Paid to marry the heir

Married for A Million Dollars:

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Chapter 7: paid to marry the heir

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Williams raises a brow. “But you will to people like Harold?”

“I’m not a whore!” Ariana yells, and before they both know it, there’s a smack against skin and the result is Williams palming his flushed cheek in mute anger.

Jaw dropped at her feat, Ariana quickly lowers her stinging hand and forces herself to meet Williams’s furious gaze.

They stay like that for a whole minute, staring at each other in seething silence.

The apology on Ariana’s lips washes away almost immediately.

Finally, Williams dangerously enunciates, “If it’s marital sex that’s bothering you, then I suggest you forget about it. I’m not interested in sleeping with you whatsoever. On the other hand, since I’m paying you to play my loving wife, I expect complete loyalty on your part.”

“And I bet you expect the exact opposite from yourself,” Ariana rolls her eyes.

“Of course,” he says without missing a beat. “But I’ll obviously be lowkey. I don’t want to humiliate you in that sense. Neither do I want to scandalize my dad and complicate things in the process.”

“Right. How considerate of you,” Ariana mutters. She shakes her head in annoyance. “But that’s not my problem since I’m not marrying you, Montenegro. You and your million dollars can burn in hell.”

She starts for the door.

“Money can make hell look like heaven, Gillies. I’m sure you of all people would have a first-hand experience.” Ariana halts to a stop. “Maybe you’ll appreciate my offer when you’ve actually tasted hell with nowhere to escape.”

Williams steps in front of her and reveals a pamphlet from his jacket. “This is the contract,” he taps it with a finger. “It’s designed to acknowledge both our interests. If you want your own lawyer, call mine with the number on the back so you won’t be charged. You’ll also receive a non-disclosure agreement that’ll protect me in case one of them tries to open their mouths.”

She wordlessly accepts the papers, barely sparing a glance at them.

“You have till Thursday to decide. We’ll meet here again at ten.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Ariana grits out. “You might think you’re all cunning and persuasive but it’s not gonna work.”

Williams flashes her a disarming grin, and Ariana is briefly caught off guard with the smile changing his impassive, handsome face.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me persuasive yet, Gillies.” His eyes glint mischievously as he heads for the exit backwards. “And mind you, I like to play dirty.”

Without further ado, he whirls around and disappears into the back door.

Ariana mutters a string of incoherent curses before taking a look down at the pamphlet Williams had given her.

I should just burn this to make a statement. She kicks at a rock. But then what? Work myself to death for another decade and run into more douches like Harold who might actually get away with shit next time?

She sighs and picks up a stray garbage bin.

The payment in return was definitely taking a toll on her again, especially after what happened with the lawyer. Ariana wasn’t stupid enough to deny that living with a pretentious, arrogant dick like Williams was at least safer and preferable than having to deal with sleazeballs who’d grope her for an extra cent.

That’s when the rush of anger kicks in.

None of this would’ve happened if her old man had done what he needed to do years ago. Now that he was buried six feet underground with her mother who’s just as dead, Ariana decides circumstances are tight and despite never imagining herself stooping to such a low level, she has no choice but to accept Williams’s offer.

The only effective way out of this is Williams’s offer.

Her only concern is escaping this life in order to start a completely different one may just imprison her once again. Where she may not get so lucky the second time.

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By the time Thursday rolls around, Ariana’s on the verge of admitting herself to an asylum.

It all started when the bank first sent her the default notice six months ago. She’s tried to delay it far as it could go, but she could barely keep up with the insurance, property tax, and utilities—let alone the mortgage payments.

Knowing she’d be turned down due to neither obtaining a credit history nor a legit warrant, Ariana goes to the bank anyway and returns empty-handed.

She’s tried out other loan agencies, only to be warded off when the interest rates were alarmingly high. It was almost illegal.

Looking back, she’s glad she didn’t sign up for any of them since she’d ultimately be digging herself into a deeper hole.

And now Ariana stares at the notice of foreclosure she received yesterday. She’s been given three weeks before the house gets carted off to an auction and needs the money fast. Her paycheck barely covers her basic necessities so if the roof above her head does disappear, she’d need enough for a flat unless she wanted to sleep outside.

There’s money waiting for you once you sign that paper.

Although Williams’s proposal still pisses her off, Ariana can’t help but skim the contract.

Reading the terms and conditions bring out the reality of their deal. It’s not a nightmare she’s been trying to wake up from—getting paid a fortune to marry Williams Montenegro wasn’t some far-fetched idea.

If she signed, everything—the marriage, schemes, and money—would all come to life instead of being just a mere promise.

Ariana tosses the pamphlet aside on Thursday at the crack of dawn after spending a whole night going over and scribbling her amendments in red ink.

God. Why couldn’t the prince come riding on a horse to save Cinderella’s ass instead of all this complicated crap? Oh, wait. This isn’t Disney and Williams Montenegro’s nowhere near a prince charming.

She glances at the empty dotted line once more before tucking it in her bookbag.

Last night she had given herself some final convincing. Her situation called for careful, calculated decisions—not fairy godmothers and magic pumpkins. There would be no such thing as true love in her book. While money isn’t the source of the Earth’s orbit, a shit ton of it is needed to keep the world in its place.

