Contractual Obligations

I woke up to light filtering in through my half-closed blinds. I had slept like the dead. My mouth was dry and my head was pounding.

I didn’t have many other thoughts other than I needed water and to brush my teeth. My mouth tasted like sour tortillas. I got up slowly, realizing I was in a shirt that I didn’t recognize, and that I was in my room and not on the bathroom floor.

The only person who could have done this was Sebastian.

The thought of him taking care of me both heated my skin with embarrassment and my chest with gratefulness. I hated that he saw me like that, but I also knew it would have been worse if I had been left to fend for myself. I knew he was at work—even if it was a weekend. He never missed time in the office, after all.

Luckily, I was feeling better. I figured I would rest, eat small amounts of food, and then go back to my regular schedule the next day. At least for today I could justify eating whatever my stomach could handle.

So rice and bread it was going to be.

When I got to the bathroom, I examined my makeup. It was still somehow on, and I had to thank my very expensive setting spray for that.

My skin, however, was dry and flakey, and the makeup looked cakey and gross.

I washed my face, taking care of it the best I could. I knew I’d have to put makeup on before Sebastian got home, but my skin begged for the cool air without anything on it.

I stared at my freckles for a long time, wishing I could see them more. My skin was angry and red in areas, but the freckles covered most of it.

My dry throat reminded me I needed water.

I paired what must have been Sebastian’s shirt with cotton shorts that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. My curled hair went up into a messy bun. I looked exactly like I felt, but I had a few hours to myself before I had to change.

I sat on the couch and carefully sipped water. I was already feeling tired again, and I knew my body was exhausted from everything that had gone down.

I expected my day to be quiet. The plan was to turn off my phone and not be bothered by anyone. At four, I would put my makeup back on and pretend I was fine.

I was so focused on trying to decide between starting Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones that I totally missed Sebastian’s black car pulling into the driveway, and the subtle sounds of him walking up the porch.

The door’s squeak was impossible to miss, though.

For a split second, I thought it was an intruder. But then I saw my husband. His tie was loose, his shirt undone a few buttons. My jaw dropped, and I froze.

Like a magnet, his eyes turned to me, and he immediately did a double take. I was without makeup, without my nicer clothes, and probably looked worse than he’d ever seen me, including last night with my face in the toilet bowl.

Fuck.

It was too late, and I couldn’t move fast without my body rioting. I stared, and then he stared back.

His eyes were trained on my face, and they narrowed as he was focusing on something. My hands instantly covered my reddening cheeks.

“You have freckles.” He said it like he was dreaming, like he was entranced by them.

That was impossible. My mother always said they were imperfections.

Something to hide.

“Why are you here?” I asked, my voice both hard and vulnerable.

“Someone came in for their laptop while I was there. They hinted that it was a little weird I was there when you were sick the night before. So, I came home.”

“To make it look better?”

“Maybe, but I was worried. Hell, I am worried. Plus, they said ginger ale helps with upset stomachs, so I brought you some.”

“Oh,” I said. Was this real? Or was this some food poisoning fever dream?

“Do you . . . want some?” he asked.

“What?”

“The ginger ale.”

“I-I can’t have soda.”

Well, maybe not in front of him.

“You literally just had food poisoning. I think you can take a pass day.”

“No, I can’t,” I said, moving to stand. My body was not happy with me. “I need to go change and put makeup on. You can’t see me like this, I—”

“Hang on, what?” he asked incredulously. “Why do you need to do any of that? You were just sick.”

“No, I have to.”

“Lily,” he said, exasperated. “Just sit down, there’s no reason to get dressed.”

“No!” I snapped. “No man wants to see his wife have freckles and messy hair and be in ten-year-old shorts!”

Sebastian stared at me for a long time. Then, he said one of the most shocking things I’d ever heard.

“I do.”

For a moment my heart raced. He did. Really?

Then I remembered my mother’s words, and I shook my head.

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “You’re always put together, and it makes me wonder if you’re human, Lily. Now I look at you and . . . you look real.”

“I look bad.”

“Not to me,” he said. “It doesn’t even matter what I think, though. What do you want to do?”

“I want to sit back down,” I admitted, “but I’m scared that you’re going to tell Martin or my mother how I look, and I can’t have that.”

“Why would I tell them any of this? We’re both breaking rules here.”

“You have an excuse.”

“And you throwing up all night is not an excuse either? I made up a lie and said I’d be here for show, but I am worried about you. I’m much happier being here to be sure you’re taken care of. I should be at work, and you could easily tell on me too. But I’m asking you not to. You don’t have to be put together right now, Lily. You can just be here.”

Now it was my turn to stare. I could . . . just be here? He wouldn’t tell?

It sounded too good to be true.

But then I thought about all the kind things he’d done for me since moving to Nashville, and I decided I wanted to believe him.

I sat back down.

“Okay,” I said meekly.

“Let me get you some food. Were you planning on watching TV all day?”

“Yes,” I admitted, “but I can find something more productive—”

“No, you should do what you want. What were you planning on watching?”

“You want an honest answer?”

