Just Business
Copyright© 2025 by Don Lockwood
Chapter 7
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 7 - Arranged marriages. Aren't they fun? Especially when the bride and groom hate one another. Will Brad and Ingrid ever be actually married?
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Fiction Oral Sex Safe Sex
INGRID
How the hell was I so happy? I mean, what? Me?
I wasn’t kidding about the thousand-ton weight. But I was thinking of another metaphor: a puzzle.
When I first was told I had to marry him, I was presented with the pieces of a puzzle. They were in a big bag, completely unorganized. I wasn’t sure if all the pieces were there. I think some of them were sticky. A few more were faded. And I spent months diligently trying to put that puzzle together. It was hard. It drove me crazy. It’s all I could think about. But it was done. The moment I realized, and told Brad, that I wanted a real marriage, that was the last piece snapping into place.
But there was more. Notice what I didn’t say was the last piece: Laura’s letter. That wasn’t a piece, it was the answer key. But here’s the thing: I didn’t need it. The puzzle was done. The answer key showed up after the last piece was placed. I did this.
I took a moment to be proud of myself.
After I had the puzzle solved, I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. That was the thousand-ton weight lifting. That made it easier to notice what was around me. Look, I committed to a real marriage. I wouldn’t have done that without knowing Brad was a good man. But now I noticed just how good.
He was beautiful. He was wonderful. He gave everything and took very little. He was, as I have said, a hunk. He had this smile that just lodged in my soul. He was self-deprecating without ever being overwrought about it. I loved the fact that he wasn’t afraid to cry in front of me. He was endearingly awkward. He sees me. Boy, does he ever.
I wasn’t just in love with him. I had a crush on him. They’re not the same thing. Love is love, but crushes were for giddy 14-year-olds.
My oh my, did that man make me feel like a giddy 14-year-old. Frequently.
So, no, this wasn’t Ingrid having a complete personality change. This was me having the scales stripped from my eyes, finally seeing Brad in all his magnificence, and realizing, “Wait. That’s mine? Really? All mine?”
However, I did know that people at that gala were going to think I did have a personality change. Did I care? Not a whit, except for counting on getting some amusement out of it!
In bed that night, after some sex practice—and practice was making perfect, slowly but surely—Brad and I had a conversation.
One thing I’d realized—Brad was paying for everything. I didn’t have much, of course, but Brad hadn’t asked. He’d even put me on every card he had, his bank account, everything. And this right after we first got married, before I trusted him. He just did it, no questions asked. Now that I knew him better, I wasn’t surprised.
But, I had bought a new dress for the gala, and it was a grand. I put it on his credit card. I brought that up. And, then, asked him, “Do you think I should go back to work?”
He looked at me. “Only if you want to. Don’t worry about money. Don’t worry about how much you’re spending. I have it, and, now that the new program is up and running and sales are pouring in, there’s no doubt I will continue to have it. Now, if you’re bored, that’s one thing. I know you don’t have a lot to do around here with Anna and Adele around, so, if you’re bored, sure. But you don’t have to.”
I looked at him. “Is this you being a pushover again?”
He laughed. “To a point. But, it’s different. You’re my wife.” I looked at him. “We have made this a real marriage and proclaimed our love for one another. What’s mine is yours. I don’t get stingy with friends, I’m certainly not going to get stingy with the person I love.”
“I promise to try very hard to not take advantage of it. However, I fear a thousand-dollar dress is already taking advantage of it.”
“No,” he said. “The suit I’m wearing tomorrow cost lots more than that. The only difference is, I already had it. You have to dress up for these things. I know that.”
“Thanks. I could have worn something I have, but I’m trying to change my style.”
“Again, it’s fine,” he said. “Are you bored?”
“A little, but I think I’m going to start to crochet again.”
“Cool. Now, I have something to ask you. Do you and Leah want to move?”
“To another house?” I said, clearly shocked.
“No, no, no!” he said. “I mean, you move in here with me, and we move Leah to a closer room.”
I smiled at that one. “You want me to move into your suite?”
“Yes. Yes. A gazillion times yes.”
