AN AFFAIR WITH MY HUSBAND (THREE)

— T O B I A S —

❛I’mma treat you right tonight; let's make this last forever❜ — Gnash/Lights Down Low.

***

From the moment she walked through that door, I sensed she could bring trouble.

Gianna was strikingly beautiful, her features delicate and innocent peeking out from behind her mask, yet her aura and personality were anything but.

I was particularly intrigued by her defiance when I asked her to leave; it seemed she had more tricks up her sleeve than I could ever imagine. Listening to her share her story, I felt nothing but admiration for how far she’d come and how strong she had become in this cruel world.

It felt like the only thing I wanted was to stay beside this resilient woman who masked her pain so well. I had an overwhelming urge to take care of her, to protect her from any harm. Sometimes, even the strongest soldiers need help.

My friends Kim and Elis dragged me out tonight; I had come primarily to drink away my worries and annoyances about my grandmother still having control over my life.

Her demands were outrageous, and I had no idea how I would find someone else in two days or marry the girl she'd chosen for me.

My grandparents practically raised me, as my parents were always busy with work. Breaking away from the chaos of my family’s company, I spent my twenties building Agropex—a thriving agricultural enterprise focused on innovation and sustainability.

In just six years, Agropex transformed into a multifaceted company specializing in food processing, packaging, and delivery, supplying fresh produce, premium snacks, meat, and raw materials to industries like pharmaceuticals.

We also embraced horticulture, establishing greenhouses, collaborating with farms, and creating a network of flower shops that bring nature’s beauty into everyday life. Agropex isn’t just a business; it’s my vision brought to life—proof that passion and determination can create something extraordinary.

Establishing Agropex was my family’s first glimpse of my rebellion, especially since I held a degree in Architecture. The original plan was to work within my family’s construction company, but my desires, rooted from time spent in my grandmother's garden, took over.

To them, I was always the "perfect" son, obediently following family rules. Of course, I had my boundaries, but I didn’t want to ruin our bond. I never wanted the idea of building my own company to foster a negative sense of pride.

I simply wanted a break from being the perfect son and workaholic boss, wanting to be a man with a stripper sitting on his lap, making him feel all the feels, driving him crazy, and even proposing to him.

“Do it, then. Marry me,” her words caught me off guard, and my heart skipped a beat as I tried to process them. I was drunk, I knew that, but I was sober enough to comprehend the word 'marry.' I didn’t know her well, but with the way she kept grinding against me, her scent, her voice, and her intoxicating lips, I doubted I’d ever forget her.

“And why do you want to marry me? Aside from wanting me to f*ck you?”

She giggled. “Well, you’re hot, and you make me feel oddly safe.” Gianna yawned. “I just want to get my shit together, and you make it seem so easy. Oh, and I just killed my boyfriend, so I need a husband upgrade.”

“You’d kill me too?” I teased.

“If you cheat, probably,” she said before kissing my neck again, making me almost lose control. “But don’t cheat. Ever.”

“I won’t,” I promised, feeling her shift on my lap as she stood, and I helped her steady herself.

“Come on, let’s go get married.” She chuckled, taking my hand. I pulled her close and first grabbed my coat from the chair, helping her wear it. The long coat covered her knees, and as I adjusted it on her body, her bright smile made my heart flutter. I cleared my throat, trying to maintain my composure.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I said, attempting to sound stern.

“Get used to it,” she shrugged and pouted as I helped her into her boots. “I want to kiss you.” Her voice again, shredding what little self-control I had left.

Maybe it was because I had never been this close to a woman. Hell, I had never dated anyone, and now I was marrying this woman I barely knew. I loved how unapologetically transparent Gianna was, and for now, I thought that marrying her might settle the score with my grandmother.

Soon, we were outside the club, her arm linked with mine as she giggled and made funny remarks about people we passed. I let her take the lead until we made it past security, and she hopped into the passenger seat of my car.

I was partly drunk, but sober enough to keep my focus as we drove. An hour later, we had successfully registered our marriage, and we were officially husband and wife. I checked my wristwatch—9:00 PM—and when I glanced back at her, the words caught in my throat. She had removed her mask, and my God, she was stunning. Her layered burgundy hair framed her features perfectly, and the look she gave me urged me to take her hand in mine, smiling back at her.

“We’re married now.” She laughed, a delightful sound that resonated in my ears.

