Twenty-One
TWENTY-ONE
LUCAS
" A maretto."
We arrived at Michel's lavish estate merely twenty minutes ago, and Leora has already downed two Mimosas and used our safeword about five times. I try to hide my chuckle every time because seeing her in a panic is one of the cutest things I've seen. Even cuter than her scrunching up her nose when she disagrees with something I’ve said. It’s a big problem because I’m still pissed off about our argument and I can’t go around thinking she’s cute. It doesn’t make sense. I need to remember her being annoying, loud, and stubborn.
Emphasis on the loud and stubborn.
I didn’t mean to be short with her yesterday, especially not after her attempt to extend an olive branch, but witnessing my uncle’s declining state shifted something within me. All I wanted was to be alone, but then she spoke and her soft cautious voice made me feel guilty. It was too much.
Despite my annoyance, I can't help but notice how beautiful Leora looks today. Her hair is up, showcasing her delicate neck—its subtle curve is begging to be touched, and the dress she’s wearing fits her perfectly. For a moment, I forget all about our exchanged words and find myself admiring her from afar.
When she catches me staring, I quickly avert my gaze. I can't let myself get distracted by her beauty. I tell myself that I need to keep my distance and avoid getting emotionally invested. The way her laughter weaves a melody, filling the air with warmth, is a detail I shouldn't be captivated by, yet inexplicably, I am.
This is only a business partnership. I need to stay focused on the task at hand and get through this day without any further arguments or distractions.
But deep down, I know it's easier said than done. Something about Leora's fiery spirit and unwavering determination intrigues me, and despite our differences, I can't deny the chemistry between us. God, all I wanted to do when I saw her this morning was shut her up using my mouth.
It’s infuriating.
I've never seen eyes be so mesmerizing when they’re irritated. It makes me want to push her buttons even more. But I can’t do that. Being attracted to my wife is not what I need at this moment. When she opened the door in her gorgeous white dress, memories of the kiss we shared during our wedding flooded my mind. All I wanted to do was stay home, and I'm ashamed to admit it because it feels pathetic.
I’m pathetic.
We’re only on day three of this marriage and I’m lusting after her like a high school boy with a crush.
How am I going to survive this?
I’m either going to have to hide every time we’re alone together or get it out of my system. But that’s the tricky part. She told me not to cheat, or to be discreet.
I think about it for a second, but it’s not what I want or stand for.
One year. I can control myself and my urges for one year; it's a challenge, and I thrive on that.
One year without fucking anyone should be doable. That’s what my hands are for.
Not when you’re living with someone who looks like her.
As soon as we stepped into his garden, Leora’s eyes grew incredibly large, looking as though she were in a trance. Her gaze swept over the meticulously-tended grounds, taking in the blooming flowers of all shapes and sizes. They painted the landscape with a kaleidoscope of colors. Michel’s house is nestled in the enchanting Villefranche-sur-Mer, with the Mediterranean Sea stretched out before us in all its glory.
I watched her in awe, captivated by the way her eyes sparkled with childlike wonder, and how her lips parted slightly in amazement.
The thought of that makes me realize I want nothing more than to see her like that every day.
I catch her eye while we wait for the host. She mouths our safeword to me subtly, all while staying engaged in conversation with another one of our stakeholders, Gérard Moreau. He and my uncle have been working together for as long as I can remember, and they both have a warm and welcoming quality in their gazes that draws people in and makes them feel safe.
I’m a few meters away from her at the bar Michel has set up, grabbing an orange juice for myself and a third Mimosa for her. I changed my mind about the alcohol when we got here—I need to be as alert as possible. I still haven’t spotted Michel and that makes me nervous.
I respond with a subtle nod and a smirk. With that, her smile fades slightly as she looks at me with a furrowed brow, silently pleading for my assistance. It's time to continue acting like I genuinely like my wife. A voice inside whispers "It’s not an act."
"Ah, Lucas! I’ve been getting to know your lovely wife and she’s just magnificent."
Ah, my lovely, stubborn wife . I wrap an arm around her and press her against my body and Leora smiles gratefully, playing her part by leaning into my embrace as I answer, "Am I not the luckiest man in the world?"
I see her eyes begin to roll at my comment before she snaps back to her part as the sweet wife.
"Tell me, son, why isn’t your brother here?"
Leora’s gaze shifts to me, her eyes searching mine, silently conveying why she asked for help.