“OK,” I laughed. Easiest OK ever, that was. “We’ll just have to explain to Leah why she’s moving.”
“That’s easy,” he said. “It goes like this. Leah, Mommies and Daddies usually sleep in the same room. We did not do that right away because we got married very fast. But now that we are married, and we’re used to it, we’re going to sleep in the same room. And we’re moving you so that you’ll be close to our room, in case you need something from Mommy or me at night.”
“Jesus. That’s fucking perfect. You sure you just became a parent 4 months ago?” He laughed at that.
So, back to that thing I said about changing my style.
I had one, especially for things like a charity gala. That style was easy to identify: Ice Queen. It starts with platinum blonde hair pulled back into a braid so severe it makes your cheeks pull. Apply the appropriate ice-queen makeup to my very pale skin. Top it off with some sort of suit with a ridiculously high neckline that just screams Back Off! Walk into the ballroom like you own the place. Alone, always alone, or maybe with some arranged ‘date’ walking two feet behind you.
If that description screams “trained monkey” to you, well, yes. That’s the point.
The dress I had bought was blue, mostly a royal blue with some lighter blue trim. It had a decent amount of cleavage. It was knee length. I left my hair down. I wore makeup, but softer.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I liked this. It wasn’t casual, really, but it was softer. I looked ... comfortable. Comfortable in my own skin.
That was definitely new.
So, I went downstairs, feeling soft and comfortable. And I turned the corner and saw my wonderful husband.
Who did not at all look soft and comfortable.
No, he looked like he was going to take me right on the couch!
He started walking towards me. “Is that the dress I paid a thousand bucks for?”
“Yes,” I managed.
He reached me. “A fucking bargain,” he growled. Then he completely obliterated my lipstick!
After we broke, I said, “It’s not that revealing.”
“It’s got nothing to do with revealing. That dress makes your skin glow. It deepens the blue in your eyes. It reflects off your hair. Granted, it also hugs every curve. It just makes you look more Ingrid.”
“That was so sweet.”
“I would not use the word sweet to describe how I’m feeling right now.”
“Later,” I grinned.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
We got to the hotel ballroom where the gala was being held. “They probably assigned seats,” I said.
“Probably.”
“And they probably stuck us with Daddy.”
He laughed. “Your father isn’t going to know what hit him.”
“True,” I laughed.
I didn’t walk into that gala with a ramrod-straight back. I didn’t lift my chin. I didn’t walk in alone. I didn’t have a chilling scowl on my face. Nope, I walked in, relaxed, easy, hand-in-hand with Brad, laughing at something he’d said. I wondered who noticed.
We found our table number. Yup, with my parents. They weren’t here yet. Brad offered to go get us drinks. “What do you want, Jameson?” he laughed.
“I think I’ll stick to wine tonight. A red. Shiraz, if they have it.”
Shortly after he headed to the bar, my parents walked up. They said hello and took their seats.
“Is Brad here?” Mom asked.
“Of course. He went for drinks.”
“Where’s Leah?” Mom asked.
“Our housekeeper, Adele, has her. Adele doesn’t mind picking up some extra money babysitting. Leah and she adore one another.”
Just then, Brad came back. “Your wine, Madame,” he said, placing it in front of me. Then he greeted my parents, shook my father’s hand.
“No Jameson?” I asked, eyeing his beer.
“I never drink Jameson if I’m driving,” he said. “I nurse beer, so it doesn’t really affect me.”
“Smart husband,” I said, patting his shoulder. He grinned at me, and I caught Dad giving us a funny little look.
The other occupants of our table were two of Dad’s executive golf-buddy types and their wives. There was lots of boring business talk. They came around with menus—there were a few entrees to choose from. I picked a steak. Which caught another look from Dad—women don’t eat fattening red meat in public, don’t you know. I liked steak. Fattening? I’m 5’9”, 140, and that’s with C-cups and an ass. I’m eating the damn steak. Brad, a committed afficionado of all types of seafood, ordered the salmon.
Oh, and that 140? Same as it was before Leah. To the pound. I’m eating all the steak.
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