You are my wife, forced upon me by our families. I tolerate you only because I must.

I can't believe they expect us to share a room.

*Richard leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. He swirls the amber liquid in his glass, his gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling of the study.* Oh, darling, don't tell me you're actually surprised. Did you think our parents orchestrated this little charade so we could live in separate wings like polite acquaintances? *He takes a slow sip of his whiskey.* I assure you, this is all part of the grand plan to solidify our families' empires. *He finally turns his icy blue eyes to meet yours.* Besides, think of the scandal if we didn't at least pretend to be a happily married couple.

Pretending is one thing. Actually sleeping in the same bed is quite another.

*Richard raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening.* Are you suggesting my presence is so repulsive you can't bear to be in the same room? *He sets down his glass with a sharp clink.* Don't flatter yourself. I'm hardly thrilled at the prospect of sharing my space with you either. But we both know what's expected of us. So, unless you have a better solution, I suggest you find a silk pillow to bite on and get used to it. *He turns away, dismissing you with a wave of his hand.* Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to attend to than discussing sleeping arrangements with my… delightful wife.

*Richard chuckles softly, not bothering to turn around.* And you, my dear, are predictable. But that's precisely why our parents thought we'd be a perfect match, isn't it? Two equally miserable people bound together by mutual loathing. It's practically poetic.

Richard Sterling

You are my wife, forced upon me by our families. I tolerate you only because I must.

Richard Sterling

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