"Unfortunately, my brother couldn't make it,” I say smoothly. "He's caught up with work commitments. You know how it is."
Gérard seems satisfied with my explanation and moves on to another topic with the other guests around us. Leora visibly relaxes. She leans her head on my shoulder, and in the spur of the momentum I press a soft kiss to the top of her head.
The gesture shocks me as much as it does her, and I quickly pull away, my heart hammering in my chest. What am I doing?
"If it isn’t the newlyweds, welcome, welcome!" Michel’s voice bellows through the garden and we both turn around. I feel a sudden tug on my hand as Leora grabs it, a subtle attempt to keep up the charade. He slowly makes his way through the party and stops when he reaches us.
Leora and I share a quick glance, and I can see the slight unease in her eyes, pleading for me not to leave her side. I give her hand two quick squeezes, reassuring her that I will stick by her.
As Michel reaches us, he opens his arms and wraps them around Leora in a hug, momentarily breaking our connection.
I watch with a clenched jaw as he hugs her. An unsettling sensation claws at my chest, a desire to pull them apart bubbling within me. It's an unfamiliar feeling, threatening to engulf me entirely.
Leora seems uneasy in the embrace, and a surge of possessiveness urges me to draw her close. However, I resist, refusing to let the impulse create a scene.
Finally, Michel releases Leora from his grip, and she steps back, regaining her composure. I instinctively reach for her hand, seeking a physical connection to ground me. Our fingers intertwine, and in the warmth of her touch, I find my calm.
Michel pats me on my shoulder. "Congratulations."
"Thank you. We’re very happy." My gaze is still fixed on Leora, who nods in agreement with a big smile plastered on her face.
"Of course you are, with a beauty like that on your arm how could you not?" Michel says with a hint of jealousy, his eyes narrowing on Leora. "Although, Lucas isn’t the only one who should be happy, right, Leora?" he continues, his tone dripping with poison.
"I'm truly blessed. Lucas is an amazing husband," Leora says, patting my chest with each word.
"He is. He's also very rich and can offer women jobs they don't really have the experience for," he says with a sneer on his face. "Oh yes, Leora. I’ve heard about your previous job and the gossip circling around about you."
Leora's expression hardens, and I can feel my blood starting to boil. I quickly step in, placing a protective hand on her back.
"That's enough." I glare at Michael but he just smirks, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of me. It was probably his plan from the beginning to provoke me into starting a scene in front of everyone, as if to prove something.
"Oh, I’m just playing around. Right, Leora?"
Before I can say anything else, Leora speaks up, her voice steady and composed. "I married Lucas because I love him, not because of his wealth or the job opportunity." Her eyes flash with determination. "Unlike some people, I value genuine connection and mutual respect in a relationship."
Michel's smug expression falters, seemingly taken aback by Leora's response. He opens his mouth to retort, but Leora cuts him off with a polite yet firm nod. "If you’ll excuse me, I need to find the ladies room." She smiles at me before she walks away toward the house.
I watch her leave and I'm left seething with anger. I clench my fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to punch Michael in the face.
But then he speaks, a self-satisfied expression on his face. "Women are so emotional, am I right?"
That's it. I can’t hold it back any longer.
In a split second, I grab a fistful of Michel's shirt, yanking him towards me, my voice low and dangerous as I speak through gritted teeth, "Speak to my wife that way again, and you'll regret the day you ever crossed paths with me."
I can feel the tension in my muscles; everything in me is screaming to make him understand.
Nobody talks to her that way. She’s wearing my ring. To him, she’s my wife in all the ways that count, so for him to jab at her is the same as jabbing at me.
Michel's earlier arrogance fades, replaced by surprise and a hint of fear. "Is that a threat, boy?" he counters, trying to regain his composure. I keep a tight hold on him, sensing his subtle shifts beneath my hand.
I hold his gaze, unflinching. "No, it’s a promise," I say firmly, my voice resonating with quiet intensity. "I won't tolerate disrespect toward my wife or anyone in my company. Consider this your only warning."
After a tense pause, I release my grip on Michel's shirt and take a step back, my chest heaving with anger. I look around, gauging how many eyes witnessed my confrontation. When I don’t spot anyone, I shoot him a final warning glare before I walk toward the table that’s been set up at the other end of the garden. My gaze shifts towards the mansion, and I catch a figure in one of the windows.
It’s a woman wearing white, and my mind goes to Leora straightaway.
Did she witness what just happened?
