can tell you that two years can fly by like a dream. You may not even see Damon much. But, if you can't fathom agreeing, then my darling, rest assured, we will figure out another plan."
Another wave of tears overcame her. She had a wonderful mother. Thus, she needed to take care of their future. A child would cling to her mother's last world and try to toughen it out, but Milira knew the state of her mother's bank accounts and her own. To figure out another plan meant drowning in debt until they both died. She couldn't allow it. She should've agreed the moment Dean broke the news because everyone present in the room, including her inner voice, knew there no other possibilities existed. All she did is stall.
I'll marry Damon Carleton. I'll be his faithful wife. And when the time comes, I'll leave with my head held high and never look back.
"Thanks, mom." She gathered her strength, threw her legs over the side of her bed and switched on the bedside lamp. "I love you mom," the words squeaked out of her mouth as if her mother laid on her deathbed and the world ended.
"I love you to." her mother replied, her voice thick with emotion.
She tossed the phone next to her and stared out in front of her. Throughout the entire conversation she didn't once hear her mother mention her uncle or his deceit. Her mother talked circles around the true damaged her brother did.
The bond Alexander and Sheila shared ran deeper than Milira could ever wish for in her own relationship with Alexander. Both brother and sister chewed rocks together, which forged their family relationship tighter than sticky glue on flypaper. Needless to say, Milira couldn't worry about it at the moment. For now, her focus needed to be on her future, the future of her mother and the servants serving under her.
Strong, hard, guarded, these masks needed to be slid into place if she planned on surviving.
* * *
12th January 2015
The oak door loomed over her like a giant ready to take her by the throat and gulp her down into its belly. She looked to her sides and contemplated running away for the last time before sticking her chin out, and knocking on the ivy detailed door.
Dean Fletcher occupied the room alone, his normal pressed suit tightening around his belly as he rummaged around in a yellow file. His demeanor on the other hand appeared joyous and when he heard Milira enter the library, he looked up at her with a jovial smile.
"Good afternoon, Miss Davenport."
Milira planted herself on the same seat she occupied yesterday. She looked up at Dean, not bothering to smile at him or to partake in his mood. Today, her life would change and the change wouldn't be joyous. Instead, she tucked a wayward lock behind her ear and nodded, mumbling her reply, "Afternoon."
The small grandfather clock situated on her uncle's desk chimed it's two o'clock greeting. A figurine of a girl admiring the man who held her hand, swirled around the clock before it slid back into the timepiece, becoming a part of the detailing once more.
The door creaked open and grabbed her attention away from the beloved clock.
Damon stepped inside, her eyes met with his back as he shut the door behind him before spinning around, his expression travelling directly to hers. A swirl of emotions lined his grey orbs but unlike her, he looked polished. His lean arms were pressed against a crisp button up dress shirt which he rolled up to his elbows, while his dark pants were held up by a black belt.
The impact of him in the room both brought her world crashing down and riled her pulse up into a speed machine. Milira didn't understand the hold one man could exude over her emotions, nor did she understand why the universe acted spiteful. Couldn't you be ugly, bold and fat?
Damon sauntered over towards her. All the while, his expression did not waver, his eyes promised something deeper, hungrier, something more decadent than her wildest fantasies.
Damon broke the spell as he sunk down next to her. His knee scraped against her thigh. She gulped and straightened. Remember, be strong, be hard and guard yourself. Her lips tightened. She wanted to ruffle Damon Carleton's dazzling feathers the same way he ruffled hers. The temptation and her lack of sleep, gave her courage.
"I'd think you'd take an opposing seat to me, rather than already assuming a husbandry facade, wouldn't you?" the words were ironic, especially as she would agree to marry him soon. By the knowing dance playing in his eyes, he already knew this but she wanted to see him mad. She wanted him to feel the sharp cut of her words, she wanted him to hurt the same way she hurt inside.
He raised a calm eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto his face, "Are you saying yes then? My, you're a little eager beaver but to the matter of my seated position-" his hand shifted to her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze, before retracting it and leaving the sentence unfinished.
Heaven help me. She bit on the tip of her tongue. Dammit, he's sharp.
"Right, shall we begin?" Dean Fletcher's tone cut through their intense moment. Though, Milira noticed it was her tense moment alone as Damon already focused on Dean, showing no signs of what happened a minute ago. Damon gave a curt nod, taking hold of the reins as he did yesterday. Would it be the same with their sham marriage? Would he be a man who she didn't dare trifle with? Did she really want to know?
"Before we proceed, I would like to notify you both of the funeral arrangements. It will take place Friday at Fremington Cemetery." Dean walked around the corner of the desk, handing Milira a small paper with directions, time and the date scribbled onto it. Milira took hold of it, taking note of the flash of empathy in Dean's eyes. She didn't bother examining the note or sparing it a thought. She couldn't.
Dean cleared his throat and went to stand behind the desk, his hands flat on its surface and his mouth tugged into a professional line.
Milira's heart sped. The time arrived sooner than she anticipated. She hoped a miraculous solution would pop up but holding Dean Fletcher's gaze, meant none of it would come to pass.
"Miss Davenport, do you agree to wed Damon Carleton in exchange for the substantial amount of debt your uncle left, to be paid off?"
Milira winced, she did not expect the question to sound as cold and systematic as it did. Time halted. The sun shining through the open doors lost its heated lustre, the birds and their colourful beauty and song evaporated and the blood in her veins froze. She didn't dare breathe, didn't dare look over to the man who sat next to her.
No! "Yes." The word clambered out of her mouth by force, while her lungs screamed for a breath and she realised she forgot to breath.
"Very well, may I have your signature on this?" Fletcher handed her a thick paper file, opening it to the last page where a dotted line made her want to reconsider.
The file weighed heavy on her lap. Her hand quivered as she flipped through the pages. Everything looked too official, too standard and too professional to be a marriage contract. Of course, there was the obvious, no cheating, no divorcing within the two-year space and no children are required excetra. It left her empty as Dean Fletcher held out his pen for her to take when she returned to the page, he offered her. In a daze, she took the gold lined pen and scribbled her signature on the line, not wanting to stretch out the discomfort any longer and not caring what she didn't read.
Dean handed the contract to Damon in silence, watching as he signed it, before he slipped it into his briefcase and pulled out his cell phone. His eyes nearly bursting with joy as he read the news written on the screen.
"My apologies, I must be on my way. My wife and I are now officially in labour." Dean said with a skip in his step. His entire frame lit up and transformed the hardened lawyer into an upbeat man. He slammed the briefcase shut, reaching over to the center of the desk. "Before I leave," Dean extended a hand with a letter to Milra and one to Damon. "These are for you. From Alexander."
Milira accepted the letter, her name written in familiar cursive on top. It was the letter from her uncle, but she couldn't bring herself to look at it so she stood up and pocketed it.
Her lips uttered a feeble thank you and congratulations to Dean.
"It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Davenport, despite the cumbersome timing."
"Goodbye, Mr. Fletcher." she said, and turned to Damon. "I'm going for a walk."
She left him staring after her as she walked away from the messy business that would soon pull her under.