The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage (4 page)

“I guess so.”

“No need to guess. By definition, that’s what rape is.” Tyson grimaces and says, “Continue.”

“U
m...when he was done,” I say with a shaky voice, feeling tears slide down my face. “When he was done, he pushed me to the floor and told me to never tell him
no
again. I must’ve blacked out or something after that. I didn’t wake up until you came in this morning.”

“Did you know you were pregnant?”

I shake my head. “No. I didn’t know the first time, either.”

“First
time?” Tyson frowns again, harder this time. “This isn’t your first miscarriage?”

“No
...second.”

Tyson
stands, appears angry and agitated as he pace the floor, the area right beside my hospital bed. “We have to get you out of that house.”

“No.”

“What do you mean,
no
?”

“I told you...Padma paid me to—”

“Padma could care less about that money. I told you that. She cares about you. She loves you like a daughter.”

“Then where am I supposed to go?
”

“
With me. I live thirty minutes away from here and Dilvan won’t come to my house looking for you.”

“Okay,” I say, though I’m confused by all of this.
Is it really happening? Am I finally free from the tyranny?

“You look puzzled.”

“I am. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It is. I won’t all
ow him to mistreat you anymore. As soon as we get out of this hospital, we’re going to his house to get your stuff and we’re outta there. Okay?”

“Okay.”
I close my eyes, squeezing tears out of them. Dilvan had treated me badly, that was obvious, but the truth of the matter was, I wanted him to love me so much that I tried to convince myself that his mistreatment of me was somehow his way of expressing his love. And therefore, through all the abuse, the name-calling, the rape, the disrespect, I still wanted our marriage to work.

When
I married, I never dreamed of getting a divorce. So what we met via an arranged marriage website? It was still a union, was it not? And while women who weren’t in my position would judge me and say I’m stupid for caring about a man who did nothing but torture me day in and day out, I’m the only one, besides God, who knows my heart.

I remember seeing w
omen in similar situations on Dr. Phil. Their husbands beat them, made them do housework like slaves, forced them to rub their feet, have sex with them anytime they wanted and these poor, innocent women were so hopelessly in love, they didn’t want to leave their men. They wanted to stay, not for the abuse, but for the man they fell in love with.

I
found myself in a similar situation. But even though I had love for Dilvan, I knew it was time to go. I would never lose another baby over his nonsense.

CHAPTER 7

Dilvan

- - -

Dilvan was surprised
when he pulled up at the Shore Hotel and saw Isabella Torres emerge from the back seat of a yellow taxi cab. A feeling of elation swept over him. He was thrilled that he was staying in the same hotel as her and without wasting any time, he adjusted his dark shades and walked in her direction, for no other reason but to strike up a conversation.

“Isabella, right?”

“Yes,” she said, all smiles.

“I remember you from the Nags Head shoot.”

“Oh, yes,” she smiled. “Of course.”

“I’m Dilvan Alexander
,” he said, extending his hand to her.

“Isabella Torres,” she
responded, her hot pink lips forming to a wide smile. “So we’re both staying here, huh?”

“Looks that way.”

“Hey, maybe we can have a cocktail later or something,” she suggested.

“Yeah...that sounds good
, actually.” Dilvan whipped out his cell. “What’s your number?”

She rattled off her number to him
and afterwards, he tucked his phone back into the front right pocket of his jeans.

“I’ll ring you a little later...how does
eight sound?”

Isabella c
hecked her phone. The time was 5:42 p.m. “I should be good and settled by then. I’ll look forward to your call, Dilvan.”

She walked away with a strut, swaying her
hips in a tight, white pencil skirt, a see-through, royal blue blouse that showed her black bra underneath. She completed her outfit with a pair of black Jimmy Choo stilettos.

Dilvan folded his bottom lip underneath his teeth, watching her walk away. He imagined
having a deeper one-on-one conversation with her at dinner tonight, wanting to desperately know every single detail about her. He wouldn’t come across as pushy, however. He had to keep his cool, pretend like he didn’t want her, like men usually did when they knew they’d found the woman of their dreams.

* * *

After unpacking his bags, he walked to the bathroom, took a shower, then standing naked in front of the mirror, he looked his body over for any blemishes that might need to be addressed before the shoot. He flexed his muscles, ran his fingers through his wet hair and shaved again, even though he’s just had a shadow of hair that couldn’t possibly be seen by anyone. But he’d be sitting close Isabella tonight. He had to make a good impression.

He slipped into a pair of shorts and
a button-up, short-sleeved purple shirt, then taking his phone from the nightstand, he stepped out into the balcony, feeling the breeze on his smooth skin, seeing the tall palm trees swaying while taking in the beauty of the ocean. He dialed his home number. Beatrice would answer the phone, he knew, because that was the order of things. Only
she
was allowed to answer the phone.

