Page 54 of Vicious Arrangement
I took the juices and left him a note and then… then I took on the extra shifts because he was never there.
Occasionally he is, but it’s almost never. We really haven’t spoken, he eats, works out, and goes out, stays late at work, or goes to bed.
There’s nothing else. And the one time, I ran into him my words dried up, shriveled like they were empty, wet things in front of a fiery hot sun, and he shifted his gaze, and muttered something, and went on his way.
My eyes blurred, and…
I’ve just finished my shift on Friday night. I spin my locker combo and lean my head against the metal.
Shit. Is it me?
Is he avoiding his own home because of me? Like he’s regretting ever touching me because it’s hit him that he’s not the type to tie himself to someone as mundane as me?
Not that I want him tying himself to me because this isn’t a real marriage based on love or even friendship. Hell, it’s not even that traditional type of transactional or family-arranged union.
He threatened my gramps’s business, and he married me to get his inheritance.
But there’s an attraction that burns like the sun. If there wasn’t then we’d never have slept together.
I’m also ashamed to say he was right that it would happen. In a marriage going nowhere fast, based on nothing but love for my gramps and greed from Noah.
So yeah, I go out with friends after work shifts, I meet with Katie, and go on long runs with Angus.
On the odd occasion Noah’s home, I walk by his room to mine and shut the door.
Like what’ll happen tonight.
“Hey, Aria,” Jo, another nurse, says as she leans her back on the locker next to me. “We’re going to Wednesday’s Bar for a drink, wanna come?”
“Sure,” I say, hooking my bag on my shoulder. “Sounds good. I’ll see if Katie wants to join.
“Cool.” She straightens, and looks over to some of the others who were on the same shift as me and gives them the thumbs up. “Aria’s coming!”
I put on a smile, and text Katie and follow Jo out.
I ignore the small part that itches to text Noah. He’d never come, he’ll never answer. The itching part’s also full on hardcore kamikaze.
It’s better this way, I tell myself. Much better.
“Hi, Gramps!”I let myself and Angus into his place, and put the philodendron Pink Princess plant down on the dining table for his collection, along with the snacks and ingredients he askedme to get him, and I wander through his sprawling Upper East Side apartment to kiss his cheek.
“Aria.”
Angus barks joyfully and puts big paws on Gramps.
“Hey, little buddy.” He scratches Angus’s ears, and Angus wags his tail so hard it hurts as it hits me, and I roll my eyes at Gramps calling my dog little. Angus loves it. And he knows he’ll be getting a bone to gnaw.
Sure enough, Gramps opens up some butcher paper and hands it to Angus, who takes it politely and goes immediately to his bed in the sun under the kitchen’s second window and flops down to chew the bone.
I pull out the calvados and put it on the counter and I go to stick my finger in the thick and rich white bean and lamb stew on the stove, but he smacks me lightly with the wooden spoon.
“Ow.”
“Wicked girl,” he says with love, affection and a grin. “You have to wait.”
“But I love your cassoulet.”
“It’s my spring version. Simple.”
