Karma's a Bitch

**Allie's POV**
What the hell am I doing?
I pushed off of him, breaking the kiss as my eyes shot to the polished quartz floors of the den. That groan, not too high, not too deep, just as I'd imagined in my fantasies. I felt it; in my mouth, in my chest, in my core… Shit, that was close.
He's an escort. He's hired help.
He's not really my husband.
I repeated the words in my head, but they wouldn't stick. I couldn't forget the searing heat of his touch, the taste of his tongue, the way his breath quickened as he pulled me closer. Why did it feel so real?
Was it real for him?
Of course not. He admitted his reasons for accepting my contract. He was lonely with nothing to lose. Nothing better to do. When I first heard his reasoning, I felt bad for him. But now, it stung like a bitch. Even though I knew it shouldn't. What did I expect?
He didn't fucking know me! He didn't agree to marry me for love, and I was okay with that. Hell, that was what I hoped for.
No attachments. No love.
Because men hurt. And when they hurt, they didn't give a shit about the pieces they left behind.
"Allie? Are you… okay?" His breathing was still labored from the lack of oxygen during our heavy session, but I could hear the concern in his voice. Was it genuine?
"I'm fine. I think I got enough for now. Why don't we, erm, I mean, why don't I make dinner?" I glanced down at my diamond encrusted watch I got from Sasha last year for my birthday. The memory made me start. Shit, I still had to tell him about my party.
"Sure." I could tell him over dinner.
I risked a glance at him before turning towards the kitchen. What was that look? He almost seemed… disappointed? Worried? Maybe a solid mix of the two?
I shook it off, proceeding to the fridge to pull out my ingredients. A frown settled, however, when I didn't see him join me. Did he go back to his room? Fuck, was I that bad of a kisser? Maybe he was brushing his teeth again. Or maybe he just couldn't stand the thought of being around me after me being such a cold bitch to him.
I wouldn't be surprised.
Still, I was worried.
I set the pots on the stove, trying to focus on starting the noodles for the lasagna. I really did my best not to stress over his absence, but by the time the sauce was simmering on the stove, I had reached my breaking point. I didn't like this disappearing without telling me thing. I thought I had made that clear when I went to find him earlier, but I guessed not.
With a huff, I turned the burner down and wiped my hands on the dishtowel hanging over the oven bar. I had put a lot of effort into this dinner, and I didn't want things to be awkward between us when the time came. We had to be able to be cordial, personal feelings aside. Mutual respect, just like what he was suggesting in the courthouse.
My mind grew hazy as I stepped closer to his room. This was pathetic, I knew that. I wasn't his guardian. Part of our deal was that he could do whatever the hell he wanted if the media wasn't around, so why had I suddenly become obsessed with his whereabouts?
Before I could talk myself out of it, my fingers curled into a fist, and I placed a feathery knock on his door.
Nothing.
I pinched my brows together, trying again, but louder.
Nothing.
What the hell? Was he ignoring me?
I tried for the knob, finding it unlocked. Deep breath. This wasn't weird. I was only worried about him. I pushed it open slowly.
"Nate?" I called out weakly, but got no answer. He wasn't here?
With a little added confidence, I slipped through the crack, glancing around the familiar design of my largest guest bedroom. The king size bed was still neatly made, and the room appeared just as unlived in as before he arrived, save for an open suitcase and some empty shopping bags sitting atop the white duvet. I took a few more steps into the room, glancing around anxiously, like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.
I didn't want to get caught snooping, but he obviously wasn't here, and I was curious as to the clothes he'd bought.
Just as I approached the bed, the sound of the shower kicking on in the en suite made me jump. Fuck.
Okay. He was in the bathroom. That's why he didn't answer me. And since he had just started, I probably had enough time to quickly peruse his clothes.
Nope. Not creepy at all.
My eyes scanned the bed curiously, taking in the bottle of cologne, various pairs of jeans and t-shirts, and even the sweater he had worn in the club last night. His scent radiating off the items was the only evidence that this was, in fact, his room. As my eyes neared the end of the journey, however, something else caught my eye.
