Chapter 25 Starving For Him
Chapter 25 Starving For Him
One email ruined the next few days of my life.
I came running to Cillian's office, buzzing his door using my exclusive card.
“Did you see Mr. Fujitaka’s email?” I told him, trying to sound less panicky.
His hands navigated to his computer, clicking the keyboard. He slammed his finger shutting the e-mail domain, his forehead in nuts.
“Baxter is trying to get my investor?”
I nodded, “Cillian, Mr. Fujitaka is flying to London to meet with him.”
He threw me a look, getting more pissed as time went on, by
“How did you know?
“I called his assistant. I’m so sorry.” I whispered.
“Sloane, tell my pilot to get ready for the private jet we’re flying to London today.”
London? But what about our honeymoon? I couldn't gain the courage to say it.
His entire face was on fire. Baxter was a low blow, trying to snatch Cillian’s investor.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if he found out we’re so desperate to get the deal, even following him? Trailing him?
A cunning grin occupied Cillian’s lips, “That’s why we're canceling our honeymoon, and flying to London to spend it there, I want Mr. Fujitaka to see that I’m a family man now, someone he could trust better than Baxter.”
Cancel our honeymoon?
Another playing the part?
I wished I could scream, but no.
He needed my support right now, and that’s what I ought to give him.
I had to set my feelings aside.
“Okay,” I said, my voice windrawn.
His brows scunched together, “Sloane? I’m sorry I wasn't—
I held a hand up to him, gesturing for him to stop.
“Totally understandable, professional at work, remember?” I gave him a comforting smile.
Yet my heart was in pieces.
“Okay.” He said, relief showered in his face.
“We show him our goals align, Cillian,” I added.
“We must show him.” He agreed, and I turned my back towards the door, tugged the knob, and walked away.
I was on autopilot, his wife and his assistant all at the same time.
But the last role was more important than the first.
I stared at the big rock in my finger.
And I whispered, “Guess you have to wait again.”
Sucked in, shoving my disappointment under the rug.
A family trip to London, I couldn't be more thrilled.
Planning a trip anywhere was stressful, especially if it was last-minute.
Calling the hotel, penciling the itinerary, trying to squeeze everything into the calendar. My fake husband was useless with the details of our phony honeymoon.
I was stuck doing all the preparations alone; on top of that, posting a few pictures of us having fun was part of it too.
His press release was about married life first before business, showing the Japanese investor that his goals as a person were broadening, that he has a wife to think about.
Did he really have a wife to think about or set aside?
He was back to his cold and unfeeling demeanor, and it was pissing me off.
There was something fishy; he could have all the
investors he required, but his insistence on Mr. Fujitaka left me wondering why.
He couldn't even help me. I was not expecting grand, but the small things that mattered most.
I inhaled as I looked into the mirror in the walk in closet.
“What’s wrong?” Cillian asked; he didn't even bother looking up to me, but to his damn phone.
“Oh, nothing important, just thinking about packing, on top of our plane clearance, visas, and also the itinerary I had to list down, plus the folders for the deal. Is there anything you want me to pack for you?”
Did he care about my feelings? My husband remained quiet.
Falling in love with me? Liar.
“Cillain?” I asked him one more time.
“No.” He said, continuing to tap on his screen.
Asshole. A bane in my existence.
Was this the life I signed up for? For the next what? Five more years with him? Communicating with a man who’s probably more married to his phone than I am?
The emptiness in my chest brought a heavy churn in my belly. My resentment intensified.
What do you expect, not because he said he was falling for you, he would change overnight?
The world did not work like that, not now, not ever.
Just a little attention, a little care,
Basically, I was running out of time, and he didn't even remember a single memory of me or anything from the past.
Stop keeping your hopes up, expect less, and hurt less.
He grabbed his phone and started arguing with someone.
At least he was not arguing with me.
My phone buzzed in my hand, and I unlocked it to find Maria and Arma’s group chat.
Maria: Finally, honeymoon! :)
Arman: Sex in the bed, in the kitchen counter, in the bathroom, and on the beach.
I pressed a laughing emoji to react to his chat.
Me: There is no beach in London, none that I know of.
I typed and the dots appeared. Maria was typing her reply.
Maria: But there is sex!
Arman: Plenty of it!
My husband was not a gigolo, used for sex.
Yet he could use you? Crazy truth, right? My brain misfired.
Me: Lunatics! How many times do I need to say this? We’re going on a business trip. I'm his assistant for this trip.
Arman: You’re also his fucking wife.
Maria: Get him, girl.
I sent a heart emoji and locked my phone.
Maria was right on the nail.
I could get him, withhold him of his rights as my lawfully legal husband.
A sly grin covered my lips. If this weren't a honeymoon, I would treat this as a personal vacation.
I would wear that sexy red dress, flaunt that bikini in the hotel tub, and drink champagne.
Celebration whirled in my ears. I was off to have fun; this was my seventh life after all.
Cillian wished to be an absentee husband? Then so be it.
“Have you booked the car? He inquired after spending the entire flight not speaking to me.
I nodded.
I was thorough and detailed. His standard for his office staff was up to the roof.
A black SUV fetched us from the house to the airport.
He placed his hand on my thigh as the car drove away.
“Are you hungry?” but his eyes were on his phone.
“Nope.”
He didn't even reply after my answer.
We arrived at the airport quickly, the driver picked up our luggage from the trunk, and I wasted no time and opened the car door.
I walked towards the reception counter.
“Good evening, Ma’am and Sir.”
Cillian was waiting beside me; he kept on lifting his wrist, staring at his expensive watch.
I was so drained conversing with him at this point.
"Visas please." The immigration officer said.
“Your boarding gate is that way, your private plane is cleared to fly."
“Let’s go.” He uttered coldly.
My stomach growled in hunger.
I’m not going to die from vanishing into thin air but rather in starvation.
He was starving me of his love and affection.