Page 24 of Falling for the Wife

The ceremony had barely ended ten minutes ago. We were all in the garden where the reception was also situated. While I joined Papa, Abigail, and Jared at the table while we waited for our first course to be served, my mind wandered off to the wedding itself. Jared’s resigned manner when he kissed my cheek after the minister announced that we were married had reminded me how much he and I were sacrificing for the sake of father’s company. Our marriage would secure Jared’s future as well as my own and generation upon generation of Webers. My children and their children’s children would reap the rewards my father had worked so hard his entire life for. This marriage of convenience was a necessity, nothing more.

“Gisele?” Jared murmured close to me.

“Hm?” I barely threw him a look as I sipped on my wine. The coolness of the liquid quenched my thirst. The delicious taste on my tongue made me let out a wistful sigh while I took in my father and Abigail deeply engaging about politics. My father looked relieved he could converse with another person who didn’t solely focus on work or his approaching fate looming in the background. Having Abigail around seemed to bring a little life to my father. And for that, I would forever be in her debt.

Jared’s head inched closer to me. His hot breath teased my skin. It was as if he was smelling me and he couldn’t help himself. I was hyperaware of him, and my body’s helpless reaction to his closeness left me a tad breathless.

“The lawyers are here. We need to sign some documents. Do you mind if we take care of it now?” he whispered in a ragged tone.

He meant the prenuptial agreement and whatever else he and my father had agreed on the moment we stated our vows. “Yeah, I’m not all that hungry, anyway.” After finishing the rest of my glass, I gently placed it back on the table.

“They’re in the library. I had it temporarily converted as my home office for now.”

My father was most likely pleased that Jared was making himself right at home. For a huge house, it was nice that most of the rooms were being used instead of having them merely for display. After mom’s passing, my father never entertained anymore, and when he was home, he would hole himself in the basement where his workroom was located. The floorplan was about half the size of the house. No one was allowed in there. One had to go through a biometric hand scan to access it. Only Jared and I had clearance. I never once wondered what was down there, but I supposed that would be Jared’s job to ensure whatever projects my father worked on were made a priority for completion.

We excused ourselves as we strode back into the house. The library was situated in the opposite wing where it overlooked a swan pond. It was built for my mother. She loved reading books and would spend most of her time in the library or outdoors, basking in the sun while devouring her latest romance novel.

It pleases me that Jared will make this room feel alive again, I thought as I stepped into the room. It was airy in here. The bright tall windows made it easier for the sunshine to stream through the glass. Like the rest of the house, it was all white, from the furniture to the walls. The gargantuan almost floor to ceiling hand paintings of Praslin, an island in the Seychelles, in different angles of the land and the stunning seascape of the Indian Ocean hung on each wall. It gave the room warmth. A sense of being. It evoked serenity, quietude, and peace of mind.

I sat next to Jared, taking one of the three Italian white sofas. His team took the one on the left while mine took the right. They then immediately got down to business after a mild greeting and introduction. One of my lawyers carefully placed a pair of Montblanc pens on the table. We were then presented with a stack of contracts. They felt daunting as my fingers slowly sifted through the smooth, heavy sheets of paper.

Jared’s legal team consisted of three people, while my father brought in five to represent me. I had no idea who they were, but I supposed this was a good opportunity to get to know them since they’d be directly dealing with me in the near future. Apparently, I had my own prenup, as did Jared. My own was straightforward, stating that if we parted ways, we’d leave the marriage with our own money. Jared wouldn’t be entitled to a cent. And in the case of death, unless there were children involved, my shares would go directly to my father’s foundation. Jared’s contract, on the other hand, was something different entirely. Upon divorce, I was entitled to support—a payout of five million for each year of being married to him. Thirty percent of that amount would be for spousal support and would be paid monthly post-marriage. There was also a clause if I (miraculously) bore him children. It was right under the yearly sum I’d receive for each year of being married to Jared. The sum was five times that per child.

Why include something so asinine? We both knew that was a whole lie, so why even bother? I supposed his lawyers were there for a reason, covering everything, leaving no matter unaddressed.

Deeply frowning as I placed the heavy-laden contract down on the table, I observed Jared and his three austere lawyers with incredulity. “I don’t see why I need the money.” I was affronted. “I don’t mean to be brash, but I’m going to be worth more than him, so there’s no need for any of this.”

The end of Jared’s lip lifted a tad, amused at my haughty, audacious statement. Before he could manage to respond, one of his solicitors took the liberty of addressing me.

“That is true, Mrs. St. James, but you also have to take into account that your assets are tied to a company. Withdrawing shares isn’t an option. The other vast investments your father has—well, they’re mostly, if not all, liquid. You’ll be getting yearly dividends, and if a circumstance does arise where you need immediate cash, as appointed by your father that your husband will be your sole guardian and would be taking over managing your father’s estate until you’re thirty, you won’t be able to do anything without his approval. So, this clause would benefit you in case there’s a divorce before you turn thirty.”

Mrs. St. James.Imagine that.

I knew my father wouldn’t be giving me the reins of my inheritance, but for me to run everything through Jared?Until I’m thirty?That was twelve years. Goodness gracious, what was my father thinking? He was securing his legacy—I understood that much—but for him not to trust me to make shrewd decisions without Jared’s input…that was…well, beyond vexing and off-putting.

Sensing my irritation, Jared reassuringly placed a hand on my back, rubbing it softly. “Peter loves you, but he also has a responsibility to protect the company first and foremost,” he tenderly informed me. “If you need anything, I can easily provide it for you.”

His words barely gave me comfort. I simply didn’t like the fact that in some ways, I was at Jared’s mercy. I was at a disadvantage. Hopefully, there would be no emergencies in the near future that would entail my needing to beg for Jared’s help.

Without giving him a glance, I occupied myself with signing the contracts. It took about half an hour for us to finish. By the time it was done, I had a splitting headache. The band of lawyers, his and mine, all dispersed, leaving us alone in the library.

I shut my eyes before reclining against the sofa and beginning to massage my temples. This could very well be the worst day of my life. It was an exaggeration, of course, but right this very moment, it sure felt like it. Three days ago, I was lounging on a yacht, having the time of my life with my friends…Who would’ve imagined I’d be in this position a few days later? It was radically surreal. I got whiplash from it all. Then there was Jack, who I had yet to call back. After learning about my non-pregnancy, calling him back wouldn’t be a hardship this time. Maybe I’d even give him a ring sometime tonight.

“Are you mad?”

Mad? No. More like disappointed in my father. Maybe even a little irked. But definitely not mad. I also understood his obligation to the company, so my feelings were…well, futile.

“No,” I responded without bothering to open my eyes. “It’s all so much to take in…It’s been a stressful week; that’s all.”

“Here,” he offered, shifting closer to me before I felt his fingers taking over massaging my temples. With the use of his forefingers, he applied the right amount of pressure, and I sighed with complete satisfaction.

“You’re quite good at this,” I murmured, feeling quite at ease in his presence even after all that had happened this morning. It should’ve been iffy, but somehow, having him so close, tending to me…It subdued all of my uncertainty.

“If you must know, I’ve got skilled fingers,” he boldly stated.

With my eyes closed, I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or simply toying with me. So I dared not respond to his double entendre since I’d already had enough embarrassment for today. The image of me going ballistic as I desperately humped into his hardness suffused my cheeks in abundance.

“I meant to ask, how did your visit to the doctor go?”