“Yes,” he said genuinely.

“I wanted to watch Joffrey from Game of Thrones die.”

Sebastian blinked. “You watch Game of Thrones?”

I gulped. “Is that so impossible to believe?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

I sighed. “I’m aware it’s a trivial form of media and that I should probably be focusing on my image, but I’m sick and I really want to watch a complete asshat die and laugh at him while he does it.”

“That is . . . a very eloquent way to put it.”

“Ugh, my filter is gone. Please forget I said any of this.”

“I don’t think I can,” he said.

God, I was never going to live this down.

“Can I watch it with you?”

“What? You want to watch Game of Thrones with me?”

“I’ve only read the books, but I wouldn’t mine watching some of the show.”

“You’ve read the books?”

“Yes, I have. They didn’t quite live up to this other dark fantasy I read, but they were pretty good.”

I blinked, my brain unable to fathom Sebastian saying dark and fantasy in the same sentence.

“So, you like dark fantasy?”

“Yes,” he said. “The other one is a newer series, but it’s incredible.”

“Which?” I asked suspiciously.

“Have you ever heard of The Fair Originals?”

Hearing my own title come from my husband’s mouth made my brain short circuit. I stared for a long time.

He’d read my books?

He liked them?

Oh God, I’d put him in that series. He was my main character’s asshole betrothed. I’d killed him off three years ago.

“I’m guessing that’s a no, then?” he prompted.

“I’ve read them,” I said, my voice almost a squeak.

“Really? I’m actually a huge fan.”

“Who’s your favorite character?” I asked.

“Jamisson,” he said. “He’s the central love interest. Kind of. He’s more someone the fandom thinks she should end up with.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember that character.”

I made him.

“I see some of myself in him,” Sebastian said. “I know it’s weird, but he’s a character I really relate to.”

Oh my God.

He related to the character I’d made as a comfort? Jamisson was probably the only person I didn’t base off of anyone. He was a reminder that someone could be kind and that there was hope after this.

My brain felt like it was on fire.

“Why do you look . . . mortified?” he asked. “I’ve never seen your face so red.”

Dammit. I forgot he could see when I blushed.

“No reason,” I said, trying and failing to sound casual.

“Is this somehow related to . . . whatever you said earlier? About trivial forms of media?”

“Um, no.” I took a deep breath. I could freak out about this later. “I’m not used to talking about nerdy interests with people. You probably shouldn’t know about me reading them.”

“Why not? I like that you’ve read them. Did you like the series? The characters?”

“I . . . related to them. Particularly Rohanda.”

“Really? The woman who was forced to be a beast and then break the curse?” he asked, then added, “Actually I see it now. The whole being forced to wear makeup thing. Is that how you relate?”

I was being read like a book.

“You got it exactly right,” I said, voice strangled.

“I can’t believe we have this in common,” Sebastian said. “I never imagined you of all people read The Fair Originals.”

I laughed nervously. “Yeah, it’s not something I advertise. I can’t exactly put on my Instagram that I’ve read the books a million times.”

Or wrote them.

“I have too,” Sebastian said, and he looked genuinely happy to talk to me. He looked younger, a childlike excitement lighting up his face in a way that I had never seen before. “That’s what I do on my breaks and whenever I’m not working. Have you heard there is a TV show coming out? Are you going to watch it?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“This is great. We actually have something to talk about.”

“Yeah, we do,” I said.

Oh no. How was I going to keep this a secret? Sure, Sebastian was willing to keep my makeup-less face a secret, but this? He’d probably tell everyone the minute he found out about the character I based on him.

“I didn’t even know you read fiction. The last time we talked about books, you only mentioned you liked ones about social media.”

“I’m not really a fan of nonfiction. I mainly read fiction,” I said. “When Jessie was busy, I’d read just to pass the time. But when I was a kid, my mom would catch me reading a lot and she thought it was a waste of time when I could be modeling or building my image. I never stopped, I just learned to hide it.”

“We obviously don’t know each other very well,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess not. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a closet nerd.”

“You either,” Sebastian said. “I really thought you would make fun of me if you ever found out.”

“Me? I’d never make fun of anyone for what they love. That’s just cruel.”

“Really? Even if it was something . . . what did you say earlier, trivial?”

“I didn’t say that because I think it’s trivial. I said it because it’s what has been said to me. I’d never think that about what made someone happy.”

“I didn’t know you were so . . . open about things.”

I shrugged. “I just like it when people genuinely enjoy something. That’s all.”

Sebastian was quiet for a long moment. “Why have you never said any of this before?”

I blushed and shook my head. “I was always told this was the least interesting thing about me. I grew up in the modeling world. All that mattered to people I hung around was how I looked. If I wasn’t making connections or working, then I was wasting time. And everything I was told about marriage is that your partner should only see you at your best so . . .” I shrugged. “A lot of the real me isn’t the best of me, I guess.”

“I don’t want to only see the best version of you.”

