The McCain Marriage Contract

Ever since I asked for Mavis's help for my wedding, her inquisitiveness increased over the moon. She felt somewhat entitled to information about my personal life and my marriage. In truth I knew it did not come from a bad place; she was, after all, someone that could call herself close friends with the girl that got secretly married to a billionaire's son. It was a position she donned with pride, especially seeing as her pictures also made it to the internet. Tony was so evil; no one had noticed he made plans for pictures to be taken discreetly that day.

I was sure Mavis saw herself as a depot of first-hand information, enough to feed the press with. Initially, when I could not think of who might have tipped the press she was one of the first suspects to come to mind, but I quickly waved it away because the Mavis I knew would have embellished the story a lot better, adding false awwwnn-provoking juice like how we first met and how he proposed. It would have gotten a global reach even.

She asked me for days on end about honeymoon plans and shared with me pictures of the most romantic spots all over the world. She was a lot more thrilled about my marriage than I was for whatever reason. I tried to buy time by lying that the honeymoon was going to come much later, but trust Mavis to keep asking. So when Tony made the arrangements for our travel I felt duty-bound to inform her.

She squealed so hard that I feared my eardrums would burst. "Oh, my gosh, Valerie," she said. "I need you to open a Snapchat account ASAP. That way poor lowly folk like us can keep up with your shenanigans in the Maldives. "You know I won't be doing that, Mavis," I told her. "I prefer a quiet exit and stay."

She grunted in disappointment. "Damn, wealth is such a waste on you. I don't know why I expected anything different from somebody like you, so boring and secretive. One would think that since you are now in money you would behave differently. Anyway, could you swing by the office tomorrow before you leave? I got you some presents for your travel. Before you say anything, I got them the day after the wedding. That's why I've been hustling you about the honeymoon." I felt my heart melt. Mavis might be boisterous and a tad nosy but she had a good heart, and she was loyal. "Okay, I'll come first thing tomorrow morning," I said. "And thank you, Mavis."

I hated this whole honeymoon idea. It seemed like an unnecessary waste of time and good money. I wanted to stay back with my dad, but then I had no excuse good enough to give Tony and Raymond, and so I had to go. It was a good thing I had moved my dad to a private facility on 24th Street -- Chaim Memorial Stroke Center -- with the help of Dr. Reynolds who made the transfer as discreet as possible to prevent the media from finding out, seeing as I had become an internet sensation overnight. All that was left to do the next morning was go see Mavis -- it was the very least I could do considering that she had gone through the trouble of getting me a present -- then stop by and see my dad before leaving. There was a knock on my bedroom door, and before I could respond an envelope slid through the thin space between the door and the floor. I knew instantly that it was Raymond. Stupid, cowardly asshole. I opened up the envelope and retrieved the note that looked like it was scribbled by a toddler. This man truly had no ounce of respect for me -- I knew his penmanship was impeccable, and yet he decided to send me this scrawny note: "Pack your bags and sleep early. We leave at noon."

The son-of-a-bitch was arrogant and crude, and somehow I still had a soft spot for him. Emotions were death traps.

I didn't have much to pack, partly because I just didn't have many clothes and partly because I didn't plan on going out anyway. I would just stay in whatever hotel room I was assigned -- a different one from Raymond's, I hoped -- by myself for the entire duration of the so-called honeymoon. Raymond was free to run around with all the bikini-clad girls on the beach or whatever. Even though this thought made me feel a tinge of jealousy, I knew that was what would happen. It was not smart to mix business with pleasure.

The next day I went to see Mavis and it was like a fanfare. Helium balloons bearing my name were hoisted in the office, and there was a cake with my picture on it. Amusingly when I quit working there with the sales team, I didn't get as much as a hug from anyone except Mavis. No one had even cared to find out why I was leaving. And now because I was perceived to be rich, I was deserving of a show of love. Money was, indeed, the language the world understood. After smiling at so many people and hugging much more, including my former boss who, back then, could never seem to keep his eyes away from my breasts, I allowed Mavis drag me outside the building. She had a paper bag with her from which a grey suede gift box peeked. "Don't open this until you get to your hotel room," she said.

"Why not?"

"Just don't, okay? You'll ruin the surprise if you do."

"Okay, okay," I said, nodding vigorously. "I won't."

"Promise me?" she insisted.

It was becoming amusing but I decided to give in. "I promise."

Then she gave me a long hug and a tap on my ass that left my eyes popping out of their sockets. "That's for luck," she explained with a grin.

I hurried off to see my dad. He was conscious but neither speaking nor moving, but I was repeatedly assured that he was making progress. That was good enough for me.

"I've done something bad, dad. Something that might make you not so proud of me. I'll let you know everything once I return, okay? Please be good for me, daddy. We'll get through this phase, I promise." Then I kissed him lightly on the cheek and left.

I was back in Raymond's mansion before 11:30 a.m. I met him standing by the front door, arms folded across his chest. "I was beginning to worry you got kidnapped or something, but now it's clear you just went to get some dick for the days ahead."

I gave a half-smile. "Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?"

"What?" he asked, obviously flustered. "Darling, I couldn't care less about what you did or whom you did it with."

"Good. Now get out of my way, please. I have a vacation to enjoy."

Of all the things I packed for my travels, there was none I valued more than my stash of Valium, a remnant of my prescription in the early days of my dad's illness when I was too anxious to sleep. Just before we got into the jet I swallowed a 5- milligram tablet, enough to lull me to sleep for a decent number of hours.

I wanted to be excited for my first time in a private jet; I wanted to look around and be sure I was not dreaming all of this luxury. But much more than that, I didn't want to have to stare at Raymond McCain for the duration of the flight.