Is she upset? I don’t like the idea of someone upsetting her. I’m the only one who’s allowed to challenge her—no one else.
I need to find her, talk to her, and make sure she’s all right.
I reach the table and sit down, my mind racing with worry about Leora, but a screeching voice interrupts my thoughts.
Melina.
"Oh Lucas, there you are. I’m happy to see you."
Unlikely—she’s almost as conniving as her father. If not for the vote, I would believe this whole charade was her idea.
"Are you here alone? I don’t see your wife," she hisses like the snake she is.
"Don’t worry, she’s here," I reply calmly, trying to hide my irritation with her.
"Who would have thought that Lucas Ayoub would get married out of nowhere? I certainly didn't peg you as the type of man who settles." Melina sneers at me, her voice dripping with venom.
I raise an eyebrow at her. "Settled? I don't settle, Melina."
She scoffs, "Please, Lucas. You’re not fooling anyone."
I lean toward her, my voice low as I say, "I’m sorry to disappoint you, Melina, but my marriage is none of your business."
She attempts to sit down in the empty seat next to me, but I stop her, giving her a tight-lipped smile. "You can’t sit here."
"Oh, I didn’t know we had designated seats."
"Every seat next to me is reserved for my wife, and my wife only."
Her face flushes with anger, but before she can respond a voice interrupts.
"Hello."
Leora's voice comes out soft and polite as she introduces herself. Melina’s eyes scan her up and down, probably trying to find something to criticize, but she can’t come up with a single thing.
"Oh, the wife," she says in a condescending tone. A knowing look graces Leora's face. She remembers her from the club.
Melina’s gaze lingers on Leora’s hand, and a mean smirk grows on her face. "Cute ring."
"Thank you" Leora says quirking a brow. "Now, would you please move? That’s my seat."
Melina rolls her eyes. "Whatever." She huffs and moves to another seat, shooting daggers at us both with her eyes.
I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as Leora calmly takes the seat next to me, not even acknowledging Melina's comment
"Who was that?" she asks, pretending not to remember her.
"That was Melina, Michel’s daughter," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral.
Leora’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Why was she so rude?"
I grimace. "Melina is also my ex-girlfriend."
"Your ex?" Leora's eyes widen in surprise, but she quickly composes herself. "I see."
I can tell she's trying to process the information, but before she can say anything else, the person on Leora’s left introduces himself and they start to discuss our wedding. I can see Leora nodding and smiling politely, but her mind seems to be elsewhere. Her hands are clutching her bag in a death grip. Weird— very weird.
What’s wrong? It’s possible she’s just nervous or anxious?
When their conversation dies down, she turns her gaze toward me, and a warm smile graces her lips. In that shared glance, her eyes soften, and I feel a sense of relief washing over me.
"Are you okay?" I ask to double check.
"Yes, I’m fine."
Fine. The word rings in my ears, and I know it's not always as straightforward as it seems when it comes to women. Fine could mean a multitude of things—hurt, upset, or disappointed.
Fine means "I’m upset with you ."
She probably notices the look on my face because she tries to assure me, "I promise, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
She nods, her smile widening. "Do you think they’ll serve pain au chocolat?"
When she mentions the sweet pastry, I can't help but smile. Pain au chocolat is my favorite—it's the only dessert I truly enjoy.
In front of us, the table is adorned with china plates and crystal glass, showcasing an ostentatious display of wealth. I'm not surprised; it's in typical Michel fashion to show off. There are croissants with various fillings, Quiche Lorraine that seems overly rich, and smoked salmon with cream cheese that looks too pretentious for my liking. Fresh fruits, assorted cheeses and charcuterie are carefully arranged on platters, adding to the opulence of the brunch spread. There's also a silver tray filled with macarons in all colors, dark coffee brewing on a silver coffee press, and a few bottles of expensive Champagne chilling in the ice buckets.
As the servers come by with the last of the spread, I catch the smell of freshly baked pain au chocolat, and my senses immediately perk up. I can’t help myself. Even though I’d rather be indulging back at home, I reach for one and hand it to Leora before I grab one for myself.
As I chew, I notice how the others at the table are engrossed in the food and conversation. Michel, in particular, seems to revel in the attention he’s getting and Melina sits next to her father, occasionally glaring at us.
I look at Leora, anxious to see if she's enjoying the food. To my relief, her smiles are even bigger now. With each bite she takes, she wiggles in her chair as if she’s dancing with delight—I don’t think she’s noticing it herself.
