# MY PERFECT WIFE
### A Novel by Huddon S Lajah
---
# CHAPTER NINE
## The First Date
---
**The Contestant Mansion — Wednesday Morning**
The announcement came at 8:00 AM, delivered by a production assistant with the solemnity of someone announcing war casualties.
"Today's individual date selections," she read from her tablet, "are as follows: Victoria Sterling, Camille Fontaine, Roxanne Del Monte, and..." A dramatic pause that no one had asked for. "Jawin Mendez."
The room went silent.
Then erupted.
"WHAT?"
That was approximately seventeen contestants simultaneously.
"She's *uncategorized*!" someone protested. "How does uncategorized get a date before girlfriend material?"
"This is clearly strategic manipulation—"
"My birth chart specifically indicated TODAY was my day—"
"I demand a recount!"
Jawin sat frozen in her chair, oatmeal spoon suspended halfway to her mouth, experiencing what could only be described as full-body panic.
*A date. An actual date. With Mario. Today.*
Penny grabbed her arm.
"Breathe," Penny instructed. "You need to breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You're not. You're doing that thing where you hold your breath and turn slightly purple."
"That's my thinking color."
"That's your dying color. *Breathe*."
Jawin breathed.
It didn't help.
Victoria Sterling swept past their table, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes promising violence.
"Congratulations, Miss Mendez," she said, her voice sugar-coated acid. "I'm sure your date will be... memorable."
"Thanks. I'm hoping to only destroy one piece of expensive clothing this time."
Victoria's eye twitched.
She moved on.
"You shouldn't antagonize her," Penny whispered.
"I wasn't antagonizing. I was being honest about my track record."
"Your track record includes throwing champagne on the bachelor."
"Exactly. Managing expectations."
---
**The Wardrobe Crisis — 10:00 AM**
The competition provided clothing for formal events, but individual dates required "personal expression within established parameters."
Jawin stared at her closet—which was not her closet, but a closet full of designer clothes that had been selected for her by people who had clearly never met her.
"I don't understand half of these," she announced.
Penny sat on the bed, serving as moral support. "What don't you understand?"
"This." Jawin held up a garment that appeared to be mostly straps. "Is this a shirt? A torture device? A very complicated bra?"
"I think it's a top."
"Where does the body go?"
"Between the straps?"
"There are seventeen straps, Penny. *Seventeen*. I counted."
Penny tilted her head, studying the garment. "Maybe it's fashion-forward?"
"It's forward of something, but I don't think it's fashion."
Jawin returned the strap-thing to the closet and continued her search.
"What about this?" She pulled out a simple blue dress—knee-length, minimal embellishment, actually resembling something a human might wear.
"That's nice. Classic."
"Classic meaning boring?"
"Classic meaning you won't accidentally flash anyone or get tangled in your own clothing."
"Those are genuinely my main concerns."
Jawin laid the dress on the bed, then stared at it like it might attack.
"What if I mess this up?" she asked quietly.
"The dress?"
"The date. The whole thing." Jawin sat down heavily. "Every other time I've talked to Mario, it's been accidental. Random encounters. Kitchen conversations at 3 AM. This is... *scheduled*. Official. There will be cameras and expectations and—"
"And you'll be fine."
"You don't know that."
"I know you." Penny moved to sit beside her. "I've watched you navigate this competition for almost a week. You've faced down Victoria Sterling. You've made Mario Castellan laugh—twice. You've survived being 'uncategorized' while everyone else plays by rules you didn't know existed."
"That's not skill. That's chaos."
"Maybe chaos is your skill." Penny squeezed her hand. "Just be yourself. That's what got you here."
"Being myself got me here by accident. Being myself resulted in champagne assault."
"And he *liked* it. That's the point." Penny stood. "Now put on the dress. Do your makeup. And remember: you're not competing. You're just... existing. Whatever happens, happens."
Jawin looked at the dress.
Looked at Penny.
"When did you get wise?"
"Approximately thirty seconds ago. It probably won't last." Penny headed for the door. "I'll be in my room, stress-eating and living vicariously through your romantic adventures."
"That's deeply sad."
