A Wife for the Billionaire
Chapter 63: RICHARD

Chapter 63: RICHARD

The drive back to my apartment at Tall Springs was muddled by the thoughts that disheveled my mind.

I was so pissed, all my life it seemed everything I did was either arranged or plotted. I hadn’t even wanted to be the CEO, there were times I allowed myself to dream about other things. Other pursuits. Things I could have been had I not been entangled with the name ’Wellington’.

I imagined myself being an artist, with a studio downtown where I would create paintings and artworks worthy of international accolades while listening to my favorite songwriters.

Or a solo designer who worked for no one, selling my designs to the highest bidder.

One could say that the life I live now was better than those of my imaginations because I’m an artist with international accolades, Belle at the Ball, had won a French award and fetched me recognition in various parts of the world. And I’m a designer with no need to sell my designs and not be accredited for my skill, because I own the company.

But I know my life would surely be less complicated if I didn’t have the Wellington name, or born heir.

Most times I wonder why Edward never took another wife or tried to have another child. Especially after discovering that I was born with a weak heart and I wasn’t destined to live long.

I never quite understood the dynamics of my parents relationship, perhaps it was simple. I mean there’s only one thing that could make a man stick to a woman even after she cheated on him.

Love. That was it, but I really don’t buy it. The mere thought of Edward, my father being capable of love, was absurd. He hadn’t even loved me, so how could he love the woman who had birthed a weak thing as he always called, like me?

There had to be something else, something they were hiding from me. It had to be that Claire held him with something, perhaps a blackmail, or something stronger.

It had to be, because with the succession of the head family hinged on the saliency of an heir, surely Edward couldn’t afford to depend on the ficklety of one choice.

Unless...

The thought had crossed my mind on several occasions. A man like Edward was a master in the game of life, and he was too finicky to allow a move that could pave way for his opponent’s victory.

His opponents in this context were the Elders and they understood that the succession of the Wellingtons as the next head family of the Empire was hanging on a thin thread.

There had to be another Wellington I’m not aware of, another heir being raised in my ignorance. Or could he depend on Meghan, Uncle Gerald - his brother’s daughter.

No, he couldn’t. Edward was too petty to allow the mantle of head family shift from his direct descendant to his brother’s family.

Whatever was the case, I was still the only heir in the limelight. And as such, I must attend to my responsibilities and the most pressing of it all... was siring an heir and to do that, I must get married.

Which means, I will have to get along with this 15 prospects-selection thing. I must make the right choice, I must pick someone worthy of being the mother of the next Wellington heir. Someone fearless, someone who could navigate the stormy waters of the Wellington Fashion Empire.

But did they really have to get involved? Did she really have to go to such length, dialing mothers of potential prospects and inquiring of their availability because her son is looking for a wife? That’s like old England.

Why couldn’t they allow me to make my own choices? Why must they interfere and worse, in a matter of such significance? For fuck’s sake, this wasn’t a monarchy or the 80’s in Africa.

Lanke had told me that in his country, Nigeria around the eighties. Parents chose wives for their children, especially the males.

It had been the very first time they broached the topic. It was a year after my birthday spectacle. I was just 21 then, but it didn’t stop them.

I was more concerned then with taking over the Empire the next year after Edwards’ retirement to even bother about the frivolities of marriage.

It was on a fall morning when they had summoned me. I remember the scarce leaves on the oak trees that surrounded the estate. That morning, I had caught Opa, the head cleaner mumbling complaints of how many times he and the other cleaners had had to tidy up the yards. He had been cursing the oak trees in French, and had been surprised when I said from behind him,

"Imputez aux lois de la nature, non aux arbres."

Meaning, "Blame nature, not the trees"

In his startled state he had muttered a quick "Désolé" before scrambling out of there faster than the glide of an eagle before snatching a prey.

Edward and Claire were seated together when I joined them in the living suite. The TV set was off and a tray of white wine and three glasses lay at the table.

That was when I knew something was amiss, my parents after the birthday incident hadn’t let me near the wine cellar, they had been so preoccupied with my recovery that they feared alcohol could jeopardize it.

For them to make an exception means whatever we were going to discuss wasn’t going to be in my liking.

I sat opposite them, signaling a servant to come pour the wine. After emptying my first glass to dregs and getting a refill, without any of them lifting their own glasses from the tray, it became evident. This was going to be a very hard conversation.

