10: A little monkey

*Ben*

So I haven’t been able to whisk my bride up to my bedchamber after the ceremony because the cook had prepared a feast that would spoil if not served immediately. At the table in the small dining room, I sit across from my father, with my wife … My wife ! … To my left near my cold heart, and the priest to his right.

As I sip my wine, I consider the possibility that my mercenary wife apparently is in possession of a conscience. It had surprised me beyond all measure when she had questioned accepting the ring. I had expected her to take one look at the sparkling jewels and salivate.

But she hadn’t. She isn’t comfortable with it. Even now in between courses, she fiddles with it, rotating it as though she wishes she could remove it.

I don’t think it is because it symbolizes that she is married. It is because it symbolizes love and between us there is none, not even a glimmer. Nor will there ever be. We both know it.

“Where does your family come from, Lady Mrs Archer ?” Brown as