“Good evening. How may I help you?”
Beatrice answered.

“Hi Beatrice. It’s Dilvan.”

She wanted to hang up, but then again, Dilvan was still her boss. So instead, she said, “Hello, Suh. I see you made it to California.”

“Yes. It was a smooth flight all the way here. How are things going there?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. He couldn’t be calling to inquire about Gabrielle could he? A woman he hated so much...

“Things are going
just fine and dandy.”

“How’s
Tyson treating you? He’s not any trouble, is he?”

Beatrice frowned.
You’re the trouble
, she thought. “No. Tyson is a perfect gentleman. As a matter of fact, he done a lil’ work ‘round the house today.”

“Good. I don’t need my
Mother paying him for nothing. Make sure he has something to do every single day.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes again
. He’s busy already...taking care of your wife
. “Will do, Suh.”

“How is everything else?”

“By everything else, are you referring to your wife?”

“N
ot really, but since you brought her up, what has she been up to?”

“Nothing much,” Beatrice
muttered. She wouldn’t tell him that Gabrielle had to go to the hospital today. He wouldn’t care anyway. “She’s been stowed ‘way in her room most of the day.” For added irritation for him, she continued, “I think she misses you already, and it ain’t even been a full day yet.”

Dilvan
grimaced. The idea of someone missing him was a mysterious thing, because he’d never been with a woman any length of time, well besides Gabrielle, but he didn’t want her or their arrangement. Still, it baffled him at the thought that Gabrielle could
miss
him after the way he’d been treating her.

“You still there, Suh
?”

“Yes. I have to go, but give me a call if you need me.”

“Aw’right. Hope you have a good night.”

“Same to you.”

Dilvan walked back into the room and placed his phone on the nightstand, then laid back on the bed, his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. Could it really be possible that Gabrielle could miss him after he treated her so badly?

W
hy had he treated her so harshly? Because his Mother set them up...forced him to marry her? That was part of it, but he truly hated Gabrielle. He couldn’t stand to look at her, let alone be in her presence. She was the opposite of everything he wanted in a woman. He read her profile from the arranged marriage website, and after doing his own investigation of her, he knew she came from a poor family. How could he, as a man, grow his empire – his family – with a woman of her poor background. Money married money, not a woman who
had
nothing,
was
nothing and didn’t have the educational background to ever
be
nothing.

Isabella was different. She was a go-getter, a woman with drive
, a nice body, a career and best of all, a career in the same field as him. He smiled thinking about her. He couldn’t wait to finally have his time alone with her tonight.

CHAPTER
8

Gabrielle

- - -

“Are you okay
to walk?” Tyson asks as we pull up at Dilvan’s house.

“Yes. I can walk. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay. Instead of worrying about packing tonight, I’m going to let you rest. We can start packing in the morning.”

I reach for the door handle and he says, “No, I’ll come around to get you.”

Come around and get me?
I frown. This is foreign to me. Dilvan never opened a door for me. If anything, he’d let doors slam in my face.

Tyson
opens the door, reaches for my hand and helps me out of the car. Even though I’ve already told him I could walk just fine, he throws his arm around me and helps me up the stairs.

Dilvan has never given me a key to the house, because he said I didn’t belong here
, so Tyson rings the doorbell. Beatrice opens the door, moments later. She has tears in her eyes.

“Are you okay, sugar?”
she asks, then takes me into her embrace.

“Yes, I’m okay, Beatrice.
Why are you crying?”

“
Honey, I was so worried.”

“Well, you
don’t have to worry anymore,” Tyson says. “Tonight is her last night here. Tomorrow, Gabrielle is moving into her new residence.”

“Thank goodness,” Beatrice
says, elated. She was happy, even though she was sad that I would be leaving.

I continue
walking towards the stairs, because I wanted to do nothing but lie down, get some meaningful rest, but instead of letting me ascend the stairs, Tyson led me to his guest bedroom downstairs.

“You can sleep here,” he told me. “I’m sure there are a lot of bad memories in your room.”

He was right about that. I had plenty of bad memories there – like Tuesday morning for instance, when my dictator snatched all the covers from the bed while I was sleeping and forced himself on me.

Standing at
Tyson’s bedroom door, Beatrice says, “Gabrielle, are you hungry, dear?”

“A little.”

“Good. I made some clam chowder and a few other things. Let me fix you both a tray. I’ll be right back.”

I
made myself comfortable on the bed while Tyson adjusted the pillows behind my back.

“Is that good?”
he asks.

I nod
, and then just sit there, staring straight ahead at the TV. It wasn’t turned on, but my eyes migrated to it. Why? I felt weird being in Tyson’s room. Even though he was helping me, sent here by Padma herself, he was still a man that wasn’t my husband.

