The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage Read Online Free PDF Page B

watching The King of Queens and eating ice chips.
    “How do you feel?” Tyson asks.
    “I’m okay.” I say it like I’m chipper, as if all is right with the world. I’m good at pretending.
    Tyson looks at the TV for a moment. “You know what I hate about shows like this?”
    “What’s that?” I ask him.
    “They portray men as being stupid and weak creatures.”
    I laugh at him and he says, “Have you ever noticed that?”
    “I don’t watch much TV.”
    “You don’t?”
    “No.”
    “Then what on earth do you do all day, up in your room?”
    “I sleep. Write. I read. I love to read.”
    “Let me ask you something, Gabrielle. Why were you on the bathroom floor naked this morning?”
    I shrug. “Nothing...just slipped and fell I guess...must’ve hit my head and blacked out or something.”
    “That, or maybe he pushed you. Did Dilvan hurt you, Gabrielle?”
    For some reason, I find myself putting up walls and going into defense mode. What right does he have to ask me about my marriage and what’s going on in a house which he doesn’t even live in? He’s only a guest, a nosy one at that, and I owe him no explanation on anything that goes on in my home. I don’t trust him. As a matter of fact, the only man I do trust is my Father.
    “ No,” I respond. “I told you...I fell...”
    “I don’t believe that.”
    “Well, that’s what happened so...”
    “And what happened at breakfast Tuesday morning?”
    “What do you mean?” I ask him, while staring at the TV, because I don’t believe in having eye-to-eye contact with a man, thanks to Dilvan.
    “I mean, Dilvan answers questions for you, he kicks you underneath the table and you won’t even make eye contact with him, the same way you won’t look at me...like you’re afraid.”
    “I’m not afraid.”
    “Then look at me, Gabrielle.”
    I don’t want to look at him. In fact, everything inside of me is telling me not to look this man in the eyes. It’s been engrained in me, that I’m not worthy, not important enough to look people in their eyes. In some cultures, it’s disrespectful to do so. Back in the day, some women were afraid to look their husbands in the eyes. Maybe it was a self-esteem issue, or it could’ve been a way of showing respect to their men.
    However, I live in a modern America. Not looking someone in the eyes is a sign of low self-esteem, a sure indication of a lack of confidence. Before I was married, I used to look people in the eyes. Now, I feel like Miss Celie from The Color Purple , afraid of my master , which in turn has made me afraid of other people.
    “Gabrielle,” Tyson says. “Look at me.”
    I feel my head turning towards the chair he’s sitting in, but I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. When my eyes make contact with his, he smiles. So do I. Tyson is handsome, a brown-skinned man with adorable, copper eyes, a chiseled face and a nice haircut. It amazes me how my eyes roam his face to enjoy every aspect of him, from the thin mustache above his top lip to the bone structure that makes him appear so manly and strong.
    “Hi,” he says, and the smile hasn’t left his face.
    “Hi.”
    “You h ave some beautiful, brown eyes,” he tells me.
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.” He takes my hand and says, “Now that I have your undivided attention, I want to tell you a story. It’s the story about a woman who married the man she thought she would love the rest of her life. They had a beautiful wedding, and in public, he treated her like a queen, but behind closed doors, she was being tortured, beaten and she was scared to tell anyone for fear her husband would find out. That woman was my sister.”
    “Your sister?”
    “Yes. My sister married a man who was abusive to her. It went on for years before she finally told me what was going on.”
    “What did you do?”
    “First, I beat the crap out of her husband. Then I moved her in with me until she was able to get back on her feet and year