The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage (3 page)

I swallow hard and close my eyes. I don’t want to turn around for him. I’m afraid of what he might do to me. For the first time, since I’ve been Mrs. Alexander, I consider telling him
no
. It’s on the tip of my tongue, and really, what’s the worst he can do to me that he hasn’t done already? Hit me?

“I
said
turn around, Gabrielle,” he erupts in a harsh, authoritative tone.

“No,” I
say, before I was even aware of it. On one hand, I felt proud of myself for finally standing up to him. But on the other hand, I knew my punishment was coming when he tossed my towel across the room, grabbed my right arm and physically turned me around, pushing me towards a wall.

A few seconds later, I feel him penetrating me, thrusting harder than he’s ever taken me before and after minutes of this,
he withdraws from my body. Grabbing my arm and forcing me to face him this time, he wraps his large hand around my neck, squeezing with the force of an anaconda and says through clenched teeth, “Don’t you ever tell me no.”

Tears roll
out of my eyes as I struggle to catch a breath. With the little air I can collect, I cry out, “Why do you hate me?”

“Because I didn’t
ask
for you. I don’t want you!”

“That doesn’t stop you from sleeping with me.”

A sly grin touched his lips. “I might as well take advantage of you while you’re here...that’s all you’re good for.”

His chests puffs in and out quickly and his hand is still tight around my throat.

“Let me go!” I yell.

He frowns and pushes me to the floor with force.
“There. You’re
let go
.”

He walks out of the bathroom finally, leaving me on the floor
in tears. No matter how much I tell myself to get up, I can’t move, and that’s how I know I’m at my breaking point. I can’t stop myself from crying as I think about telling Padma that I have to leave. I’ve never been a quitter – a failure – but I’m tired of being a stereotype, the picture of an abused woman. Ms. Beatrice was right...God doesn’t want me to be anyone’s fool.

CHAPTER 5

Dilvan

- - -

Dilvan got up
around five this morning, took a shower then left the house without saying goodbye to anyone. He was anxious about this photo shoot, because he would see Isabella there. He wouldn’t leave Santa Monica without officially meeting and getting to know her. He’d use what he knew about her already to get close to her. He’d heard, through a few of the guys, that she used to date a football player. After that, she dated on and off, men who had money, influence, power or all three. She had no kids, loved to be in the social scene and liked nice things.

Dilvan figured he had
a shot at her. He wasn’t a football player, but he had muscles like one. He definitely had money, and another bonus for him was that they shared the same profession.

Boy was she beautiful.
..

Dilvan couldn’t
recall ever seeing a woman so gorgeous, so enchanting. She was the Kim K. of the modeling world, had curves in all the right places and was a dream to watch. He couldn’t wait to finally see her again.

CHAPTER 6

Gabrielle

- - -

“Gabrielle, are you
okay?”

I hear the deep, male voice ask me that question, but I don’t know how to answer it.
My eyes are closed, I’m cold and I feel woozy. One thing is certain – I know this voice doesn’t belong to Dilvan, because he doesn’t care how I am. Therefore, he would never ask.

“Gabrielle, you’re bleeding.
You need a doctor. Can you tell me what happened?”

When I open my eyes, I realize I’
m where Dilvan left me last night – on the bathroom floor, naked. I never made it to bed, didn’t have the strength to get up from the area of the floor where he pushed me. I look at my surroundings and remember what happened in here. I was taking a shower and Dilvan had come in, interrupted me and assaulted me.

“Gabrielle, can you hear me?”

I blink quickly then look over at Tyson. I don’t even know what he’s doing upstairs because he’s staying in the guest bedroom downstairs. However, he’s at my side, on his knees, his warm hand on my shoulder. I don’t even scramble to cover my nakedness. I’m numb. I don’t care.

Confused, I look at him. “I can hear you.”

“You need a doctor,” he tells me.

“No I don’t.
I’m fine,” I say, trying to force a smile to my face.

“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding.”

Bleeding?
I look down at the floor where I’m sitting and I see dried-up blood all around me. Now I’m really confused. I didn’t cut myself. I have no abrasions on my skin. So where is the blood coming from. Then it dawns on me...it’s happening again. I’m having another miscarriage.

