53. The Bizarre Wedding

53. The Bizarre Wedding
DAY THREE

After a quick shower, I change into some slacks and a breathable t-shirt, before heading downstairs for whatever leftovers Emara has left for me.

“Well, if you love me so much, will you marry me?” 

I freeze in mid-step as I hear her flirtatious voice, floating through the empty walls. There is an affectionate smile in her tone, light and teasing.

Is she talking to.. Ryan?

My legs take long strides towards the kitchen, where I see Emara sitting on a bar stool, with a bottle and glass of wine, talking to no one, but herself. 

Is she drunk?

“Sure. As you wish.” The AI assistance replies to which she excitedly claims, “That’s.. Awesome! Let’s get married, Eve.” 

I stand there as a witness to this madness, Emara getting happily married to my virtual AI assistance, the one I built for myself.

“Say I do, Eve.” She orders.

“I do.” Comes the calm robotic response.

“I do too. We are married now!” Then laughs out loud, sipping her wine and celebrating her bizarre wedding with Eve.

Whereas I feel like I am burning from inside, like a million crackers bursting in my chest all at once. Wanting to break something.

“Eve, thank you for your assistance.” I step forward, gritting the words out of my strained jaw, before she starts discussing her honeymoon fantasies with my AI.

Emara turns her gaze at me, but remains unfazed like I am just a random guest in her wedding.

“Bye, Eve. Will make love to your sweet ass.” She cooes, and my fists clench.

She just had to say that!

I sit down with flames burning through my ribs, threatening to melt them as I stare at her.

Pink lip. Long neck. The slow, sensual arc of her collarbones. And underneath it all, her nerve.. The endless, shameless nerve to flirt with my damn AI like she is trying to make me feel jealous. 

And the worst part is.. It’s working.

Because I am jealous. Fucking jealous of my own creation, whom she chose to marry so casually.

Would she marry just anyone as a joke?

Even me, if I asked?

“Where is your plate?” I ask, scanning the table and spotting only one dish. That is mine.

“In the dishwasher.” She replies nonchalantly, causing my brow in question.

What is it doing there?

“Because I already ate.” Her voice sounds bored, and I glance down at my plate.

Radioactive chicken and lethal rice. 

Dear lord.

I have no idea what deadly concoction she has made this time. Maybe she spat in my food again, maybe let the dogs do a taste test, or maybe added bleach to make it extra poisonous?

Fuck it!

I take a spoon full of chicken and rice, gulping it down after a few distasteful bites, not knowing what she actually cooked.

I am too dead to feel anything. 

I sit there like a ghost at his own funeral, while Emara sips wine, and toasts to herself like a newly wed bride.

“What did you do the whole day?” I ask her, as the silence between us eats me from inside.

“Chores.” She replies, uninterested.

I watch her pour herself another glass of my wine. Not just any wine, the 1996 Château Lafite.

My birth year wine.

The crown jewel of my collection and the most expensive one I have been saving for something monumental, like the launch of my D2R software, or even better.. Like my wedding.

But definitely not hers.

Can’t believe she married my AI, that too in this hideous dress!

“What did you do the whole day?” Emara plainly spits my question, back at me.

“Work.” I mutter, just as uninterested.

I cannot wait to end this torturous dinner, so I can crawl back to my room, take my pills, plus a sedative or two, and blackout until morning. Then rush back to the office and complete the project.

“Too much work?” She asks me, a bit interested.

“Hmm..” I exhale tiredly. “Had back to back meetings with the product design team and had to make a lot of changes to our signature design.” I share with her, while she watches me quietly.

“And the new project, the one I have been working on dedicatedly for past two years, now feels impossible to finish in a day. I wanted to launch its full beta version, but at this point, releasing a prototype seems like a dream. It has so many glitches and faults, and on top of it.. It has already passed the deadline, yet the technical team is still struggling to fix it.” 

I sigh deeply, not realising how much stress I have been carrying all this time, and how much relieving it feels to finally let it out.

“It frustrates me when things chalk out of my draft. It messes with my brain.” I admit, letting the irritation slip through.

Emara sits there with the wine glass in her hand and whispers softly, “Do you want me to lighten your mood?”

My eyes flick up at her. Deep hazel eyes stare at me with heavy lashes, like hiding something behind them. 

I want to know what twisted game she has been scheming since evening, so I forward my hand towards her, playing along.

“Come here.” 

Emara flinches slightly, just enough for me to notice it. Her eyes flutter, thinking her next move like she holds the upper hand is still in this little seduction game.

Cute.

At the pace of a tortoise, she places her hand in my open inviting hand, as if it might bite. Her body tenses as I curl my fingers around her palm, slow and tight, enough to make her breath catch.

And then, I pull her towards me.

Emara takes careful steps, inching closer towards me like she is walking straight into the mouth of a sleeping dragon.

She is not wrong though!

She slides onto my lap reluctantly and I smell the uneasiness of her like a perfume, causing my smirk to stretch wide across my face.

I deliberately rest my hand on her lap, making her body stiff. Her breath hikes and I feel her skin heating up beneath the fabric of her ugly dress.

She came here to play, and I’ll show her how to win.

I scoop a spoonful of her radioactive chicken & rice, bring up to her lips and ask, “So, how are you planning to lighten my mood?”

Emara chews in silence, without moving or making a sound, playing an obedient babygirl, just the way I like.

So she didn’t mess with tonight’s dinner. Good to know!

I lean in slowly, smelling her fear, tasting the tension on her skin and whisper into her ear, “Do you know how to please a man, Emara?” 

She shudders as I let my breath slide along the curve of her sensitive neck, and feel her quacking with fear on my lap.

How responsive!

“Tell me.” My palm finds her thigh and squeezes it, firm and unapologetic, like I am staking my territory.

Mine. Always, mine.

Emara slowly turns to face me, her enigmatic eyes lock into mine as I take a bite of the chicken & rice, studying her calmly. 

“How am I supposed to please you, when you won’t even let me touch you?” She whispers quietly, looking at me for answers.

Because, I am scared I will love your touch and maybe.. Love you too.