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The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage: The Alexander Series, #1

The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage: The Alexander Series, #1

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The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage: The Alexander Series, #1

ratings:
4/5 (7 ratings)
Length:
149 pages
2 hours
Publisher:
Released:
Apr 28, 2014
ISBN:
9781386761754
Format:
Book

Description

Her Plan...

To 'fix' her selfish, chauvinistic son, Padma Alexander forces Dilvan into an arranged marriage agreement with Gabrielle Robinson, hoping that marriage will help to tame her self-centered son.

His Revenge...

Dilvan devises a scheme of his own - mistreating his wife behind closed doors, then forcing her to pretend they are a happy couple in front of his Mother.

Just how long will Gabrielle be able to subject herself to her husband's harsh treatment?

Publisher:
Released:
Apr 28, 2014
ISBN:
9781386761754
Format:
Book

About the author

TINA MARTIN is the Amazon #1 Bestselling author of over 70 romantic suspense novels, novellas and short stories. She currently resides in Charlotte, North Carolina. For more information, visit www.tinamartin.net


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The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage - Tina Martin

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CHAPTER 1

Dilvan

- - -

Dilvan stepped out of the shower in his ensuite bathroom, standing on the heated marble floors, drying off his smooth, muscular body while conceitedly staring at himself in the mirror. He loved what he saw – washboard abs, blemish-free, caramel skin, and toned thigh and arm muscles – the time he spent maintaining his build was well worth the effort. He shook excess water from his black, curly hair and after throwing on a thick robe, he arrogantly sauntered down the hallway to his wife’s room.

He hadn’t allowed Gabrielle to sleep in his bed. No woman had been good enough for that privilege, especially a wife whom he didn’t want. One in which he had no attraction to, no feelings for – a woman he was forced to marry.

His Mother, Padma Alexander, being of Sri Lankan descent, had chosen Gabrielle to be his wife. Their culture was one of whom believed in arranged marriages and even though they were no longer living in Sri Lanka, but instead in Southern Shores, North Carolina, Padma still wanted her youngest son, Dilvan, to marry a woman of her choosing. According to her, he was too foolish and shallow to choose a decent woman on his own like she had allowed his brother Prasad to do. And with Dilvan’s marriage, there were rules – he couldn’t see any other woman and he had to remain married at least for a year or he’d be cut off from the family fortune.

Dilvan was defiant against the marriage but greed pushed him to reluctantly go along with his Mother’s plan. His millions were running out fast due to his frivolous spending; a yellow Ferrari and a beach house in Belize being among his most recent acquisitions. He’d already owned two other luxury vehicles – a silver Maserati and red Lamborghini, and he lived in a six-bedroom beach house in Southern Shores. So he agreed to the marriage only because he needed a cut of the family money to maintain his lavish lifestyle. Besides, he had a plan of his own when it came to this unwanted marriage to Gabrielle – he’d make her suffer. If he treated her bad enough, maybe she would leave. Six months into their arrangement, she was still around, and he was continuously treating her harshly. The good news was he knew she was almost at her breaking point.

* * *

Dilvan pushed the door open to her room, causing it to squeal at the hinges. The noise, however, didn’t wake her; even the eerie creaking of the wooden floors that accompanied Dilvan’s solid footsteps to her bed hadn’t stirred her. As he stood by her bed, an evil smile touched his lips. She was lying there, sleeping soundly, her kinky hair gathered into a high ponytail, her hairstyle of choice. Her smooth, chocolate skin was a direct contrast to the beige sheets that covered the queen-size bed.

Dilvan turned up his nose. He couldn’t stand the woman, so why was he standing over her bed like a dark rain cloud, watching her like he did every Tuesday and Thursday nights? He knew why. So did she. He didn’t like her, but that hadn’t stopped him from climbing into her bed.

––––––––

Thirty minutes later, Dilvan headed back down the hallway to his bedroom, walking tall with an opened robe, a true tyrannical king of his castle. His six-bedroom beach abode was his throne. He ruled his empire and this dreadful woman that his Mother had matched him with would not be his queen. Six more months of seeing her disgusting face and he would be able to freely choose his own bride; preferably a hot bikini model he’d been admiring for quite some time. Her name was Isabella Torres. She was beautiful, Brazilian, with the same light complexion as him. She had a head full of long, silky black hair, adorable eyes and a tight, fit body.