It was Claire who began,

"Dear, how are you feeling today?"

"Better. But can we skip the pathetic inquiries and get to the main issue why you called me" I sipped from the glass.

They exchanged glances and Edward started,

"Richard, what we are about to propose I assure you it’s for your sake and the continuance of the Empire. Not to remind you of the past, but what happened during the 20th birthday scared the crap out of us. But it was also a call to set some things in place like the issue of siring an heir."

In surprise, I almost choked on the wine I had intended to swallow as I stuttered,

"Excuse me, what?!"

"Understand dear," Claire was saying, leaning forward, "we know you are still in your prime and you intend to enjoy your youth, but this doesn’t change anything. You can still dally around after you get married and sire an heir"

"So, you are serious?"

Their silence was enough.

"Unbelievable" I tsked, "so you want me to get married and sire an heir at the age of fucking 21?! What for exactly?!"

I didn’t even give them a chance to answer, as I raged on,

"Because you think I’m dying soon, right? Because you think I’m so weak that I could collapse again at any time and that would be it? Answer me!"

"Dear, you must understand this is also hard for us_"

Claire was forced to silence as I hauled the glass at the wall behind them.

"Hard for us," I repeated, standing, "pray tell, how is it hard on you? Are you the one who almost died or are you the one whose life is about to change? Or are you going to be the one who will answer all their questions or try to pretend that tying the nuptials at 21 is totally normal under their suspicious stares and scrutiny? Tell me, are you?!"

"I married your mother at 25, so my son getting married four years prior is not really out of the ordinary, and you are right. It will be hard on you, but I have never known you to be scathed by what people say or think."

Typical of him to try an attempt at a compliment because he wants something from me.

Gulping what must have been my second drink with the new glass replacement, I concluded,

"Try to sweet tongue it, sugar coat it even, but my answer remains no. As my parents, aren’t you supposed to think of my betterment? Aren’t you supposed to be optimistic, hell, hopeful? But here you are, talking about marriage to your 21 year old son because you think he might not live through this year_"

"Dear_"

"Don’t even try to deny it and can you chill with the ’dears’, we both know I don’t really hold you in high regard and trying to baby me on this is a serious waste of time. Now, if you don’t mind I will be needing some air, and when I come back I hope we can pretend that none of these happened."

"Wait!" Edward called, as I made for the door.

"If you want an heir so bad why don’t you sire one yourself, surely your dick can still do that... or can’t it?"

I don’t think I could ever forget the look of shock that masked their features, before I closed the door on them.

"Just drive, and keep driving until I tell you to stop" I snapped at Lanke who had been newly employed as of that time, when he asked me of our destination as I boarded the car.

I had ranted and raved as we drove, kicking the seat in front of me and

punching the leather I sat on.

Lanke had been silent until he decided to stop without my consent at McRonalds. Against my protests he had alighted from the vehicle and stalked off to red and blue building.

I was so ready to fire his ass, even though it had been just a few months after his employment. But he came back after a few minutes and shoved two cups of ice cream into my arms.

"I didn’t know which flavor you liked, but from the little time I’ve spent with you, I was able to tone it down between Oreo McCream and Coffee McCream. Feel free to fire me, but I’m a father and I know ice cream sometimes makes it better." He said in that weird accent of his.

As a child, I didn’t really have any flavor, but those two and Mocha McCream, had

been on top of my list of favorites.

I remember that Lanke hadn’t been paid for that month, because we were barely 15 days in and I hadn’t really given him money, suffice to say, he bought the cups of ice cream with his money. Something that no employee had ever done for me.

I’m rarely stunned speechless, but at that moment, I was. Without even waiting for a response or an order, Lanke started the car and kept driving.

After a few miles of stretched silence, he dove into the tale of how his parents picked a wife for him during his youthful years, and how it was a norm in Africa and his country.

With his weird accent and his flair for being funny, I found myself laughing at his description and voice mimes. I even finished both cups of ice cream against my better judgment.

That was the day, I started liking and respecting Lanke and till date, I’m still in reverence of him. With all the obsequiosity in my life, a shade of defiance was always indulging.

As he drove through the path with palm on both sides, to the gold gates of my apartment, I resolved to my fate and decided to sort of a way forward.

But that would be after a long peaceful sleep, even if I had to indulge or get high to achieve it.