A photograph?
I heard a cap pop from the bathroom, telling me I still had time to snoop. My fingers delicately lifted the buried and frameless polaroid from the mound of clothes, and I knew immediately what it was.
'*My mum and dad passed in an accident a year ago*.'
A young Nate, no older than ten, stood between two smiling people in front of a London two story. The man was tall, like Nate is now, with blonde hair and dark eyes. He was handsome, and his eyes squinted in his silent laughter. The woman, his mom, carried more of his features. Gentle, but with vibrant gold eyes and beautifully dark hair that she had tied up in a bun atop her head. They were all holding each other, and a slight pang of envy hit my heart.
They were so happy.
I had never seen such a perfect looking family before. In fact, I couldn't even think of a single time my father smiled genuinely like that. He must've really loved them… My envy turned into grief. The pain he must've felt without them…
But he never showed it. And if it weren't for the worn edges of this picture, I wouldn't have even suspected he thought about it. He really was alone. Well, was in a past tense.
Now he had me.
I laughed humorlesly at the idea. As if that meant anything when I treated him like a tool more than a man. Would we ever have this? Would our child hold such joyful memories of their parents like he did for his?
Or would their upbringing be cold and empty like it was for me?
The thought made me queasy. If things had been different…
I pulled in my bottom lip, trying to tuck the photo back into place as seamlessly as possible. I could escape before he ever knew I was here. Then he wouldn't know how fucking creepy I was being. I could maintain my dignity.
But just as I moved to step away, I heard his voice from the bathroom.
"Fuck…" My instinct was to freeze. Had he heard me? No, that was impossible. I was being extremely quiet. Also, why would he be swearing if he heard me? I furrowed my brow, tiptoeing my way to the bathroom door, instead. "Allie…"
My head cocked. He was saying my name. No, I must've heard it wrong. There was no-
A sudden noise stopped me mid-thought, travelling into my ears and continuing throughout my entire body, the resulting shiver making my skin erupt in goosebumps.
A long, lingering, soul-piercing moan.
Oh my God. He was masturbating?
My hand shot over my mouth, heat replacing my chills in rapid succession. He came back here to relieve himself after our kiss. He called my name.
And I heard him.
Ha, karma's a bitch.
.
.
.
"Your birthday? Well, happy early birthday, Allie." He smiled, reaching for his wine. My cheeks flushed at the mention of my name, pulling me back to an hour ago when he moaned it in the shower. I may have listened for a few more minutes, and I already regretted it. I could hardly look at him now without a rush of naughty thoughts pouring over me.
"Thanks." I mumbled, hiding behind another bite of lasagna. He seemed to appreciate my cooking, and had devoured it quickly, thanking me five times along the way. He even offered to do the dishes. Apparently it was a rule in his house growing up that the one who cooked never did the dishes, and so he wouldn't let it go until I agreed. He was so… strange.
"So, is this like a black tie event? Ballroom and tux? Crystal chandeliers?" I snorted, wiping my mouth before speaking.
"No. It's much less glamorous. There'll be a lot of alcohol and girls dressed for a night on the town. The guest list is only a hundred long, which sounds like a lot, but for the venue, it's pretty scarce. Sash rented out a club off central. VIP treatment, and all that."
"Wow. So what do you want me to wear?" His eyes searched me curiously, his question hanging in the air as I thought.
"How about your black button-up and darkwash jeans? Paired with your black loafers would be plenty." His eyes flashed with confusion, and I didn't know why.
"Allie…?"
"What?"
"How do you know I own all that?" Shit.
I floundered, trying to find an excuse for having knowledge I clearly shouldn't have, but there was none. Realization settled on his face, along with a soft smirk.
I cleared my throat.
"I'll get you a ring. I don't want girls hitting on you while we're there. They might not know that we're married." I rushed out, changing the topic and praying for him to go along with it. Thankfully, he did, biting his cheek and nodding.
"Of course. Anything you want, Allie."