"I know. Now go be a disaster. A beautiful, chaotic disaster."
She left.
Jawin picked up the dress.
*Whatever happens, happens.*
She could do this.
Probably.
---
**The Departure — 2:00 PM**
The four selected contestants gathered in the mansion's foyer, each heading to separate destinations for their individual dates.
Victoria looked immaculate in a cream-colored ensemble that probably cost more than Jawin's yearly income. Her expression suggested she was already mentally planning her wedding.
Camille wore a structured blazer and carried a small notebook, apparently planning to take notes on her own date. On-brand.
Roxanne had chosen something dramatic and red, perfect for the telenovela she seemed to believe she was starring in.
And Jawin stood in her simple blue dress, feeling like a goldfish that had accidentally wandered into a shark tank.
"Ladies," the production coordinator announced, "your transportation is waiting. Miss Sterling, you're going to the opera house. Miss Fontaine, the art museum. Miss Del Monte, the rooftop restaurant. And Miss Mendez..."
He consulted his tablet.
Frowned.
Consulted it again.
"Miss Mendez, you're going to... a food market?"
Victoria snorted.
"A *food market*?" Roxanne's voice dripped with disdain. "That's not a date. That's grocery shopping."
"It's the central food market downtown," the coordinator clarified. "Mr. Castellan specifically requested the venue."
"Of course he did," Victoria murmured, shooting Jawin a look that somehow combined contempt and curiosity.
Jawin said nothing.
But inside, something warm bloomed.
*A food market*.
Mario had chosen a food market.
For her.
---
**The Central Market — 2:45 PM**
The central food market was chaos.
Beautiful, overwhelming, *delicious* chaos.
Hundreds of vendors occupied a sprawling indoor space, selling everything from fresh produce to artisanal cheeses to meats hanging from hooks that probably violated several health codes. The air smelled like spices and bread and coffee and a hundred other things Jawin couldn't identify.
She stood at the entrance, momentarily frozen by sensory overload.
"You look like you've found religion."
Mario appeared beside her, wearing—for once—something other than a full suit. Dark jeans, a casual button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked almost human.
"This is amazing," Jawin breathed. "This is the most amazing place I've ever seen."
"I thought you might like it."
"Like it? I want to *live* here. Can I live here? Is that an option?"
Mario almost smiled. "Probably not. But we can spend a few hours."
"A few *hours*? In here?" Jawin turned to face him, eyes wide. "This is the best date anyone has ever planned for me."
"You've been on dates before?"
"I've been on... date-adjacent experiences. Coffee with coworkers. Dinner with people who turned out to be allergic to fun." She gestured at the market. "Nothing like this."
"Then let me give you the proper experience." Mario offered his arm—a surprisingly old-fashioned gesture. "Shall we?"
Jawin took his arm.
The cameras followed.
She didn't care.
---
**The Cheese Incident — 3:15 PM**
They started at the cheese section because Jawin had strong opinions about cheese.
"This is a gouda," the vendor explained, offering samples. "Aged eighteen months. Very smooth, slightly sweet—"
"It's not eighteen months," Jawin said.
The vendor blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The color's wrong. See how it's more amber than golden? That's at least twenty-four months. Maybe twenty-eight." She took a sample, tasted it thoughtfully. "Twenty-six. Possibly imported from the Netherlands rather than produced domestically."
The vendor stared at her.
Mario stared at her.
The camera crew stared at her.
"I worked at a specialty grocery store for six months," Jawin explained. "We had a very intense cheese section."
"That's... incredibly specific knowledge," Mario said.
"I'm full of incredibly specific knowledge. It's not useful for anything except winning cheese arguments."
"Are cheese arguments common in your life?"
"More common than you'd expect."
The vendor looked between them, clearly uncertain whether to be offended or impressed.
"It's twenty-seven months," he finally admitted. "And yes, Netherlands."
Jawin nodded sagely. "Told you."
Mario purchased an unreasonable amount of cheese.
---
**The Spice Detour — 3:45 PM**
The spice vendor was an elderly woman with silver hair and the sharp eyes of someone who had been in the business for fifty years.