“Are you okay?”
he asks, touching my arm.

I
tremble and snatch my arm away from him. His touch was a combination of being touched by someone who was a stranger and that of feeling like I was about to be assaulted somehow. Besides, that’s the only time Dilvan ever touched me.

“Here you are
, shug,” Beatrice says. She had a bed tray filled with food, a bowl of soup, some fruit, as well as crackers and rolls. “Enjoy, my dear. Tyson, honey, I’ll be right back wit’ your tray.”

As she walks away, I pick up a spoon and begi
n eating. Beatrice makes the best clam chowder. I heard it was better than all the restaurants around here.

“How is it?”
Tyson inquires.

“It’s very good.”

Beatrice comes back in the room with Tyson’s food tray, an identical one to mine and says, “Now y’all eat up. I’ll be back to check on ya.”

“Thanks Beatrice,” I say in unison with
Tyson.

Beatrice smiles and closes the door behind her.

I resume eating, and as I dip a roll in my soup, I hear Tyson say, “Goodness. This is fantastic.”

“Beatrice makes the best clam chowder. She’s a really good cook. If she had her
own restaurant, she’d sell out of this stuff on a daily basis.”

“Yeah....sure will.
This is some of the best clam chowder I’ve ever eaten. I’m going to have to get her recipe.”

A brow furrowed, I ask, “Recipe? You cook?”

“I dabble here and there...”

For the next few minutes, we’re quietly eating. Tyson, I see, is not ashamed to straight chow down on a good home cooked meal. He’s almost finished with everything on his tray while I’m just finishing up the soup and starting on the fruit.

“That was delicious,” he
says, dropping the spoon in the empty ceramic bowl.

“I’m sure she has more if you’re still hungry.”

“I could stand another bowl of that soup.”

I smile and
bite into a strawberry.

“
So how is it that a girl like you ended up on an arranged marriage website?” he asks.

“Um...well, when I graduated high school, I didn’t have money for college, so—”

“So you decided to
marry
somebody instead.”

“No, not quite like that. It was my
Father’s idea. He found out there was money in it so—”

“So he pimped you out to a website?”

Though one could take his remark as an insult, I laugh because it is funny, and a little sad, how I ended up on the website. So I tell him, “They say desperate times calls for desperate measures, and if giving me away in marriage would ensure my family lived in sanitary conditions, then I was willing to do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was poor. In many ways, I still am. But anyway, growing up, myself, my Father and two sisters lived in very old, houses...houses that should’ve probably been abandoned, but that’s all we could afford. These houses didn’t even have bathrooms and running water.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really. We were dirt poor. So my Father found the website, and he thought the man I was being
placed
with was a stand-up guy. He doesn’t know how bad Dilvan treats me. I never told him. Actually, Dilvan doesn’t allow me to call them. I can only talk to my family when I visit Padma.”

Tyson shakes his head.
“That’s a shame.”

I feel him looking at me, staring while I eat and suddenly, I no longer want to chew.

“What else has Dilvan done to you?”

“
Um...”

“How’s e
r’thang?” Beatrice asks, as she opens the door, barging into the room and our conversation. “Would you like more soup, Tyson?”

“Yes ma’am.
Your soup is amazing.”

Beatrice smiles big.
“Mrs. Padma say you make a mean soup yourself, Tyson.”

“Yeah, but it’s not as good as yours,” he tells her.

Beatrice blushes. She loves it when people compliment her cooking.

“What ‘
bout you, Gabrielle?” Beatrice asks. “More soup, honey?”

“No thanks, Beatrice. It
is delicious, but I’m stuffed.”

“Okay,
shug. Tyson, I’ll be right back wit’ your bowl.”

Beatrice leaves again, but is back quickly with a bowl of hot clam chowder for
Tyson.

He talks more, and I say
he talks
because I barely said a word to him. I just listened as he went on and on about the work he was involved in. He said he helped Padma with her charities and assisted with other things she needed help with.

* * *

After dinner, I’m so sleepy, I can no longer keep my eyes open. So I nod off, though I’m not fully asleep. It’s still difficult for me to sleep in this room because it’s not my room, and because Tyson is here, watching me.

My eyes open when I hear his footsteps pattering against the wooden floor. I have flashbacks for a moment, thinking
it’s Dilvan coming to hurt me again. I curl up in a ball and pull the bed covers up tight around my body. Then I realize it’s not Dilvan’s footsteps. It’s Tyson.

Tyson
sits on the bed next to me, adjusts the covers and say, “You can rest easy tonight, Gabrielle. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

He smiles. I don’t know him that well, but for some reason or another, I know I can trust him when he says he won’t hurt me. He’s here to help me instead.

So I breathe easy. I will sleep well tonight. Tyson will protect me. Padma sent him to make sure I was okay, and I’m sure he would do his job.