“Yeah, I guess so.” I responded, still surprised by the reality of my marriage.

Once again, I had defied my family, and I couldn’t care less. My family held some racist views, and Gianna was Latina. I wondered how they would accept her. If they didn’t, that would be their problem. And if this marriage turned out to be a mistake, that was mine to bear. My thoughts drifted away when she intertwined her fingers with mine and gazed across the street. Her eyes lit up as she pointed at a building I recognized as a tattoo parlor.

“We should get one of those,” she suggested.

“You want me to write your name on my forehead?” I teased, daring to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer.

“Maybe. That way, you wouldn’t cheat,” she booped my nose playfully.

“Fine, let’s go,” I agreed.

“You’d seriously write my name on your forehead?” she blinked in disbelief.

“If you’d write mine too, why not?” I shrugged.

Her lips curled into a smile. “I have something better,” she confessed, pulling me by the hand as she dragged me into the parlor.

I had never gotten any tattoos. For me, it was a combination of being cautious due to my job and a fondness for my plain skin. But now, everything was shifting with this woman—my wife.

The tattoo artist was a female whom Gianna called Weed, though her name was actually Reed.

Unlike me, Gianna had a decent collection of tattoos, but I noticed they were mostly minimalistic designs—a small crescent moon on her wrist, her name written in cursive on her thigh, and a cross on her index finger. I even caught sight of something on her chest.

“What does this mean?” I asked, tracing the ink as we waited for Reed to prepare her tools.

“Nothing; I don’t do meanings and shit. I draw what I like,” she replied.

“Really? Then what about ours? Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“You’ll see; stop asking so many questions, husband.”

“I’m just curious, wife,” I stated with a shrug.

It wasn’t long before Reed approached us with her equipment. “So, what do you want?”

“In cursive, write something like, ‘In this world of chaos, you’re my peace,’” Gianna said softly.

A warmth settled in my stomach as a smile curled on my lips, but I fought to keep my expression composed as she took off her coat.

“And you think that doesn’t mean anything?” I remarked, biting my lower lip to suppress my thoughts.

She had just voiced something that felt deeply significant. I had never felt so alive until I met her. Even if it was just today, it felt different—as if I had known her much longer. She might be fierce and wild, but her chaos brought me peace. I held her gaze as she clasped my hand.

“I don’t know, but I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never known peace or felt calm and free like this. You possess some sort of magic that fixes everything, and I’m sure I don’t want you to leave. I just—” I cut her off with a kiss, a slow, sensual one. She giggled into the kiss as I slipped my tongue into her mouth.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, and when someone cleared her throat, we pulled away reluctantly, our eyes still locked.

“Just save it for later and stop eye-f*cking each other,” Reed rolled her eyes, and I chuckled, tearing my gaze from Gianna to unbutton my shirt. I could feel her eyes on my body, and when I glanced back at her, she quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing red. I couldn’t believe she was shy.

Reed sent another shot of liquor my way for the pain—her words. I held Gianna’s gaze throughout the process as she gripped my hand. I became so lost in watching her that I scarcely focused on the needle piercing my skin. Minutes later, we left the tattoo parlor after I paid Reed, mentally reminding myself to pay Gianna later. We would have to discuss her quitting her job soon, but for now, we’d see where the night would take us. Gianna had her tattoo on her back, and I got mine on my chest; together, we embraced this spontaneous decision, united in the chaos of our flash-marriage.

When we reached the car, she pulled me in for a kiss by my collar, our lips moving in perfect sync. The street was empty, all stalls closed, with our car parked by the side of the road right in front of the marriage registry, which had already closed.

She broke the kiss, and while I struggled to catch my breath, she placed a condom in my palm.

“Where did you—”

“From Reed,” she sighed, leaning in for another kiss, but I held her wrists, stopping her momentarily. “Not here, please.”

She opened the back seat of the car. “Don’t say no,” she insisted, climbing in and effortlessly severing the final threads of self-control I had left. I cast aside every worrisome thought and followed her inside.

...

The next morning, I groaned as I sat up, sunlight streaming through the car window, and my head throbbed as if I had taken a hit overnight. Then it struck me: flashes of images from the previous night—the club, the registry, her voice, her laughter, the tattoo, her moans, and the kisses we had shared. My heart raced as I realized — she was gone.