The first one
happened four months ago. I was lying in bed and had a sensation like an urge to urinate. But when I got out of bed, blood oozed down my legs. In the middle of the night, I snuck off to the hospital where the emergency room physician told me I was having a miscarriage, which I thought was impossible because you have to be pregnant to have a miscarriage. I told him I wasn’t pregnant, and that he needed to tell me why I was bleeding. I couldn’t be having a miscarriage...

But I was.

That night in the hospital, I broke down, screamed so loud, I probably woke up all the patients on every floor. I was distraught, having life forming inside of me just die. Even worse, the doctor explained that he had to do a procedure called a D & C, dilation and curettage, where they’d put me to sleep and the contents of my uterus would be removed.

Through this process, I was alone. In a cold hospital, on a
cold bed, alone. I didn’t want anyone to know. I was ashamed. The abuse, the stress and anxiety I suffered at Dilvan’s hands was the reason I’d lost my baby.

* * *

“I’ve called an ambulance,” Tyson says. “They should be here at any moment now.”

Tyson
gets up and walks over to get my robe that’s hanging on a hook on the bathroom door. He wraps it around me. “Hey, can you stand?”

“I don’t know,” I say
, tears falling from my eyes at the thought of losing another baby. And it’s not like I wanted to have Dilvan’s children. Truth be told, I didn’t want any attachments to him. But children are innocent; even unborn children. Even embryos. To me, this felt like another form of abuse by him, treating me badly, pushing me to the floor, forcing himself on me and damaging my body, killing my babies.

Tyson
sighs. He’s overwhelmed, I can tell. He didn’t come here for this. He was only doing Padma a favor. Now, he’s smack dab in the middle of the drama that’s been going on in this house – things no one knows about, well besides Beatrice.

“L
et me call Dilvan and tell him what’s going on.”

“No,” I say quickly. “He’s on a plane anyway.”

He frowns. “You don’t want me to call your husband?”

“No. Just let the paramedics take me
to the hospital.”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

“No,” I tell him, because I don’t want him to know what’s going on with me.

“Yes. I can’t have you goi
ng to the hospital by yourself.”

I hear the faint sounds of the ambulance getting close.
Tyson runs downstairs, as I sit here, on the bathroom floor, asking myself why this had to happen to me yet again.

Moments later, I hear a bunch of ruckus and then see two paramedics with a stretcher.
Tyson comes in behind them.

He tells them he came in the bathroom this morning and saw me sitting here like this, in a mess of blood. The paramedics ask me what happened. I tell them I think I may be having a miscarriage, but I can’t be sure.

They scoop me up and on the stretcher, carefully descending the stairs. I see Beatrice standing there, near the base of the stairs, her hands covering her mouth while she wails.

“I’m okay, Beatrice,” I say faintly to her
and the paramedics continue rolling me the rest of the way to the ambulance.

“I’m going to follow the ambulance, okay,”
Tyson says.

I
nod with my eyes closed, telling myself that this is a bad dream, but the reality is, the last six months of my life has been one hellacious nightmare.

* * *

At the hospital, the doctor confirms what I feared – I’m having a miscarriage and I break down in tears once again.

Tyson
is there, standing by the door like he doesn’t belong in the room while the doctors give me this news. I want to ask him to leave, but know it would be rude after he’s taken the time out of his day to come here with me, not wanting me to be alone.

The
D & C surgery is a quick one. Since I had one not too long ago, I already knew what to expect. Now, I’m in recovery, watching
The King of Queens
and eating ice chips.

“How do you feel?” Tyson asks.

“I’m okay.” I say it like I’m chipper, as if all is right with the world. I’m good at pretending.

Tyson
looks at the TV for a moment. “You know what I hate about shows like this?”

“What’s that?” I ask him.

“They portray men as being stupid and weak creatures.”

I laugh at him and he says, “Have you ever noticed that?”

“I don’t watch much TV.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Then what on earth do you do all day, up in your room?”

“I sleep. Write. I read. I love to read.”

“Let me ask you something, Gabrielle. Why were you on the bathroom floor naked this morning?”

I shrug. “Nothing...just slipped and fell I guess...must’ve hit my head and blacked out or something.”

“That, or maybe he pushed you. Did Dilvan hurt you, Gabrielle?”

For some reason, I find myself putting up walls and going into defense mode. What right does he have to ask me about my marriage and what’s going on in a house which he doesn’t even live in? He’s only a guest, a nosy one at that, and I owe him no explanation on anything that goes on in my home. I don’t trust him. As a matter of fact, the only man I do trust is my Father.