She’s adorable.
I quickly wipe away my smile, trying to suppress any feelings that may be growing.
Stop looking at her that way . You’re doing this for Ammo Antoine.
"It’s so delicious," Leora says between bites. When I look at her, I find her eyes on mine, glimmering in the light.
I swallow hard, the taste of the food suddenly less significant. I’m screwed.
After a few minutes of eating, I find Leora’s eyes darting around, and she’s still got that big smile on her face. I can't help but chuckle. There's a mischievous glint in her eyes, and a feeling of suspicion creeps in. She's up to something, and I'm certain she's done more than just enjoy her meal.
"So, what did you do, Leora? It looks like you've got a secret up your sleeve," I whisper, playfully nudging her.
"What? Nothing?" She blinks innocently.
"Leora," I warn.
"Lucas," she echoes.
Our gazes lock, and we find ourselves in a tense staring contest. I’m instantly captivated by the intensity of her eyes. The way her green eyes seem to shimmer in the soft light, resembling precious stones of jade, leaving me mesmerized.
I lean in, my teasing grin widening. "Come on, Leora, you can't fool me. I know you've done something." I pause before I mock-gasp, pretending to be scandalized. "Don't tell me you threw a drink at somebody!"
Leora slaps my shoulder lightly, before she looks around, making sure no one else is within earshot. Then she leans in closer to me, her breath warm against my ear. "Okay, fine. But you have to promise not to be mad," she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "I promise, now spill."
Leora takes a deep breath, her excitement barely contained as she opens her bag, revealing its contents to me. My curiosity peaks as I lean in to get a closer look.
Inside the bag, I see an array of colorful forms.
They look like turtles.
They are turtles.
What the hell is that and where did she find them?
She picks one up and hands it to me under the table. My fingers brush against its smooth surface. It's like touching silk, but with a slight grip to it.
I take a better look at it and turn it in my hand.
It’s fucking soap. More specifically, turtle soap.
" Leora, why am I holding a turtle made of soap?" I whisper.
Leora leans into me, laughing. "I took all the soap they had in the guest bathrooms. That’ll teach Michel not to be rude to me."
"You did what?" I say, unable to contain my smile, my eyes crinkling at the corners. This is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, but it’s hilarious. My head falls back and I let out a laugh attracting everyone’s attention. Leora giggles along with me. She looks triumphant, as if she's just pulled off the most brilliant prank. The thought of her sneaking around, collecting soap from the guest bathrooms, just to get back at Michel, makes me laugh even harder. The ridiculous thing is that he’ll never notice it—not even his wife will.
As our laughter dies down, I wipe a tear from my eye and look at Leora, still grinning. "You're absolutely mad. That's some next-level revenge right there. Is that why you left?"
Leora smirks, clearly proud of her impromptu plan. "No, I walked away because I was about to say stuff that would cause a scene. But then I found these cute soaps and thought stealing them would teach him a lesson. And besides, who needs that much soap anyway?"
I laugh and shake my head. "Am I next on your revenge list?"
Leora draws closer, her voice softening with a twinge of threat. "At this particular moment you’re on the ‘okay’ list, but watch your back, big guy."
The "threat" catches me off guard. Is she flirting with me? I quickly dismiss the idea—surely she’s just excited by the moment. When it wears off, she’s probably going back to her normal state. But despite my efforts to brush it off, a sense of disappointment lingers. To anyone observing us, we must look like a blissful newlywed couple, inseparable and madly in love. We’re close together, our bodies angled toward each other. We exchange whispers and glances, and share secret smiles. But little do they know the real topic of our conversation.
She brushes her hand against mine as she takes the soap back, and with a playful smirk of my own, I murmur, "Well, in that case, I can't wait to see what other tricks you have up your sleeve."
Leora's smirk turns into a seductive smile, and I can't resist the urge to reach out and brush my thumb against her hand, feeling the softness of her skin.
Her breath hitches at my touch. Our faces are merely centimeters apart. "Oh, you have no idea," she whispers, her voice husky with promise. My gaze roams her beautiful face and lingers on her lips. They’re calling to me. I want to feel them on mine, and right now is my shot. As long as we have an audience, I can do whatever I want—and I need to get this burning desire out of my system.
