Virgin Marriage by Alexa Riley
Chapter 4
Savannah
Isit in the back of the town car wondering what the hell is going on. I can’t believe Wyatt would be so sneaky. I don't understand the game he’s playing, and to be honest I’m so tired of everything that I don’t have the energy to care.
I reach for my phone to call Aiden but then stop myself. He was always the person I called if I had a problem, and I’ve noticed that lately I’ve been reaching out to him less and less, even before his fiancée Caroline came into his life. We were always close, but the last year things changed and felt different with us. Maybe it was the reality of what we’d done and the lives we were going to have to live. We’re two friends who love each other but never in the way that would fill our hearts. I can only hope that Caroline will forgive me for the cruel things I said to her. Maybe one day we can even be friends.
My eyes fill with tears when I think about when Aiden and I were little. His sister and I were joined at the hip and the three of us were always together. When she died she took a small piece of both of us with her, and I think in hindsight we were just trying to salvage what we could to stay together.
I want Aiden to be happy, but I’d be a liar if I didn't admit I was jealous of what he found. I’m also hurt that he so easily cast me aside for someone else, which is stupid. That’s what a man in love should do and I want the man I love to pick me first.
I’ve been so angry lately and it’s not just because of Aiden. It’s because of the line of men in my life that are always letting me down. I think I lashed out at Aiden because I knew when the dust settled he’d still be there for me, maybe not as my husband, but he’ll always be my friend. I still feel the resentment festering inside of me and waiting to break out. Maybe I need to get away and be alone for a while. Although I’m always alone, so being stuck in my own head might not be a good place for me right now.
“We’re here, ma’am,” the driver says, then steps out and opens my door for me.
I know what spa we're at without having to ask. I’m planning on being a brat today and I’m going to spend as much money as I can. God knows I could probably buy the place and it wouldn't dent Wyatt’s bank account. I follow his cases because I can’t help myself. I have too much time on my hands, and as a housewife with no house to actually run I read all his cases because I’m bored. At least that’s what I tell myself. It’s definitely not because I want to know everything he’s up to.
His very first case made the man a millionaire, but who knows what he has now. If there’s a list that tracks the fast-rising lawyers in the country, I’m sure he’s at the top of it. While he made something of himself, I’ve done nothing but exist. If you can even call it that anymore.
I let out a long sigh as I pull myself together. I don’t want to be here because I’ll know half the women inside. They’ll be nice to my face then talk behind my back. Others will outright insult me in a passive aggressive manner. You don’t realize they’ve cut you until they’re already walking away and you’re left bleeding all over the place. It really is an art form and no one is better at it than my own mother.
I thank the driver then walk into the lobby of the hotel and go to the spa elevators. I pull out my cell phone to look busy and hope no one notices me. I’m sure everyone has something they want to ask me so they can share the gossip. It’s not because they actually care that my marriage was annulled, or that my medical records were leaked. They don’t care about how I’m doing; they just want the dirt.
I’m surprised but relieved that paparazzi haven’t followed me. They were all over Aiden, so maybe I’m not interesting enough anymore. They got their virgin headline article and that’s probably enough for them when it comes to me.
The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. I step on and a woman in a suit steps on with me. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her even though I’m sure I’ve seen her before.
Her face is emotionless—and not from Botox—as she stands straight, her shoulders back.
“Everything okay, Mrs. Carmichael?”
It takes me a moment before I realize she’s talking to me because she just called me by Wyatt’s last name.
“Yes,” I manage to say, and then I realize who she is. “You’re my bodyguard.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She nods in conformation.
“My name is Savannah.” I smile at her and she looks surprised.
People think I’m rude, but most of the time I’m just direct. I don’t pretend like some other women who run in my circle. I don’t wear a mask of civility, unless I’m with my parents; then I just keep my mouth shut and nod. It’s a skill I learned early in life.
I’m never rude to staff. In fact, I always find them to be my favorite people to be around. I try to sneak away from a party and into the back at most events. Their company is always better.
“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Carmichael, but I was told I could only call you that or ‘ma’am.’”
