“I don’t care. You pick.”
We sat on separate ends of the couch, and he picked a comedy romance with Sandra Bullock. I had already seen the movie but didn’t tell him and watched it anyway. The wedding part took me back to my wedding day, and I stared blankly at the TV.
I was looking out the small jet window when I knew that we were descending. I saw one runway and knew that we were going to land there. I remembered my heart beating too fast and was trying to talk myself out of a full blown panic attack. We landed the Jet and a black limousine picked us up.
“Good evening, sir,” the man dressed in a black suit nodded to Drew, opening the door for us. I didn’t know where the other two men had gone that was on the flight with us, but they didn’t get into the car with us.
Drew talked on his phone the entire time we were in the limo, not that it was a long drive. We were pulling up to the mansion of a house fifteen minutes later. I had found out later that the runway was his own private runway and was on the property of the estate. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. We drove through two stone pillars with the numbers 41293. I remembered repeating the number over and over in my head, just in case somebody cared and needed to come and rescue me. I wondered why the gate read, Callaway Estates, but assumed he had purchased it from the Callaway’s or something.
I could barely keep my mouth shut when we were let into the house by a lady, maybe mid-thirties or so. She smiled at me and could probably tell how scared I was.
Drew was still talking to someone on the phone, telling whoever he was talking to that he couldn’t drop price and to tell them that if they wanted it, the price was thirty five thousand and to take it or leave it.
Wow, what could he be selling for thirty five thousand dollars? No wonder he lived here.
Drew held my elbow and led me to his office where two other men were waiting for us. He walked around and sat in the oversized leather chair. I stood awkwardly at the door. The one guy was the one who had traveled with him to retrieve me. I wondered how he had gotten there before us and why he hadn’t ridden in the limousine with us.
“Let’s get this over with. I have a plane to catch.”
he told one of the men.
“You sign here,” the same man in an expensive suit said, sliding the paper to him.
All three men turned to look at me, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing.
“Come on, Morgan, I don’t have all day,” Drew said. I was still puzzled.
He got up and pulled me by the arm to his desk when I didn’t move. He grabbed my hand and shoved the pen in it.
“Sign!” he almost yelled, poking hard at the X
where my name was already printed.
My hand started to tremble when I saw the top of the paper that said Secretary of the State, Nevada, and then it said certificate of marriage.
What! This was my wedding? I couldn’t believe it.
What was his motive? Why was he doing this?
“Sign the Goddamn X, Morgan!” he yelled, and I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. I didn’t want to sign. I didn’t want to marry Drew Kelley.
He grabbed my hand and scribbled my name with his.
“Witness it, Derik,” he demanded and the other man signed as well.
I was speechless. What the hell was going on? I was just forced to marry someone against my will. A very rich someone that didn’t care about the law, or that we had just gotten married illegally, I was sure.
“That isn’t real,” I stated boldly. “You have to have a county of the clerk or a judge or preacher or justice of the peace,” I was rattling on and on nervously. Drew laughed.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Kelley. Ronald is a judge. It’s legal. Somebody get her the fuck out of here,” he said, and the lady that met us at the door came to retrieve me.
“I will show you to your quarters, Mrs. Kelley.”
“I am not Mrs. Kelley. Stop calling me that,” I demanded. She shushed me.
“That is what I am ordered to call you. Please don’t make it difficult for me. I am just trying to do my job.”
“But don’t you even care that I don’t want to be here? I don’t want to be his wife. I don’t even want to be in the same state as him. I hate him already.”
The lady shushed me again. “Everything that you say Mrs. Kelley is heard by Mr. Kelley,” she whispered.
Great so now I am going to be spied on too.
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“Rebecca,” she answered, moving me right along.