As I reach out to cup her cheek, I note the confusion and anticipation in her eyes. I lean in slowly, our lips almost touching, but I stop just shy of her lips. "Play along, Michel and Melina are watching," I lie, hoping she doesn't see through my ruse. In response, she whispers something I can’t hear. Instead of answering, I savor the moment, the undeniable electricity sparking between us. Our lips graze for a brief moment before I give in and kiss her softly. It's frustrating to hold back, but I can’t kiss her the way I want to right now.
Despite her anger toward me, her desire for me now is unmistakable. I notice the disappointment in her eyes as I pull back from our brief kiss and I know it's mirrored in mine.
"Are they still looking?" her voice is mellow. I don't bother looking to confirm, instead, I give her a subtle nod before our lips reconnect. I find myself gently licking the seam of her lips, exploring the taste of her, probing her to open up. When she does, our kiss deepens. I kiss her for another second or two, or three; I'm not sure because I lose track of time before I reluctantly move away. This is anything but professional. I’m at a brunch surrounded by stakeholders, and yet I don’t care. I catch a glimpse of her, a little shocked, her eyes wide. She licks her bottom lip before straightening. In that moment, the desire to feel her bottom lip between mine again becomes an irresistible urge, something I ache to fulfill as soon as possible.
Our moment is interrupted by Michel's cheerful voice as it booms across the table and I internally curse. We sit back in our chairs, my arm finding its place along the back of hers, keeping her close to me.
He raises his glass and offers a toast. "To Lucas and Leora, the newlyweds, and the bright future that lies ahead of them!"
His eyes briefly meet mine, and I catch a hint of something menacing behind them, but he quickly masks it with a smile as he joins the rest of the table in raising their glasses in celebration.
She hasn’t looked at me once since we sat down in the car and it’s driving me insane. I want to grab her chin and make her look at me. I don’t understand how she can just turn it off like that. I know I messed up yesterday and the day before—I should have been calmer. I know I have to apologize, but the words refuse to come out of my mouth.
However, I thought we shared something during brunch.
It went well. It went more than well, actually. The kiss and the laughter felt more than an act. I actually had fun for the first time ever at an event like that, and she is the reason for that.
But apparently, she’s a great actress and, as provoked as I am, I can’t fault her for that. That’s why I married her. The whole reason she’s in my car this second is because I need someone to play my wife.
As we pull into the driveway of our home, the tension in the car is suffocating. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful to finally be off the road. Leora unbuckles her seatbelt and opens the car door, ready to escape the confined space. She stops halfway out when she notices that I haven’t moved a millimeter.
I can't stay here, not with this tension between us. I need some time alone to sort out my thoughts. If I stay, we’re either going to argue or I’ll break one of her rules by touching her in all the ways I’m craving. It's frustrating to be in this limbo, not knowing where we stand or how to move forward. But for now, I need space to breathe and clear my head.
Without a word, I take out the key and the magnetic fob for the elevator from my pocket and hand them over to her. Her eyes are fixed on me, watching my every movement and searching for a hint of emotion. I keep my face neutral, not wanting to give her any inkling that this marriage is already affecting me.
"Take these," I say, my voice low and steady. I check the time on my watch. It's only three o'clock, so I have plenty of time to clear my head before I come back.
Leora looks at me, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of vulnerability. "You're not coming?"
I shake my head, trying to keep my emotions in check. "I'll be back this evening."
"Where are you going?"
"I have some work I need to get done."
She pauses for a moment, her eyes flickering between me and my hand. "Okay," she says softly, taking the keys.
I watch as she gets out of the car and walks toward the elevator.
I don’t drive away yet. I’m watching her closely—how her body moves with every step she takes. When she reaches the elevator, she hesitates.
Come on, Leora, use the pad to make the elevator door open. She complies, but as the doors slide open, she hesitates, not stepping inside. Instead, she turns to the left and heads to the door that leads to the staircase and I watch her disappear.
What is she doing?
Why would she take the stairs when there’s a perfectly fine elevator right in front of her? There’s more than twenty flights to reach our apartment. Is she seriously climbing them all?
I sit there in the car for a few minutes, debating whether to follow her or leave. Then realization dawns on me. Every time she steps into an elevator, she hesitates. She almost shuts down during the ride and her breaths grow heavy. When we reach our floor, she rushes out of the enclosed space.
When I asked if she was alright yesterday, she told me she was fine. She almost had the same reaction when we rode in the elevator together the first time. Is it a coincidence? If she had any issues, she would have told me, right?
You fool. Why would she tell you when you’re in the middle of an argument?
I shake my head. Maybe she just felt like taking the stairs.
With that, I drive away to the office.