"You cook," she said to Jawin. It wasn't a question.
"I try."
"No. You *cook*." The woman handed her a small container. "Smell this."
Jawin opened it, inhaled, and immediately felt tears prick her eyes.
"That's—that's incredible. What is it?"
"My grandmother's blend. Cumin, coriander, fenugreek, and twelve other things I won't tell you." The woman smiled. "You can taste the love, yes?"
"Yes." Jawin's voice was thick. "My father used to say that. That you can taste when something's made with love."
"Your father is wise."
"My father is a failed restaurant owner who makes the best *caldereta* in the city." Jawin wiped her eyes quickly. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm crying over spices."
"Good food makes us emotional. That's how you know it's good." The woman patted her hand. "Take the blend. A gift."
"I can't—"
"You can. You will." The woman looked at Mario. "This one. Keep her. She understands."
Mario looked at Jawin—teary-eyed over a spice blend in a crowded market—and something in his expression shifted.
"I'm beginning to think so," he said quietly.
---
**The Bread Situation — 4:30 PM**
"You have to smell it," Jawin insisted, thrusting a loaf of bread at Mario. "The smell is half the experience."
"I'm smelling it."
"You're not *really* smelling it. You're politely inclining your head in the direction of the bread. That's not smelling."
"What's the difference?"
"Commitment." Jawin demonstrated, burying her nose in the loaf and inhaling deeply. "See? Now I know this was made with sourdough starter that's probably three generations old, baked at exactly the right temperature, and removed from the oven at the precise moment of peak crust development."
"You got all that from smelling?"
"And touching." She squeezed the loaf gently. "Feel the resistance? That's proper crumb structure."
Mario took the bread. Smelled it—*really* smelled it, following her instructions.
"I smell... bread."
"You smell *artistry*. You just don't have the vocabulary yet."
"Can you teach me?"
Jawin looked at him—the billionaire heir, standing in a crowded market, sincerely asking her to teach him about bread.
"Yeah," she said. "I can teach you."
They bought four loaves.
Mario carried them himself, refusing to let the security detail take over.
It was, Jawin decided, the most romantic thing she'd ever witnessed.
---
**The Quiet Corner — 5:15 PM**
They found a small courtyard behind the main market building—a peaceful space with benches and potted plants and, blessedly, no other people.
The camera crew was asked to wait outside.
Mario and Jawin sat on a bench, surrounded by their purchases—cheese, spices, bread, and approximately seventeen other things Jawin had insisted they needed.
"This is..." Mario looked at the bags. "A lot of food."
"This is a *moderate* amount of food. This is restraint."
"You consider this restraint?"
"I didn't buy the entire salami section. That's restraint."
Mario laughed—that same rusty sound she was beginning to love.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For this. For—" He gestured vaguely. "Being you. Not performing. Not strategizing. Just... being present."
"I don't know how to be anything else."
"That's the remarkable part." Mario turned to face her. "Everyone else in this competition is playing a role. They've calculated exactly how to present themselves, what to say, how to position themselves for maximum advantage. And you just..."
"Exist chaotically?"
"Exist honestly."
Jawin didn't know what to say.
So she reached into one of the bags, pulled out the bread, and tore off a chunk.
"Eat this," she instructed.
"Now?"
"Right now. Fresh bread doesn't wait for convenient moments."
Mario took the bread. Bit into it.
His eyes closed.
"Oh," he said softly.
"See?"
"That's... exceptional."
"That's love. Made physical. Transformed into something you can taste." Jawin tore off her own chunk. "My father used to say that cooking is the most honest form of communication. You can't lie with food. It tells the truth about who you are."
"What does this bread say?"
"It says someone woke up at 4 AM to prepare dough. It says they've spent years perfecting their technique. It says they care more about getting it right than getting it done fast." Jawin smiled. "It says: this is who I am. This is what I love. This is my gift to you."
Mario was quiet for a long moment.
"That's beautiful," he said finally.
"That's food. They're the same thing."
---
**The Unexpected Complication — 5:45 PM**
They were heading back through the market when Jawin spotted a familiar face.
*Oh no.*
Her mother.