The last time he saw her was on a beach in Emerald Isle where he’d been modeling a new line of men’s swimwear. Isabella had been slathered in suntan lotion, glistening under the sunlight, wearing a two-piece, American flag bikini that was so skimpy, she might as well had on nothing. Her pretty toes were covered in grains of sand as her voluminous hair swayed in the ocean breeze. That’s the woman he wanted. Gabrielle needed to disappear.

CHAPTER 2

Gabrielle

- - -

I wipe tears from my eyes and force myself to get out of bed. This house, though decorated with elegance as it sits in a prime beach location, is a torture chamber for me. Many times, I’ve wanted to escape – to get away from this place for good and never see Dilvan Alexander again, but I stayed for two reasons.

Reason one – his Mother. Padma is like a Mother to me. She’s the one who saw my profile on the arranged marriage website and had contacted my Father initially, seeking interest in having me as a bride for Dilvan. We’d talked for months over the phone before I finally met her in person at a small café in Nags Head. She was beautiful with light Indian skin, smooth black hair that extended down to her waist and a petite frame that fit her short stature. She was kind and spoke with intelligence. She told me how lovely I was and that I’d make the perfect wife for her youngest son, Dilvan, who was twenty-five years old. I was elated then, because if Dilvan was anything like her, I knew I’d be happy. However, he turned out to be the complete opposite.

The second reason I stayed is because my family needed the money. We, my Father and two sisters, though living in the United States were dirt poor. At twenty-one, I was the oldest of my siblings. My younger sisters were fourteen and sixteen. Our Mother abandoned us for life in the streets when we were little girls, and our Father, who’d hadn’t had much education, struggled to support us.

All our lives, we lived in dilapidated houses – ones that looked as if they were abandoned or could be ruled uninhabitable by the city. We had no plumbing, no bathroom, no sink to wash our hands and no shower to wash our bodies. We had to pour water in a pail to take our baths. There was an out-house for a toilet and an outside water pump for drinking water. One would think that this type of housing wouldn’t exist in the United States, but it does. There was no American dream for us. Our living arrangements were more like a nightmare.

That’s why my Father signed me up on the arranged marriage website. He saw the amount of money people were offering for suitable marriage mates for their adult children. Padma paid my Father one-hundred thousand dollars for me to marry Dilvan. Before my Father took the money, he asked me if I wanted to go through with it. I agreed because I needed my Father and my sisters to have a better life. I wanted them to feel normal – to know what it was like to actually have running water and a bathroom.

Father had taken the money and purchased a nice three-bedroom house in Greenville, North Carolina, bought my sisters some decent clothes and had gotten caught up on all the bills. He was so happy to get back on track with life that he was motivated to look for a job again, finding low-wage work in road construction.

While I was happy that my family was no longer struggling and somewhat living a middle-class lifestyle, I was suffering at the hands of a heartless tyrant who found some way to humiliate me every single day.

Yesterday, for instance, I made the mistake of making brief eye contact with him at dinner. As punishment, he set my plate on the floor and made me eat there – without utensils.

That’s one of his rules – I can never make eye contact with him under any circumstances. He said only pretty women could look at him and according to him, I looked like a creature.

Another one of his rules was that I could never call him by his name and was to address him as ‘My Lord’ instead. As if he deserved such a title...

Coming from a very humble background, I don’t mind being the type of woman who catered to the needs of her husband, but Dilvan wasn’t husband material. He didn’t treat me right, but to make it seem as if we were blissfully in love in front of his Mother, he’d speak to me in a respectful tone whenever she was around.

Padma was supposed to be joining us for breakfast this morning, which is probably the reason why Dilvan had threatened. It was a warning for me to behave when his Mother had arrived and I heard him loud and clear.

* * *

I dried off my body and found a yellow maxi dress that fit the length of my five-foot-seven frame. Taking down my kinky hair, I brushed it, applied some pomade and pulled my strands back into a ponytail. I’ve never liked or worn makeup so after making sure I looked decent enough to join Dilvan in the dining room, I headed downstairs, feeling sore and sick. With my stomach in knots, all I could think about is the torture I’d have to endure the rest of the day as I tried to predict what he would do next to degrade me.

I slowly walked to the dining room and sat across from him at the twelve-chair dinette – a sleek, wooden dining room table with a centered, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling above it. When I sat down, I angled my face towards the table.

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  • (2/5)
    I liked the fact that she was able to start believing in herself