I know there is no arguing with her. When Wyatt tells someone to do something they do it. The corner of my mouth pulls up in a smirk because I’m probably the one exception. I don't have to do what he tells me, and I bet it drives that man crazy. He’s been driving me crazy for years, so I don’t mind the payback.
From the moment I spotted him at school cleaning the pool I knew he was different. He didn't care what everyone thought about him. He did what he wanted and set his own expectations in life. Not only that, but he was the best at everything he did. He’s a cocky bastard, but after everything he’s accomplished he has a right. Cocky without reason is unattractive but Wyatt is— I stop my train of thought. This isn’t the place to be getting turned on. Especially when I want to throttle him.
He gives no fucks about what others think of him and that’s what began my life-long crush. I became obsessive and went out of my way to run into him. I stayed on the stupid swim team because I knew he’d be at the pool after school each day and I wanted to see him. I didn’t care how much I hated the sport. My new sport was letting Wyatt see me in a swimsuit.
But like everything in my life, my father took it away from me. He found out about my crush because I’d written Wyatt’s name over and over again in one of my secret notebooks. I couldn't stop myself, and drawing had always been my safe place. When my father found my notebooks he took them all and then warned me that if I didn't stay away from Wyatt he’d make sure he stayed away from me. I could read between the lines easy enough. He would get him kicked out of our school and I knew how hard Wyatt worked to be there. I also knew I couldn't be the one that got it taken from him.
“Mrs. Carmichael it is then,” I say, and I let the memories fade. “‘Ma’am’ makes me think of my mother.”
I don’t want to think about how nice it sounds being called a name I wrote thousands of times. Even if this isn’t real. She nods quietly and she’s the model of professionalism, standing quietly and serenely.
When the elevator chimes I step off and she follows me. I wonder if I should text Wyatt to remove the bodyguard. I don’t need one. I’ve never had one before now and I don’t think she likes me. What has changed since Aiden and I split? Why does Wyatt suddenly have a need to be with me and to hire a bodyguard for me? I roll my eyes because I don’t want to let myself go there. He doesn’t need me, and this isn’t about me. It can’t be. I don’t know what his game is, but I’m not going to get hurt. I’m done hurting and I can’t do it anymore.
Maybe one time Wyatt had a crush on me, too, back before my eyes were opened to what my life was going to be like. I’m not the same girl I was back then and time has tainted me. I can't stand myself some days, so how can I expect someone else to?
When I walk into the waiting area I see it’s empty. A woman I don’t recognize comes out from behind the counter. I know most of the staff since my mother loves this place and makes me come with her at least once a month for “maintenance” as she likes to call it. This place is more likely to cause wrinkles and gray hair, if you ask me. Everyone comes here to gossip and their maintenance only gives them a reason to do so. They don’t have to admit they’re just gossiping assholes and hypocrites.
The woman behind the counter smiles brightly at me. “Mrs. Carmichael?” she asks, and I can tell she’s extra perky.
“At this rate my father will know about this by the end of the day.” I look to my bodyguard whose name I still don’t know.
She doesn't even acknowledge that I spoke to her and I look away from her. Why does that bother me so badly? I don't want to talk to anyone and I want to be left alone, yet here I am getting hurt over the bodyguard not giving me the time of day.
The girl behind the desk looks confused and I take pity on her.
“That’s me,” I sigh.
At least no one is here to hear her. The whole city would have known in two seconds that I’m married again. Well, I guess not again, because the first was annulled.
“We’re ready for you.” She beams at me, more excited about this spa day than I am.
“I haven't told you what I want.” I glance down at the list of spa services.
“Your husband already outlined your day.” The girl looks down at the clipboard she’s holding as if doubling-checking.
I’m not the least bit shocked that Wyatt planned out my day.
“Where is everyone?” The place is normally quiet, but it’s even more so right now. There are always people waiting for someone to cancel so they can steal an opening.
“You’re are the only client to be seen today. Mr. Carmichael booked out the whole spa for you so you could relax.” She says it in a dreamy voice.
“The whole spa?” I repeat.