Rosa Mendez, standing at a vegetable stall approximately thirty feet away, arguing with a vendor about tomato quality.
"We need to go," Jawin said urgently.
"What? Why?"
"No time. Just—we need to—"
"JAWIN?"
Too late.
Rosa Mendez had spotted her daughter. Her voice carried across the market with the precision of a woman who had spent decades locating children in crowds.
"JAWIN ELENA MENDEZ, IS THAT YOU?"
Every camera in the vicinity swung toward the sound.
Jawin considered fleeing. Considered hiding behind Mario. Considered spontaneous combustion as a viable escape route.
Instead, she smiled weakly.
"Hi, Mama."
Rosa Mendez approached like a force of nature in a floral dress. She was carrying approximately twelve bags of produce—despite Jawin's best efforts to get her parents to stop shopping at crowded markets—and wearing an expression that combined maternal pride with immediate interrogation.
"You're here! At the market! With—" Rosa stopped. Stared at Mario. Her eyes widened. "With the *boy*."
"Mama—"
"You're the one from the TV." Rosa circled Mario like a shark assessing prey. "Eduardo! *EDUARDO*!"
From somewhere in the market, a voice responded: "WHAT?"
"THE BOY IS HERE! THE ONE FROM THE TV!"
"WHICH BOY?"
"THE ONE JAWIN THREW CHAMPAGNE ON!"
Jawin wished for death.
Death did not come.
Instead, her father appeared, carrying even more bags than her mother, and sporting a grin that suggested he was enjoying this immensely.
"So," Eduardo Mendez said, approaching Mario with the casual confidence of a man who had spent thirty years in restaurant kitchens, "you're the billionaire."
"I... yes. I'm Mario Castellan."
"And you took my daughter to a *food market* for your date."
"I did."
Eduardo's grin widened. "Smart man."
"Papa—" Jawin tried.
"Do you know what he's doing?" Eduardo addressed this to Rosa. "He's showing her he pays attention. He's showing her he understands what matters to her. That's good. That's *thoughtful*."
"It's also embarrassing," Jawin muttered.
"Life is embarrassing, *mija*. Embrace it." Eduardo turned back to Mario. "You. Come to dinner."
Mario blinked. "What?"
"Dinner. Our house. Sunday." Eduardo's tone suggested this was not a request. "You want to date my daughter, you eat at my table. That's how it works in our family."
"I don't think the competition schedule allows—"
"Make it allow." Rosa had now joined the assessment, studying Mario with the particular intensity of mothers evaluating potential partners. "Sunday. 6 PM. I'll make *kare-kare*. Eduardo will make *caldereta*. You'll eat until you understand who my daughter is."
"And if I can't come?"
Eduardo and Rosa exchanged looks.
"Then maybe you're not as smart as I thought," Eduardo said. "Jawin is worth any schedule change. If you don't know that yet, you will."
The camera crew was capturing all of this.
Jawin wanted to disappear into the floor.
But Mario—Mario was looking at her parents with something like wonder.
"Sunday," he said. "6 PM. I'll be there."
Eduardo clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.
"Good boy. Now, we need tomatoes. Rosa, the vendor is trying to cheat us again—"
They swept away, arguing about produce, leaving Jawin and Mario in stunned silence.
"I'm so sorry," Jawin said. "They're—they're a lot. They don't understand boundaries. They just—"
"They love you."
"What?"
"They love you," Mario repeated. "That's what I saw. Aggressive, overwhelming, completely unsubtle love. They want to protect you. Feed me. Make sure I know what I'm getting into." He was almost smiling. "No one's ever done that before."
"Done what?"
"Threatened to cook for me as a form of evaluation."
"That's very Mendez family. Food is love. Food is also judgment. Food is complicated."
Mario took her hand.
"I'm starting to understand that."
---
**The Return — 7:00 PM**
The drive back to the contestant mansion was quiet.
Not awkward quiet—comfortable quiet. The kind of silence that exists between people who have spent the day actually connecting rather than performing.
Jawin clutched her bag of spices—the grandmother's blend, which she was never letting go of—and tried to process what had happened.
She'd been on a date.
