The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage by Tina Martin Read Free Book Online

belong here , so Tyson rings the doorbell. Beatrice opens the door, moments later. She has tears in her eyes.
    “Are you okay, sugar?” she asks, then takes me into her embrace.
    “Yes, I’m okay, Beatrice. Why are you crying?”
    “ Honey, I was so worried.”
    “Well, you don’t have to worry anymore,” Tyson says. “Tonight is her last night here. Tomorrow, Gabrielle is moving into her new residence.”
    “Thank goodness,” Beatrice says, elated. She was happy, even though she was sad that I would be leaving.
    I continue walking towards the stairs, because I wanted to do nothing but lie down, get some meaningful rest, but instead of letting me ascend the stairs, Tyson led me to his guest bedroom downstairs.
    “You can sleep here,” he told me. “I’m sure there are a lot of bad memories in your room.”
    He was right about that. I had plenty of bad memories there – like Tuesday morning for instance, when my dictator snatched all the covers from the bed while I was sleeping and forced himself on me.
    Standing at Tyson’s bedroom door, Beatrice says, “Gabrielle, are you hungry, dear?”
    “A little.”
    “Good. I made some clam chowder and a few other things. Let me fix you both a tray. I’ll be right back.”
    I made myself comfortable on the bed while Tyson adjusted the pillows behind my back.
    “Is that good?” he asks.
    I nod , and then just sit there, staring straight ahead at the TV. It wasn’t turned on, but my eyes migrated to it. Why? I felt weird being in Tyson’s room. Even though he was helping me, sent here by Padma herself, he was still a man that wasn’t my husband.
    “Are you okay?” he asks, touching my arm.
    I tremble and snatch my arm away from him. His touch was a combination of being touched by someone who was a stranger and that of feeling like I was about to be assaulted somehow. Besides, that’s the only time Dilvan ever touched me.
    “Here you are , shug,” Beatrice says. She had a bed tray filled with food, a bowl of soup, some fruit, as well as crackers and rolls. “Enjoy, my dear. Tyson, honey, I’ll be right back wit’ your tray.”
    As she walks away, I pick up a spoon and begi n eating. Beatrice makes the best clam chowder. I heard it was better than all the restaurants around here.
    “How is it?” Tyson inquires.
    “It’s very good.”
    Beatrice comes back in the room with Tyson’s food tray, an identical one to mine and says, “Now y’all eat up. I’ll be back to check on ya.”
    “Thanks Beatrice,” I say in unison with Tyson.
    Beatrice smiles and closes the door behind her.
    I resume eating, and as I dip a roll in my soup, I hear Tyson say, “Goodness. This is fantastic.”
    “Beatrice makes the best clam chowder. She’s a really good cook. If she had her own restaurant, she’d sell out of this stuff on a daily basis.”
    “Yeah....sure will. This is some of the best clam chowder I’ve ever eaten. I’m going to have to get her recipe.”
    A brow furrowed, I ask, “Recipe? You cook?”
    “I dabble here and there...”
     
    For the next few minutes, we’re quietly eating. Tyson, I see, is not ashamed to straight chow down on a good home cooked meal. He’s almost finished with everything on his tray while I’m just finishing up the soup and starting on the fruit.
    “That was delicious,” he says, dropping the spoon in the empty ceramic bowl.
    “I’m sure she has more if you’re still hungry.”
    “I could stand another bowl of that soup.”
    I smile and bite into a strawberry.
    “ So how is it that a girl like you ended up on an arranged marriage website?” he asks.
    “Um...well, when I graduated high school, I didn’t have money for college, so—”
    “So you decided to marry somebody instead.”
    “No, not quite like that. It was my Father’s idea. He found out there was money in it so—”
    “So he pimped you out to a website?”
    Though one could take his remark as an insult, I laugh because it is funny, and a little