“
No,” I respond. “I told you...I fell...”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, that’s what happened so...”

“And what happened at breakfast
Tuesday morning?”

“What do you mean?” I ask him, while staring at
the TV, because I don’t believe in having eye-to-eye contact with a man, thanks to Dilvan.

“I mean, Dilvan answers questions for you, he kicks you underneath the table and you won’t even make eye contact with him, the same way you won’t look at me...like you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then look at me, Gabrielle.”

I don’t want to look at him. In fact, everything inside of me is telling me not to look this man in the eyes. It’s been engrained in me, that I’m not worthy, not important enough to look people in their eyes. In some cultures, it’s disrespectful to do so. Back in the day, some women were afraid to look their husbands in the eyes. Maybe it was a self-esteem issue, or it could’ve been a way of showing respect to their men.

However, I live in
a modern America. Not looking someone in the eyes is a sign of low self-esteem, a sure indication of a lack of confidence. Before I was married, I used to look people in the eyes. Now, I feel like Miss Celie from
The Color Purple
, afraid of my
master
, which in turn has made me afraid of other people.

“Gabrielle,”
Tyson says. “Look at me.”

I feel my head turning towards the chair he’s sitting in, but I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. When my eyes make contact with his, he smiles. So do I.
Tyson is handsome, a brown-skinned man with adorable, copper eyes, a chiseled face and a nice haircut. It amazes me how my eyes roam his face to enjoy every aspect of him, from the thin mustache above his top lip to the bone structure that makes him appear so manly and strong.

“Hi,” he says, and the smile hasn’t left his face.

“Hi.”

“You h
ave some beautiful, brown eyes,” he tells me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He takes my hand and says, “Now that I have your undivided attention, I want to tell you a story. It’s the story about a woman who married the man she thought she would love the rest of her life. They had a beautiful wedding, and in public, he treated her like a queen, but behind closed doors, she was being tortured, beaten and she was scared to tell anyone for fear her husband would find out. That woman was my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes. My sister married a man who was abusive to her. It went on for years before she finally told me what was going on.”

“What did you do?”

“First, I beat the crap out of her husband. Then I moved her in with me until she was able to get back on her feet and year ago, she moved out, has her own place in Charlotte and is doing just fine. She filed charges against her husband and a restraining order. I say that to say this...if you’re being abused, Gabrielle, you need to tell me.”

“Why? So you can go right back and tell Dilvan.”

“No. Why would I do that?”

“
Because he’s your family.”

“He’s my cousin and honestly, I can’t stand
him.”

“Then why are you house sitting for him?”

He blows a breath and after a long pause, he finally says, “This was Padma’s idea.”

My eyes gro
w big. “What do you mean?”

“She wanted me to stay with you to find out what was going on
with you and Dilvan.”

“What made her think something was going on?”

“She told me she saw bruises on your neck one day...said you were trying to cover them with your shirt collar. Is that true?”

“U
m...”

“Gabrielle, what happened to you
this morning? You’re lying in a hospital for goodness sakes...there’s no need for you to keep trying to protect Dilvan. Now tell me what happened.”

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because the money Padma gave me is already spent. My family needed it and I can’t pay her back.”

“You really think Padma gives a flip about that money? That’s a drop in the bucket to her. She cares about you, Gabrielle, which is why I’m here.”

“Why’d she send
you
?”

“Well, Dilvan’s brothers, Heshan and Prasad won’t step
a foot in his house. Padma has her hand in so many different businesses and between that and her community events, she can’t be here every day. So she told me to come...find out what’s going on straight from you, especially since Dilvan was going to be away for a few days. So I need you to tell me...what happened last night?”

“Well, u
m...I was taking a shower around nine last night and he walked in the bathroom, slid the shower door open and just stood there, watching me. He likes to intimidate me that way.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“He told me to get out of the shower and he wouldn’t give me my towel, then he just stared me up and down before telling me to turn around. I didn’t want to turn around and I think I told him
no
, so he grabbed my arm, spun me around and pushed me against the wall. Then he had sex with me.”

“Wait...what do you mean he had sex with you?”

“Just what I said. He had sex with me.”

“Did you want to have sex with him?”

“No.”

“So he raped you.”

I knew that’s what it was – rape. I just never wanted to say the word or think I was being raped by my own husband. However, that is precisely what was happening every Tuesday and Thursday.