A real date.
With a billionaire who had taken her to a food market, learned about bread, met her parents accidentally, and somehow agreed to family dinner.
This was not how the competition was supposed to go.
This was not surviving.
This was... something else entirely.
"You're thinking very loudly," Mario observed.
"I'm panicking very loudly. There's a difference."
"What's there to panic about?"
"Everything? My parents just ambushed you. They invited you to dinner. They're going to spend the next four days preparing enough food to feed a small army and interrogating every decision you've ever made."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"That's insane."
"Maybe." Mario turned to face her. "But in the past week, I've laughed more than I have in years. I've learned about cheese and bread and spice blends that make people cry. I've had flour in my hair at 3 AM. I've been threatened by protective parents with aggressive cooking." He paused. "And all of that has been better—more *real*—than anything in my actual life."
"Your actual life includes unlimited money and private jets."
"My actual life includes loneliness and expectations and the constant feeling that nothing I do will ever be enough." Mario's voice was quiet. "Your life includes food markets and family chaos and love that's so obvious it's embarrassing. Which sounds better to you?"
Jawin didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
The answer was obvious.
---
**The Mansion — 8:00 PM**
The other contestants were waiting when Jawin returned.
Waiting and *watching*.
Victoria sat in the main room like a queen on her throne, surrounded by her alliance. Her date had apparently gone well—she was radiating smug satisfaction in a way that suggested she had successfully performed exactly as planned.
Roxanne was dramatically recounting her rooftop restaurant experience to anyone who would listen, complete with sweeping gestures and occasional tears.
Camille was nowhere to be seen, probably writing a thesis on her date experience.
And everyone turned to look when Jawin walked in.
Still carrying her bag of spices.
Still wearing that simple blue dress.
Still looking like someone who had just had the best day of her life.
"How was the *food market*?" Victoria asked, pronouncing the words like they were a disease.
"It was amazing."
"I'm sure. Nothing says romance like grocery shopping."
"It wasn't grocery shopping. It was—" Jawin stopped. Considered her audience. "Actually, never mind. You wouldn't understand."
"Wouldn't I?"
"No." Jawin's voice was calm. "You wouldn't. Because you think romance is about performance. About having the right venue, the right outfit, the right conversation. And maybe it is, for some people. But for me—for *us*—it was about bread."
"Bread."
"Bread. And cheese. And spices that made me cry because they reminded me of my father." Jawin held Victoria's gaze. "You had an opera. I had a conversation about food that actually mattered. I know which one I prefer."
The room was silent.
Victoria's expression flickered—surprise, maybe, or recalculation.
"How charming," she said finally. "I hope your simple pleasures serve you well in the competition."
"They're serving me fine so far."
Jawin walked past her, heading for the stairs.
Penny intercepted her in the hallway.
"That was *amazing*," Penny whispered. "You just—you walked in there and—and *owned* her."
"I just told the truth."
"The truth was *amazing*."
Jawin smiled despite herself.
"Come to my room. I have spices to show you. And stories. And possibly some residual panic."
"All my favorite things."
They retreated upstairs, leaving the politics and positioning behind.
---
**Jawin's Room — Later**
Penny sat on the bed, holding the spice container like it was a religious artifact.
"This smells like... I don't know. Something important."
"The vendor's grandmother's recipe. Fifty years of family tradition."
"And she just... gave it to you?"
"She said I understood." Jawin was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know what I understand. I feel like I'm in over my head."
"You've felt that way since you arrived."
"Yes, but now it's worse." Jawin sat up. "Now I *like* him. Actually like him. Not just tolerate-him-because-I-have-to like him. *Like* like him."
Penny's eyebrows rose. "Like like?"
"Don't make fun."
"I'm not making fun. I'm clarifying the severity of the situation." Penny set down the spices. "So what happens now?"
"I don't know. He's coming to family dinner on Sunday."
"WHAT?"
"My parents ambushed us at the market. It was horrifying. They invited him to dinner like it was a completely normal thing to do."
"Your *parents* met him?"
