2. A new husband
The driver was silent, and I contemplated for the best time to go to the police station, to report these people and annul that nonsensical marriage. Naturally, I would only do so when my Baby was back in my arms. But should I wait with it to meet this psycho-husband so that I could identify him in court, where I would sue the crap out of him, or should I go immediately after they brought my cat?
Stroking my golden apple, I was sure that I now had at least the capital for a good lawyer.
How depraved did someone have to be to go kidnapping cats?
We arrived three hours later and drove into a Marple-tree lane, looking really majestic. When we halted in front of a supersize villa, I resolved to only sue the butler who had kidnapped my cat; my new husband looked far too rich to win against.
I was led inside, and the silent driver handed me over to a silent maid, with the difference that she eyed me hatefully, while the driver was only annoyed.
Ah. Most probably a maid in love with her master, finding the 'new wife' not to her taste because it should be herself to take that place, etc.
I nodded at her to show my understanding, and she led me to the first floor.
"Fourth door right." She stretched out her arm and pointed straight ahead as if to say, 'Go yourself'.
I looked at her in sympathy, imaging her miserable life under the man that she loved and who didn't look at her, while counting for the 'right' door.
Arriving, I knocked, but there was no answer. Looking back at the maid, she made a gesture that told me I should just go inside.
It was so obviously a setup, but there was time at hand until my cat arrived, so why not?
Opening the door, I saw a big, dark room, that was decorated in a modern and simple way. It was the room of a typical rich teenager—a mass of space with a guitar here, a laptop, games, and a computer there.
A young man leaned against the headboard while lying in bed; a naked woman on him, riding him.
They were consumed in their fiery kiss, and as I looked on, asking myself if I should go or take a picture, the boy suddenly opened his eyes and stared straight into mine.
He didn't stop kissing her; instead, he held his female counterpart in place while looking at me, as he was still enjoying himself.
I tilted my head. What is wrong with kids these days? Who reacts in such a psycho-way instead of getting embarrassed?
Ahhh, I hate kids so much.
"Hello." I said and waved at him, finding the situation too cringy to possibly let it continue. The girl on him screamed and broke the kiss, jumping from him, while the maid from before, waiting at the end of the corridor, stomped in my direction, roaring at me,
"HOW COULD YOU JUST ENTER THE YOUNG MASTERS ROOM?"
I was still standing in the door frame and watched on to see what would happen next.
"GET OUT!" The naked girl screamed while putting the blanket over her body, slipping down from the teenager. I haven't gotten a good glimpse of him, with the maid arriving the next second and yanking me out of the door frame in the corridor, closing the door hurriedly. However, being a teacher, I can spot a high schooler from a thousand miles away, so I was sure that this wasn't my new husband cheating inside, and I was proved right, hearing how the maid had addressed him.
"What next?" I asked the maid in a bored tone, ready to take a nap. The maid looked at me infuriated, not happy with my nothing-to-lose attitude.
"Just because you are married to the Master doesn't mean you can treat this house as your own!" She bellowed loud enough to be heard by the two inside.
I let her do her thing and zoned out meanwhile. She called the teenager a young master, so it should be the son of my 'husband', my stepson, so to speak. How creepy of my husband to get himself a bride who is only around ten years older than his own son?
Well, I'm not that young anymore. But I have confiscated a beauty magazine from a female student, and inside a hidden article stated that fifty was the new twenty. So, being twenty years away from fifty makes me a particular unborn child—I should still count as young.
Anyway, after the maid had her show, she led me to the next floor, to an office. There sat a handsome man, looking about to be forty. He stood up and put his tailored suit in place, politely coming to my side and offering me a handshake. His face was cold and rigid; his body was trained but still on the slender side, albeit really tall.
Clothed in a marine blue suit, he was a real looker. His hair was black, his features distinctive—a sharp nose and jaw-all in all, he suited the aesthetic of presumably just about all women. Especially his light-brown eyes, which are rather captivating.
"Welcome, Miss Dunken." He said in a deep voice, shaking my hand. His hand felt warm with callouses on it—no idea from what. His face didn't give away any emotion. For example, if he was okay with such a normal person in a fucked-up getaway of a jogging suit showing up as a wife candidate.
I nodded at him and turned to the maid. As expected, she had a deep desire in her eyes, apparently thirsting for her boss's body.
Mr. Lennister seemed to misunderstand my glance and asked the maid to leave. He accompanied me to the chair before the desk.
He himself sat in his typical boss chair behind the desk, and we looked at each other in silence until I couldn't take it anymore,
"When is my cat arriving?" The important stuff first.
His face moved subtly, an eyebrow raised he spoke in a low voice,
"Cat?"