18. Drakar

Everything here looks official, with big shelves of important looking books and walls covered in austerely toned paint. The judge’s chambers match his personality, which is to say stiff and expeditious. Strange but oddly appropriate, I think to myself as I stand patiently.

This is just another business transaction, I have to remind myself, almost exactly the same as any other merger or negotiation I’ve dealt with in the past. After all, marriage is a merger, and here business is being conducted.

Yet despite the mantra I’ve repeated to myself for the past week, I can’t help but feel that this particular contract is different. Instincts I thought I had long since tamed have begun to rise to the surface since my encounter with Sally at the lake. Those same feelings begin to bubble as the door opens.

“In here,” the bailiff announces as he escorts Sally inside. The ‘wedding party’ is the prerequisite bare minimum, standard judge and security along with the necessary witnesses required.

For the past week, I have been overly aware of her presence whenever we are together. In fact, I’ve truthfully been avoiding her as much as possible since I overstepped our boundaries. That, it turns out, just means I’m now not prepared to see her fully for the first time in a week. Those dormant instincts flare to life as she walks toward me, even as something anxious settles in my chest.

Sally has always had that effect on me, from the first moment I spotted her across the green. Measuring her stride, I use her approach as an excuse for my eyes to take in their fill, admiring her simple yet elegant beauty. Her wrap dress is conservatively casual, but it clings to her shoulders and waist like designer wear, causing memories of our kiss at the lake re-surge powerfully.

Her makeup and hair are lightly styled, her shoes are practical, and there is nothing particularly seductive about her gazet. Yet as she listens carefully to the judge’s words, I find myself barely hanging onto the proceedings with the want coursing through my veins. All I’ve been able to think about for the past week is how she felt on my lips and in my arms.

“All of the paperwork appears to be in order,” the Judge continues. “If there are any exchanges the two of you would like to make, now is the time to do so. Otherwise, we can sign the paperwork and get your union under way.”

Sally looks over and up at me, our gaze locking for a terrifyingly electric moment. With certainty I know she is thinking of our most recent exchange at her family’s enchanted lake, as am I. It makes me think of hands and lips, and slick, wet heat…

“Ah, I think just the signatures should be fine.” Sally turns back to the judge with an awkward smile. I almost groan in disappointment yet restrain myself, hands clenching in an attempt to regain control. My frown feels more pronounced, and suddenly all I want to do is get out of this office.

After putting her name to the contract, she offers me the judge’s pen, but I brusquely brush her away to grab my own. Her smile falters for a moment, but returns with business-like efficiency.

Now it’s done. We’re officially partners, and married. I check myself by shaking the judge’s hand, as well as the witnesses and the bailiff. Then Sally and I extricate ourselves from the judge’s chambers and now have to begin the business of navigating our newly arranged life.

We settle in quickly, learning routines and habits while trying to grow accustomed to one another. Somehow, it actually manages to work somewhat, as long as neither of us does or says anything, or behaves in any way that could remind the other of our one kiss. It helps that I make a point to spend most of our ‘married’ life logging hours at the office or sleeping.

It isn”t entirely an excuse. Since I began spending more time with Sally, getting to know her and authenticating our ‘courtship,’ there has been a growing backlog of work I have to get caught up on. There is also my ongoing investigation into the potential sabotage my company is experiencing, and the regular demands of a CEO, all of which are valid reasons to avoid my wife and my bed.

Yet here I am, working through every excuse in an effort not to think about her. I’m finding there are pros and cons to married life. On my computer, there is practically an entire drive of collected data I have to get through yet my mind is more focused on the list I’ve put together.

Con: Shared occupancy. The presence of a wife reinforces constant companionship and restricts my previously cherished privacy.

It’s true that I’m not used to sharing my personal space with anyone, but even I can admit that having Sally as a roommate is not the encumbrance I thought it might be. My momentary lapse of judgment aside, Sally is proving to be a thoughtful and considerate roommate.

“You seem to be really busy at work lately,” Sally offers thoughtfully over morning coffee.

“I am,” comes my abrupt reply.