“I guess . . . I guess I didn’t know that,” I muttered, looking at my fingernails. Should I have known? Maybe. I knew my views on love were wrong, and it wasn’t what I wanted for myself in the future. But in my parents’ circles, those people were all the same.

Except for Sebastian, apparently.

“I want to make this last year of the contract be better than what it was before. I mean, we’re here against our will and we shouldn’t resent each other when neither of us made this choice.”

“You’re right,” I said softly. “I can try to open up a bit more. At least to make this year a little easier.”

Sebastian’s mouth turned upwards, lighting up his entire face. It felt like I was seeing more of him than I ever had.

“So, how did you get into The Fair Originals?” he asked.

“It’s a little hard to explain,” I said.

When I came up with the idea, I was in a dark place after the honeymoon. Finding out my husband had someone else after we’d had sex took a toll.

I never meant for it to go that far. It was just a fantasy story . . . but then my mother’s lectures every time I did something wrong started to get to me, and then my dad joined in. It all became too much. I wanted to get out of the real world.

I made my own. My idea was a Beauty and the Beast retelling, but the woman was the beast and the kingdom was in danger at all times. It was a five-book series, one that had gotten away from me. It went from a simple romance and grew into a play for power, kingdoms, and the emptiness of physical beauty.

“I needed an escape,” I said.

“I did too,” he replied. “I didn’t think I would like it, but there was something so familiar about the author, like I knew them.”

“Wouldn’t that be crazy,” I remarked awkwardly.

“I saw myself in Rohanda too,” he admitted. “Maybe in a different way, but J.R. really did a good job of making her so detailed but so vague that almost anyone can relate to her in some way.”

I nodded, trying to keep my cool. It was a weird roundabout compliment. I didn’t know how to take those. In reality, I didn’t think my books were all that special. They were mainly an outlet.

“Out of curiosity,” I said, “how do you think the series is going to end?”

That had always been my favorite thing to do in my free time: read fan theories.

“I’m hoping Rohanda and Jamisson end up together.”

“Wow. I didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

Sebastian’s face turned red. “I don’t know if I am, but I feel like the whole series has been building to something happier. As the betrayals add up and the ending gets closer, I feel like the only people that they have is each other.”

Oh boy, I was definitely going to disappoint this man.

At least the book was coming out after the contract ended. I could always change it, but up until now, I had been wanting the darker ending.

Suddenly it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

“J.R. seems pretty dark,” I told him. “Maybe it would end sadly.”

“A lot of people want that,” Sebastian said, “and I agree that it would be more in tone with the series. But what’s the point of escapism if the end is sad anyway?”

I was quickly realizing that reading fan theories online paled in comparison to actually talking to someone I knew about it.

Online, I had seen it all. People saying this series was their life, people hating on it for existing. I knew people escaped this world to go to my universe. But seeing it affect someone I knew was so different than reading forums online.

“I’m getting the idea you don’t agree,” Sebastian said after a moment of silence from me.

“Oh, I mean . . . I try not to speculate too much. But the writing could align with the author’s mood. I’m just hypothesizing here, but I’ve always seen the series as the author’s therapy.”

Sebastian was pensive for a moment. “I never thought of it from their perspective. But I guess it’s hard to get a read on them when there’s nothing to follow.”

“Yeah,” I said. “No dedications, no author’s notes, no biography.”

“They’re a ghost,” he added.

“Maybe that’s by design,” I reminded him. “Not everyone wants to be noticed or followed.”

“Do you?”

I stifled as gasp. Did he know? How? How could he have found out? The look of shock on my face lessened when I realized he meant me, Lily, Instagram influencer and all-around-perfect public figure.

But I supposed there wasn’t as much of a difference as I thought there was.

“I don’t,” I told him honestly. “I hate it when people recognize me. I hate that I have to post about our lives.”

“You’re good at it, though.”

I shrugged, trying not to get defensive. “Maybe I am. But I think we all have things we’re good at but also hate.”

“Yeah, I suppose we do,” Sebastian said softly, more to himself than me. We sat in silence, both so lost in our thoughts that words were useless.

The man sitting in front of me wasn’t the one I stood at the altar with. Or maybe he was, and I never cared to find out. And I regretted that a little.

“So, want to watch a little asshole die?” I asked, trying to extend an olive branch.

I realized after I said it that maybe it was a poor choice of words.

“What?” Sebastian said, looking alarmed.

“Game of Thrones,” I reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, but maybe we should start at the beginning.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling.

I turned on the TV, and laid on the couch to recover. I was still tired and felt like I had been wrung out like a washcloth, but hanging with Sebastian was nice.

And that pang in my chest I usually had when around him was mysteriously gone.

Photo: a small kitchen, looking spotless and organized.

LilyRMiller: Sometimes keeping a house clean is all about wanting it to look better for your partner when they get home! I had been feeling bad the last couple days and my hubby took a few days off to take care of me. This is just a small token of my appreciation!

Fthepatriarchy: Ugh. Of course she does all the cleaning for him.

TwoLives: Um, what’s wrong with that?

SebandLily4ever: I am so glad you’re back! I was SO worried when you didn’t post for a few days!