"By accident. They were shopping. Because my family has no sense of timing or appropriate boundaries." Jawin flopped back onto the bed. "He said yes. He actually said *yes*. What kind of billionaire says yes to dinner with a broke family in a modest house?"
"The kind who likes you?"
"That can't be right."
"Why not?"
"Because—" Jawin gestured vaguely. "Because nothing in my life works out this way. Good things don't just *happen* to me. I work for everything. I struggle for everything. I don't just... get the nice thing."
Penny was quiet for a moment.
"Maybe this is different," she said finally. "Maybe you've worked so hard for so long that the universe decided to throw you something good. Or maybe it's not the universe—maybe it's just a guy who likes you for who you are, which is exactly what you wanted."
"I said I wanted someone who sees me."
"And he sees you."
"He sees me as a chaos agent who throws champagne and argues about cheese."
"Maybe that's who you are." Penny smiled gently. "And maybe that's exactly what he needs."
Jawin didn't respond.
But somewhere deep inside, she was starting to believe it.
---
**The Garden — 11:00 PM**
Jawin found Mario in the garden.
Not at their bench—at a different spot, near a fountain, sitting on the edge with his shoes off and his feet in the water.
"That's probably not hygienic," she said, approaching.
"Probably not." He didn't look up. "But it feels good."
She sat beside him. Took off her own shoes. Put her feet in the water.
It was cold.
It felt amazing.
"Today was good," she said.
"Today was exceptional."
"Is there a difference?"
"Good is what I expected. Exceptional is what I got." Mario finally looked at her. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being the most unexpected thing that's ever happened to me."
Jawin didn't know what to say.
So she said nothing.
They sat there, feet in the fountain, watching the stars, existing in the kind of silence that didn't need filling.
"I'm scared," Mario said eventually.
"Of what?"
"Of this. Of you. Of what happens when the competition ends and reality sets in."
"What reality?"
"The reality where I'm still an heir with impossible expectations, and you're still a woman from a different world, and nothing about our lives actually fits together."
Jawin considered this.
"Maybe that's the wrong way to think about it," she said.
"What's the right way?"
"Maybe instead of worrying about whether we fit, we just... make a new shape." She turned to face him. "Your world doesn't have to stay the same. Neither does mine. Maybe we build something different. Something that includes food markets and family dinners and late-night kitchen conversations."
"That's optimistic."
"I'm occasionally optimistic. Usually by accident."
Mario laughed—that rusty, wonderful laugh.
"What if it doesn't work?"
"Then we'll have tried. That's more than most people can say." Jawin squeezed his hand. "My father always told me: life is too short for 'what if.' Do the thing. See what happens. If it falls apart, at least you'll have a good story."
"Your father sounds wise."
"My father is a disaster. But sometimes disasters have wisdom." She smiled. "You'll see. Sunday. 6 PM."
"I'll be there."
"I know."
They sat in the garden until the moon was high, two people from different worlds, slowly building something new.
---
**The Next Morning — Thursday**
Jawin woke to her phone buzzing.
**FAMILY GROUP CHAT: THE MENDEZ CHAOS**
*Mama (6:00 AM):* Sunday menu planning. I'm thinking five courses.
*Papa (6:01 AM):* Five courses? Make it seven. We need to impress this boy.
*Bella (6:03 AM):* You're going to scare him away with seven courses.
*Mama (6:04 AM):* If seven courses scares him, he's not worthy of Jawin.
*Papa (6:05 AM):* THIS. Rosa, you're brilliant.
*Jawin:* Please don't make this a competition.
*Mama (6:07 AM):* Everything is a competition, mija. Especially food.
*Papa (6:08 AM):* I'm making my BEST caldereta. The one with the secret ingredient.
*Bella (6:09 AM):* The secret ingredient is just more vinegar.
*Papa (6:10 AM):* IT'S SECRET VINEGAR.
Jawin laughed.
Actually laughed, out loud, alone in her room.
Her family was insane.
Her life was insane.
And somehow, impossibly, everything was starting to feel like it might work out.
*Day two of the competition*, she thought. *Three more dates. One elimination ceremony. And then Sunday.*
She could do this.
She could absolutely do this.
Probably.
---
**END OF CHAPTER NINE**