5-Feisty

Dominic

I observe her green eyes glaring at me from across the table, and I can't help but smirk. She's feisty.

I came here expecting to see his spoiled daughter, not this stunning beauty. Her hair falls in curls over her shoulder, and I'm tempted to know how soft they feel. Her lips, painted with nothing but lip gloss, are mesmerizing. Her dress hugs her body in all the right places, and her figure is so alluring that I find myself drawn to it.

But no, I can't go there. I maintain my smirk as her eyes narrow at me. “So you're going to be my wife?” I remark, scanning the room. “I wasn't expecting someone like you.”

“Somebody like me?” she asks, curious about my perception. Her voice is soothing, almost like a siren's. Well, not that I've heard one, but I imagine this is what a siren sounds like.

“Yes,” I say, looking at her but not elaborating further. I expected her to ask for clarification, but she didn't.

“If you're expecting me to ask about what you mean, I'm afraid that's not going to happen,” she retorts, her eyes narrowing. “You said you had a problem with the contract; get straight to it. I don't have time to entertain you.”

She doesn't have time to entertain me. Who the hell does she think she is?

I decide against asking and instead say, “We're going to make a deal, you and I.” She looks at me without saying a word, and I reach for the briefcase I brought.

The silence feels deafening as I unlock the briefcase, and there's a rustling of papers as I pull out the contract my lawyer prepared yesterday before I became shitface.

“Here you go,” I slid it across to her, “This is the contract between us, not that one,” I added coldly. She doesn't react or pick up the paper. She sits there, staring at me.

Frustration bubbles up inside of me, but before I can speak, she beats me to it. “Let me get this straight,” she says, sitting upright, “you brought another contract with you? One that we're both going to sign?” She gestures towards the papers my father left on the table. “And then, what becomes of this one?”

“We'll sign that one, too,” I respond.

She doesn't say anything, and I notice her tongue poking her cheek. “I see,” she finally says, reaching forward and opening the folder.

I take my time to observe her. She's beautiful; I can admit that. Her face is adorned with freckles, making her look stunning. Her eyes may seem innocent, but I can perceive a challenging glint.

I was so engrossed in observing her that I was startled when I heard a snort from the room. “What are you, five?” she asked, glancing at the contract and then back at me. “Seriously, are you five or maybe four?” I frowned, taken aback by her expression. “Which one is it?” she continued, switching between the contract and me.

“Excuse me?” I asked, puzzled by her reaction.

“Are you daft?” she snorted. "Are you five or four?”

I tried to speak, but she raised her hand, silencing me. “This is good. Let me read it out loud.” She snorted again. “Rule 1: Don't fall in love with me.” She burst into laughter. “Seriously? Who do you think you are?” Her words and reaction offended me, but she wasn't done. “Don't touch my things… This is not your home; don't decorate or change anything.” I glared at her. “I feel like I'm reading a five-year-old's angry letters to his friends, which never happened.” She seemed about to read more but decided against it. “You know what? I agree with this sh*t. I thought it would be worse, but sign me in.”

I didn't react. I didn't blink.

She looked up at me, and my jaw moved back and forth. “You're not going to throw a tantrum, are you?” she asked with wide eyes. “Ha. Where do I sign? I have things to do.”

Despite what I was feeling, I didn't bother saying anything. I feared that if I opened my mouth, I might say something I'd regret.

“For someone who can read, you suddenly went blind; when it is time to sign?” I asked harshly, unable to contain my frustration. Her reaction to the contract angered me.

She didn't respond to my jab, but instead, she retrieved the contract my dad had left and signed it. Then she took mine, looked it over, snorted, and wheezed before signing it.

“There you go, Tantrums,” she said, standing up. “It was nice meeting you,” with that, she was gone.

I was left alone in the room, feeling like a fool. I sit there, wondering what the hell just happened. Most importantly, why does her reaction bother me?

I never wanted a wife, and since she doesn’t want to be a housewife or an obsessive wife, I should be happy. I mentally pat myself on the back, encouraging myself that this is precisely what I wanted. I look at her signature and sign my own before packing the contracts.

Walking outside, I find Dad and Mr. Knights talking, with her standing a few feet away. When our gazes meet, she snickers and smirks before walking towards them. “See?” she points at me. “I told you everything was good, and he was coming.”