A day here isn't cheap, so I don’t want to know what the price tag is on taking up the whole place. My mother tried to book it for my wedding day. She wanted to have a big to-do, but it was really about making the day about her. I hadn’t cared because the fake wedding was always about our parents. I smirk when I remember how mad she was when they told her no.
“Of course Wyatt Carmichael can book the entire spa,” I laugh, wishing my mother knew.
I’d text her and use her own passive aggressive behavior against her, but then I’d have to talk to her.
“He’s a very generous man,” the girl simpers.
Jealousy like nothing I’ve ever felt shoots through me and I wonder what she means by that. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but either way, I don’t like the jolt of anger that courses through me.
“This way.” She motions down the hall and I follow her and try to get my shit together.
The bodyguard follows me, keeping a good distance away, but her eyes are either on me or checking her phone. I guess she’s reporting back to Wyatt, or maybe I’m secretly hoping that he’s checking in on me and she’s responding.
I’m shown to a back room where I get undressed and then put on my robe for the day. I decide to focus on what I’m here to do and that’s to relax and clear my head. I know it’s what I need most, so I’m going to make myself take advantage of it.
My entire day is spent getting pampered as I think about Wyatt way more than I should. Every inch of me is massaged, buffed and polished. I soaked in all kinds of wonderful baths and ate the most decadent food. I spent hours alone in the peace and quiet and it’s the first time in a long time that I feel relaxed.
I glance over to my bodyguard in the elevator next to me. She’s quiet as ever as we walk outside to the same driver from before. The town car looks as though it hasn’t moved the entire time I was in the spa. I thank him as he closes the door and I notice the bodyguard disappears. I glance out the back window to see her in the passenger seat of an SUV being driven by a man in a dark suit.
“Are you taking me—”
“I’m taking you to your home with Wyatt,” the driver says.
Wyatt didn’t really move my stuff, did he? Someone would have told me. Or maybe someone had tried and I don’t know because I turned my phone off after my father started blowing it up.
The driver’s response sounds practiced and I lean back in my seat feeling oddly relaxed. At least at Wyatt’s no one will know where to find me. It will be like a mini escape, which is just what I need right now.
All day when I thought of him I wondered what it would be like to be married to him. I couldn’t picture it because he’s so driven. His focus is directed on his job. Wyatt is a man who’s the best at everything he does, so I don’t think he’d be an absent husband. In fact, I think he’d take great pride in being the best husband he could be.
Our relationship has always been—I rake my mind but can’t come up with a word for it. Hot and cold? Sweet and spicy? It’s felt like we’ve been sparring but in a flirty, fun way. I get mad at him but never enough to make me not want him.
One thing I know to be true is that the crush I had when I was a young girl has never gone away. Today I realized that not only am I getting a clean break on the fake marriage, but I’m going to break free from this hold Wyatt has on me. I’m going to start something new, even though I know my father already has plans in the making. He will try and control me for as long as he can, but I want to make plans of my own. Maybe I can do it while I enjoy this time hidden with Wyatt.
Thoughts of sharing his bed and letting him touch me heat my body. What would it be like to lose my virginity to him? I lean my head back and close my eyes. I feel more relaxed as I pretend that he’s saved himself for me. He’s been too obsessed with work to find the time, but once he got me in bed he’d be demanding, needy and aggressive as his strong body held onto mine. He’d boss me around and I’d bend to his will.
My eyes fly open when my clit starts to throb. I hate bossy, I think, putting my hand on my chest. I’ve lived my whole life around bossy men, so that’s the last thing I want. So why am I getting turned on thinking about Wyatt being bossy with me? Why did I get turned on in his office today too? As I try and fight my desire, my mind conjures up all the dirty things he’d make me do.
If I’m truly married to him he could have his way with me. He could take me to events and make me suck him off in a coat closet. He could forbid me from wearing panties just so he could fuck me when he needed to.
“Something’s wrong with me,” I breathe out, shifting in my seat, my aching nipples pressing against my sweater. I’m damp between my thighs and it’s becoming uncomfortable.
“Mrs. Carmichael?” the driver asks with concern in his voice.
“Oh god.” Hearing him call me by that name isn’t helping.
Wyatt Carmichael is going to ruin me. Well, what’s left of me.
