I stared up at the child in Rafayel's arms, my brain grappling with the incongruity. Was this kid... his son?

But then the boys cheerful reply to Rafayel said it all. “Oh, yeah, dad, I had a really good day at kinder."

Rafayel cradled the boy, and his demeanor softened when he looked to me.

“Let me tell you about Aunt Leslie,” he said, turning his attention to me.

"Mom?" he said excitedly, his eyes shining with hope.

The question blindsided me, hitting me hard. Was he actually asking me to be his mother?

Before I even had time to formulate a response, the boy nodded enthusiastically and burst out, "Yes, please!"

Rafayel bent and whispered something to him, then turned back to me.

“Why don’t you go play with Uncle Raymond for a while? I need to talk to Aunt Leslie about something,” he said kindly.

When the boy ran off to play, Rafayel said something I couldn’t quite decipher. He motioned for me to follow him into his extravagant mansion, where he plucked a bottle of expensive wine I had only glimpsed in my grandfather’s home. I was confused, however, struggling to understand.

Why had he brought me here? What could he possibly want?

I sipped the glass of wine, drinking it to mellows my rattled nerves.

Damn it, I thought. What kind of life had Irene’s treachery thrown me into?

Interviewing Rafayel felt like attempting to read a decipher an ancient, cryptic manuscript, his eyes unblinking and unwavering.

His inscrutable expression gave nothing away, thoughts and intentions swaddled like a fogged-in night. And my instincts told me to tread lightly, that this strange man would take a little extra finesse.The silence before him stretched long and thick, until he finally said something, his voice a low gravelly whisper.

“You’re all wondering if I’m married?” he asked, the burden of the unspoken question heavy between us.

I was barely able to muster a timid nod, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“Yes, that’s gone through my head,” I mumbled, my voice low.

He interrupted me, a cutting bitterness in his tone.

“I’m a widower,” he said, his sound heavy with sorrow. “My wife… she passed away not long after our first child was born."

The room seemed to vibrate with the silent grief that clouded the air. I could almost diagram the ghosts of his pain traced upon his face, a blue, abiding reminder of a loss time had failed to mitigate.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said, the clichéd words carrying false resonance, yet the sympathy itself true.

Rafayel reclined, his visionary eyes in deep thought.

“You see,” he started, “my parents have been after me about something.

I felt a sense of curiosity and urged him to go on. "What about?"

He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit.

“They’ve been persistent,” he said, some annoyance creeping into his voice. “They are desperate for another grandchild, apparently.”

Rafayel’s expression turned calculating but his gaze was fixed on mine.

“I have a proposition that will work out well for both of us,” he said, his tone low and even.

My eyebrows furrowed, curious but cautious. "What do you mean?"

“Well,” he said, a cunning smile spreading across his face,

“I’m trying to figure out how do I please my parents and have my independence. They do want me to marry again, but I’m not ready to lose my freedom yet. So, I offer you a deal."

Rafayel sat up straight, his eyes focused. “I want a wife on paper, a wife that satisfies my parents and keeps my parents off my back. But my life, as you might imagine, is somewhat... unconventional. I won’t commit to being loyal or exclusive.”

My heart pounding in my chest, and I was conflicted and scared.

“What on earth are you saying?” I said, my voice scarcely a whisper.

"If you play along and pretend to be my wife,” he said in a low rumbling voice, “I will pay you the sum of one hundred million dollars every month.”

My jaw dropped, disbelief battling shock in my head. “One hundred million dollars a month?”

My head spun as I attempted to comprehend the sum of money Rafayel was proposing to pay me. A hundred million dollars a month was a mind-boggling number to me, something beyond my experience.

Anxiety gnawed within me, as I grappled with the notion that it would accumulate to a billion dollars annually. That’s a totally disgusting amount of money.

Rafayel examined my face, looking for any hesitation or unwillingness at all. He sat leaned over with his eyes on me.

“Well, what’s it going to be, Leslie? Do you agree to act as my spouse for one hundred million dollars per month?"

The question felt like a spotlight cast suddenly on my most intimate corners, raw, exposed.

“Shall we discuss this?” Manage, I managed, my voice little more than a whisper, tinged with a kind of unease.

“Definitely,” he said, quickly, in a clipped, business-like tone.

Doubts swirled in my head but all I could manage to ask was, “But why me? We barely know each other."

Rafayel smiled a crooked smile. “It’s not really about knowing you. I’ve already checked you out.” After all, it’s just business, right? You’re the only thing that fits for the part.’

Rafayel's face became sobered up and he nodded while the other continued.

“I’m a responsible man, in fact. You know last night I may have had one too many and we ended up in the same prop room. It was merely a temporary lapse in judgement. That will not happen in the future, I promise. He paused, and looked straight into my eyes. I’m going to lay out a business proposal that serves you and me. ”

All the memories from the previous night came rushing back and I instinctively bit my bottom lip, panic edging upwards as every second went by.

Rafayel’s words were true; there was likely a chance I was pregnant with his child. And if that were true, I knew that my mom would yell at me, and Irene and Grandma would be sure to make my life even worse.

"Alright, let's do it. Just make sure you are good to your word about the money,” I said, my voice quavering slightly.

“Of course, it’s a promise,” he assured, his voice soft and full of confidence. “I told you I was going to give you one hundred million dollars a month, so you’re gonna get that one hundred million dollars from me every month. Let’s write up a contract to set out the terms and conditions, if that makes you more comfortable.”

Rafayel took out his phone and punched in a number.

“David,” he said into the receiver, “I need you to bring the contract we talked about.” Yes, right away." He hung up and refocused on me. "It'll only be a moment. My lawyer is bringing the contract for us to sign.”

A short time later, a man in a sharp suit stood at the door, holding a leather briefcase.

“Ah, David,” Rafayel said as he waved him in. David nodded and moved deeper into the room, placing the briefcase down on the table and opening it to reveal a pile of papers and a marriage book.

“This is the contract,” David said, handing me a pen. "Please sign both documents."

My heart raced in my chest as I stared at the two documents in front of me. One was the contract, detailing the terms of our business partnership, and the other was the marriage book.

I took a deep breath and signed them; I knew very well that signing the papers would attach me to Rafayel in an unusual and strange manner.

With trembling hand I took the pen and signed both documents. It was now my fate to be bound up with Rafayel's, for good or ill.

The tiny smile on Rafayel's face as he hands over the shiny, new ATM card lets me know he is very, very pleased.

"Here you go, he said, holding out the card. “This is the first money you will spend. Use it as you like."

I was holding the black ATM card in my hand, still somewhat shellshocked.

That’s when Rafayel asked a question that pulled me back to earth. “Do you want to go home and tell your mom what happened with us, or do you want to go home with me and explain things together?”

“I’d rather she hear it from me,” I said softly, and my fingers tightened around the handle of my bag.

I slid the ATM card far inside, the heft of it a constant report that I was doing all the wrong things.

Rafayel’s sympathetic nod gave me a small measure of relief, but I still felt anxiety twisting in my gut. An attired gentleman appeared on cue, ready for his orders.

“Take her home,” declares Rafayel, firm, authoritative. The man nodded right away, and soon we were off.

I whispered a low "thank you" to Rafayel and turned before I finished. But right as I was leaving, he called out to me again.

To my shock, he took a step closer, bent down, and kissed the top of my head softly. I flinched and took a step back, my heart hammering in my chest.

"Take care, wife." He mumbled.

I stepped into the hall as my mind scurried through thought after thought in an attempt to steady my wildly pounding heart.

What had possessed Rafayel to kiss the top of my head like that?