I look at Dad and nod. “I have to go.” Turning to her dad, I say, “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Knights.”

He extends his hand, and we shake. “Pleasure's mine.”

They both stand on the sidelines, observing us. As I approach her, I'm about to hold my hand out, but she raises her eyebrows and mutters, “Six.” Suddenly, I remembered my rules: she's not supposed to touch me.

I glared at her. “It was nice meeting you, Savannah. I look forward to seeing you soon, my dear wife.”

She hears the sarcasm because she doesn't miss a beat. “And you too, dear husband,” she mutters, “Tantrums,” just so the two of us can hear it.

She knows I heard her, which explains the sly smile on her face. I glared at her before walking out of the building, wondering what happened.

SAVANNAH

I snicker as I watch him leave, clearly angry. I then hear a throat clearing and turn around to see my father-in-law and sperm donor staring at me. I smile innocently and say, “Aren't we supposed to go somewhere?”

My sperm donor snaps out of it and says, “Yeah. I almost forgot for a second. Wait for me out front, please. I'll meet you shortly.”

I nod At him. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Marshall. I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other often.”

He smirks and hugs me, saying, “Sure, we will. Stay safe until then.” I nod and walk outside.

My mind thinks back to everything that douchebag said. I was momentarily scared, thinking they expected me to be a housewife, but since he doesn't want that, hallelujah.

Once my mom is okay and everything is fine, I can finally adjust to living this life.

Looking around, I sigh. I never thought the day would come when I'd be standing here, wearing heels and even waiting for my sperm donor. Hell, I never thought I'd ever speak to him. Period.

I did remember receiving a certain amount at the end of the contract. Honestly, I would've rejected it, but I'm no saint. I need the money, and if I'm going to be hanging around Mr. Aloof, I better get every penny out of it!

Ha!

“Are you ready to go?” I turn at the sound of my sperm donor's voice. Mr. Marshall waves at me and walks past us to a black Jeep waiting for him.

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead, and I'll meet you at the hospital.”

"Meet me?” he asks with raised eyebrows, his eyes searching me as he looks at his car.

“Uh-huh,” I answer, looking at everything but at him, wanting nothing more than to just get out of here.

“Get in the car. I'm not letting you ride an Uber while my car is here. We're going together, or I'm not going at all.”

I bristle at his demand. “I did my end of the deal. I signed the contract; now you must see her doctor.”

He smirks coldly. “I remember telling you to take me to your mom's doctor. You seem to love arguing with me. Get in the car and save us both trouble.” I glare at him, and he looks back at me. “Anytime now,” he mocks.

I bite my cheek to stop myself from saying anything, then walk past him to the black Ferrari and enter without looking back. He gets in after me, and the driver pulls us into the busy street.

As I inhale his cologne, tears sting my eyes. My father is so close, yet he feels so far away. The way he talks to me shows that he doesn't even want to be here. I've always wanted to ask him so many questions, but I resist the temptation to do so.

As we passed the buildings, I sighed, hoping everything would be worth it once it was all over.

“How long has your mother been sick?” he asks.

I bit my lip. “Almost two months,” I say curtly; it's not like he is our best friend.

He remained silent for a while. “She'll be fine. I'll ensure she receives the best treatment and has the best doctors looking after her.”

“That's the point of the contract,” I reply, turning to look at him. “I know you're doing it for the contract, and that's enough.”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat. “Contrary to what you believe, I'm doing this because I want to.”

So why did you make me sign one year and a half of my life away to a man I don't know? I'm tempted to ask, but I won't.

Just like every other thing in my life, I bottle it up. “I'd believe that if I didn't know where we just came from,” I say, and he goes silent for the rest of the ride.

The Hospital is farther from the city. As we reach the military fence and the hospital comes into view, I become nervous. If Mom sees him, I'm sure she's going to be pissed, but I'd rather she be pissed at me alive than dead.

The driver parks out front of the 14th Military Hospital. “Ready to see my mom after all these years?” I asked him.

He looks at me. “Don't worry about me. I can handle your mother.”

I snorted, “I wasn't worried about you. I'd love to watch her tear into you,” I replied with a smirk.

His eyes widened slightly. "Right," he muttered.

I couldn't help but bite my lips to hide the grin forming. It seemed like someone was afraid of my mom. I didn't blame him, but I also couldn't wait for this encounter.