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My naked skin shivered in the bathroom air, pores opened and breathing after a hot shower. I ran my fingertips from my clavicles down the slopes of my breasts to my nipples.
“Mmmm.”
My mind conjured the memory of Matt’s tongue lapping at my pussy lips.
I quite like my new toy.
A sharp knock at the front door downstairs interrupted my reverie.
Really?
I reached for my bathrobe, wrapped myself in it, and headed down the stairs.
A second round of knocks rapped at the door.
"Okay, okay. Don't get your panties in a wad. I'm coming."
I opened the door to see Ron standing on the front porch. Sweat drenched his face, his shirt appeared stained with brown splotches, and his pants looked messy and wet.
“Dear God, what happened to you?"
"Can I come in, please?"
I frowned, looking him up and down.
"Did you bring the money?"
My tongue peeked out between my teeth as I smirked.
"Very funny, Jessica."
"Ok, grumpy. Geez. Come on in, I guess."
Ron was carrying an envelope in his right hand that appeared crumpled and soiled with wet spots. He walked into the kitchen, casting a sideways glare at me as he passed.
Nice to see you, too.
"So, Ron, what's this about?”
He turned and extended the crumpled envelope to me.
"It's about this."
I took the envelope from him and opened it. It contained a letter with a header that read “Barkley & Associates.” My eyes widened like saucers as they perused the words.
“Dear Mr. Stroker, I am writing to inform you that my client, the late Mr. Frederick P. Stroker, has named you and your wife, Jessica, in his final will and testament, regarding the dissemination of assets from his estate, to receive a sum of ten million US dollars.”
"Holy shit."
“I know."
“So, who is Fred?"
“You remember old Uncle Fred.”
“Not really.”
“You met him one time at a family reunion. He talked your ear off and followed you around despite your best attempts to elude him.”
Ohh, that Uncle Fred.
“I think he liked your ass, but he would never admit it. He was a church man."
I grinned and raised one eyebrow, looking up from the letter.
"Well, most men do. Especially church men."
Ron shook his head at me, smirking.
"Anyway, old Uncle Fred just died and left an enormous fortune to members of the family. Including you and me. Each of us is to receive 5 million dollars."
“Yes, maybe you forgot I can read."
"There's a catch, though. Did you see that?"
I returned my attention to the letter and continued to read aloud.
“The will specifies conditions for the disbursal of this money to you. Specifically, you and Mrs. Stroker must be happily married or make demonstrable efforts to repair your marriage. My client gave specific instructions for the validation of these conditions.
Please, see the enclosed brochure for a couple’s retreat, which you and Mrs. Stroker must attend together for the entire month of your choosing, taking part in all required therapy sessions and workshops while on the retreat. My client’s estate will cover all expenses.
I have contacted the retreat director and arranged for communications to certify your completion of the retreat and satisfaction of the will.
Please contact me if you have any questions. My card is enclosed.
Regards,
H. M. Barkley
Principal Attorney
Barkley & Associates”
A frown spread across my face.
"Oh, that is just bullshit."
"I know. When I first read the letter, I threw it in the trash. Then I woke up this morning in a panic. I had taken the trash out before bed, and the garbage gets picked up early in my neighborhood. So, I ran out and intercepted the garbage men as they emptied my canister into their truck. It took 30 minutes to dig through all that trash to find this stupid thing.”
My chest erupted with laughter at the image of Ron fumbling through piles of trash in the back of a garbage truck.
"I'm glad you're amused."
I waved the letter in the air as I regained control of myself.
"We have to go to a retreat together? For a month?"
Ron laced the dryness in his voice with a touch of sarcasm.
"Well, you read it. We have to be in the throes of marital bliss or go on a retreat to get the magic back."
"So Fred used his money to push his personal values about marriage on us. That’s rich.”
I raised my head up to the ceiling and pointed at it.
"Fuck you, Uncle Fred."
I looked back at Ron.
“So why don’t we stay married long enough to collect the money. Afterward, you can finish this divorce you started."
"No, I called the attorney’s office yesterday after I read the letter. Uncle Fred thought of that. We get paid over 5 years every month if the conditions are met.”
“As in, the ones where we stay married.”
Ron nodded.
“There’s one out. If we attend this dumb retreat, a certified therapist at the retreat can write a letter stating we tried our best but have irreconcilable differences.”
“Well, let’s just forge the letter.”
“A representative from this Barkley and Associates firm has to witness the therapist signing it.”
“Oh my God, Fred, you ass.”
“And it has to be notarized. But if we go on the retreat and attend the therapy sessions...”
“Wait, we have to go to therapy sessions?”
“How’s a therapist going to write the letter, Jessica? Yes, we go to therapy sessions.”
“Fuck that, Ron. I’m not doing therapy.”
I put a hand on my hip, and my head sank on my shoulders as I glared at the floor.
"This is so obnoxious."
“Of course, it is. But Jessica..."
I pulled the brochure out of the envelope. And laughed.
"They named this place ‘Second Chance Retreats’. Really?!"
"I know. The whole thing is ridiculous. But imagine what you could do with 5 million dollars. You could start over. I could start over. If we get through the month and get that damn letter, we never have to see each other again."
I shifted my stance.
So that's what this is about.
"You just can't wait to get rid of me."
His lips parted, then pressed together in a flat line as his eyebrows furrowed.
I guess the crime and punishment games are getting old for you?
"C’mon, Jessica. Think about it. I need a fresh start."
“No, Ron, I get it. No one will want me if they know the truth about me.”
I dropped the letter and turned away from him, choking back the frog in my throat. Walking a few steps away, I took a deep breath.
"So, you want to do this?"
"Of course, I don't. But the real question is, can either of us turn our backs on 10 million dollars? On financial freedom? I can do anything for a month for that opportunity. Can’t you?"
I didn’t need the money. Even with 5 million dollars, I’d keep my job. The memory of Matt’s tongue crossed my mind. I had a great job working for Erika.
It has excellent perks.
Still, 5 million dollars. I’d be an idiot to turn down a chance to score that kind of money. Even if it meant therapy sessions and time with my soon to be ex-husband. Besides, it included a beach resort.
“Can I think about it?"
Ron’s eyes widened.
“Can you think about it? Jessica, it’s 5 million dollars.”
I mocked him with a whiny voice.
“5 million dollars.”
“Oh, c’mon, Jessica. Give me a break. What? Just because you got a new job, now you don’t need money anymore?”
“I kinda don’t.”
Ron gasped and threw up his hands, turning his back to me. He placed his hands on the counter as he muttered.
“You kind of owe me, you know?”
My mouth fell open, and I glared at the back of his head.
“Ron, don’t you dare.”
“You do. Not that you care, but you owe me big time.”
I raised my voice.
“Not a convincing argument, Ron! I hate being backed into a corner. You know that. I told you I’ll think about it.”
“Fine!”
He waved a hand at me as he walked towards the door.
“Just don’t think about it long. We have to give the attorney an answer by the end of the month.”
I hollered after him.
“Find out if that resort has alcohol. Cause I’m gonna need a lot of fucking alcohol if I go through with this.”
The door slammed, and I sighed.
I may owe you. But I’m not doing anything for anyone against my will. Not even for you, Ron Stroker.