She works to align our schedules as best as she can, keeps me informed with any changes at the hospital, and even goes so far as to prepare meals for us. Her efforts have made our arrangement feel more domestic.

She tilts her head speculatively but lets my gruff behavior go. “If there’s anything you’d like to talk about or work through, I’d like to help if I’m able.”

There’s a lot I need to work through, but the sight of my new wife in her morning sweatpants and camisole has me thinking about pulling her onto the kitchen island and working through my frustrations on her fantastic body. That stray thought has me coughing and standing, discreetly adjusting myself, and signaling an end to breakfast.

Although we practically live in separate wings of my large house, I find myself thinking about her at inopportune moments. Like when we brush past each other in one of the hallways, or when I catch the lingering scent of her perfume in a room she just vacated. I find myself wanting to seek her out or chase her down, with no feasible outlet for these sudden cravings while we now share a space.

Pro: Wife, a willing partner. Sally has become a daily force that fills my life in ways I couldn’t anticipate. Just having her around is like having a fresh breeze blow through the clutter and distractions of my everyday life. Even though I try to avoid her, I can”t resist when we”re home together. Before long, despite my best efforts, I find myself unexpectedly and unconsciously seeking out her attention and company.

There are those wonderful moments where neither of us has anything to do and we can sit with each other and just talk. She tells me silly stories about some of the things her students do and I vent about work. It”s something so small and yet it always manages to make my day better somehow.

But those moments are few and far between.

After about a week of living together, I start to inhabit the public areas of the house more, just on the off-chance of seeing her in her daily routine. I find myself looking for any excuse to ask about her day or a weekly family update. There is a tether between us that feels thrilling but dangerous, threatening to upend all the careful control I’ve exerted over my life.

“Don’t worry about dinner tonight, I’ll be-”

“Working late at the office,” she finishes quietly. “I figured.”

I give a small sigh, my frown deepening at the sight of her downcast expression. I hate that I’ve disappointed her somehow, that I’ve put sadness in her inflection. I also hate that I miss her despite her standing right next to me.

For years I’ve had a plan for success, and just being in her orbit has me questioning everything I wanted for myself, yet I find myself craving her regardless. I want to push her as far away as possible, but I also genuinely enjoy having a partner to come home to – someone I can bounce ideas off of, offer advice, or simply someone to keep company. I resent the fact that I’m enjoying this.

Subtly, she reaches to put away my cup, the barest brush of her fingertips sending a charge through me. It’s the most alive I’ve felt all week. “I-I’ll call you later on,” I stammer, offering an excuse at best.

“I understand.” It’s always her response lately. I would question if she really does, but my phone sounds with an alarm. I startle sharply back to my real problems. The alert is one I’ve been waiting to hear all week.

Now that my marriage is legal and official, with HR clearance and press packets and the whole circus, my time is now freed up to really turn the hunt to whoever is gunning for my company.

“I have to go, I’ve got a meeting.” Without waiting for her reply, I turn and dash out the door. This time it”s more than avoiding my wife. This may be the day I confirm my suspicions once and for all.

Right now I only have instincts and suspicions to fall back on, which is why I need to dedicate my efforts into finding out what, or who, is the cause of all these problems. I don’t have time to be catching feelings like this, especially with everything that has been going on with the company.

More work accidents have occurred, with more negligence and confusion coming to light. Meanwhile, more rumors of exaggerated issues have begun to spread like wildfire. Even with the wedding ceremony seemingly placating the board, there just isn’t time to really consider romance with my supposed wife. Not when the public relations department is an absolute mess.

“The tracking program we set finished running,” Alan announces upon his arrival to my office.

“Do you have the report?” Alan is a man I personally recruited from IT and one of the few I’ve trusted with this investigation, due to him being a stickler for paperwork.

He passes over the thumb drive, and I immediately begin accessing the files, spooling into the report’s details. In a technical nutshell, it confirms what I’ve begun to suspect. All the accidents and issues plaguing my company lately have been in some way tied to Director Shields, my most loud-spoken critic.

My fists clench and unclench in reaction to the rage boiling through my veins. My vision narrows, locking onto a particular addendum, confusion at the latest unknown expense.

“What is the Calypso Hills Resort?”