Ariana heads over to Vene half an hour before ten. She had chosen a simple outfit from her even simpler, threadbare wardrobe—a baggy white t-shirt tucked under skinny jeans that are painfully tight and fastened by her only good belt and her trusty Chuck Taylors.

She threw on a beanie and a slender chain before leaving the house, slipping on her full-rim glasses that she mindlessly chucked under the bed last night. They’re a little foreign since she opts for contacts now, but it doesn’t matter.

Her shifts started later on Thursday and Friday evenings since that was when the tips increase in number and amount.

When Ariana arrives at the diner with fifteen minutes to spare, she spots Williams scrolling on his phone in a booth at the back waiting for her.

“Hey.” She says and Williams idly glances up.

His hazel eyes warily rake over her from head to toe. The longer Williams inspects her, the more irritated Ariana grows.

“What? Like what you see?” She scoffs.

It’s a little too early in the morning for her cynicism but at least it’s better than being caught dead swooning at the guy.

Williams snaps out of his trance. “You dress better than I thought you would.” And gestures to the seat in front. “You look almost young.”

“That’s because I am young,” Ariana slides into the booth and shoves her book bag aside. “No one here would be able to believe that I’m older than you. That’s how young I look.”

“Good morning to you too, Gillies.” Williams says dryly. “And yes, I’m younger and wiser than you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Wise people wouldn’t brag about their wisdom. Only the wannabes do.”

“Tough week, huh?”

“Don’t even ask,” Ariana snaps, snatching a menu from the napkin dispenser and burying herself into her seat. “Judging from your big ass smirk, you’ve got a pretty good idea of how great my week’s been.”

Williams’s smile grows even wider. “Oh, how the tables have turned. This is sounding better by the second. And since I’m pretty sure I’ll be getting the answer that I want, let’s take it slow and get you some food. I bet you’ve been skipping breakfast lately. Waiter?”

Ariana scowls as he signals one of the waitresses over. “I can afford to feed myself just fine.”

Williams ignores her and smiles at Mary, a coworker of Ariana’s. She’s studying them curiously, trying to put two and two together as Williams requests, “One Deluxe breakfast and a plate of pancakes and sausages for myself, please.”

What the fuck. She begins to protest at the massive order but clamps her mouth shut at the sound of her stomach betraying her resistance. Ariana lowers her gaze, praying that the inhumane growl had been overheard.

“What would you like to drink, Miss Gillies?” Williams’s politeness throws her off guard.

“Just a cup of black coffee, Mary, thanks.” Ariana gives the waitress a small smile and fumes when she’s out of sight. “Are you serious? A Deluxe? Do you expect me to finish five pancakes, a plate of hash browns and poached eggs, pork sausages with buttered toast and a blueberry muffin in one sitting?"

The amusements wipes off of Williams’s face. “If you’re gonna be the new addition to my family, then you’re going to have to look like it. A scrawny build is not the trend a Montenegro would don.”

“Scrawny? Excuse me. I'm thick in all the right places.”

She’s not kidding. While Ariana admits she’s always been a little curvier than the average girl, the amount of work and stress she’d gone through the past year wore down her remaining baby fat. Not that she thought it was a bad thing.

If Williams was annoyed before, he’s certainly showing it now. “A Montenegro also doesn’t seek attention,” he hisses as his eyes sweep over Ariana in something that could only be called attention.

“What, would you rather have an ugly, bony skeleton as your spouse? Oh, wait. As if someone would believe you’d end up with one considering your ridiculous standards dating only people with impossible quality and stature, poise and appearance—”

“Well, yeah, I’ve got pretty high standards—”

“Not to mention narcissistic judgemental scatter-brains.” Ariana smiles sweetly. “Then again, I totally understand why saving the world is unacceptable unless you're wearing Gucci."

His lips twitch in humor but quickly curl downwards, eyes gleaming otherwise. “A Montenegro consists of pristine taste, charm, perfect mannerism and pliancy with their spouses.”

Ariana raises a brow. “Pliancy? Like flexibility in bed? I may have studied dance but I can’t guarantee that I can sling my leg over my neck anymore. Besides, we’re not supposed to sleep with each other.”

“No. I mean unity with one’s spouse. When making decisions reckoned best for the both of them.”

Enjoying Williams’s irritation to the max, Ariana leans back and narrows her eyes at him. “Just spit it out already. If by whatever you just said means total submission, than say that. You expect your spouse—wife or husband—to be one of your many marionettes, right? So you can pull at their strings whenever and expect them to follow. Your partner is not allowed to disagree or have an opinion, nor can they complain about your secret mistresses or point out your super inflated ego. They must also lose half of their brain cells if they want to mingle and relate with the people you socialize with. In other words, a spineless trophy wife. Er, or husband. Sticking close to your arm like a prized possession or some shit. Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” Williams eventually says. “You forgot a very crucial part. Less on the sarcasm?”

“Oh, sorry about that.” She smugly tosses her the contract. “I promise to sound deader next time, no big deal. Doubt all the pretty people you hang with know what sarcasm is anyway.”

The food arrives just in time.

Ariana almost expects Williams to shoot her a murderous glare if it isn’t for Mary returning with plates heaping with steamy breakfast. Normally, she would’ve felt nauseous at the greasiness, but one forkful of sausage brings her to tears.

There’s definitely a huge difference between eating kitchen leftovers and a paid meal.

“This isn’t signed,” Williams remarks as he goes over the contract.

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TBC

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