Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
STEFAN
When I flew to Tanzania for Obsidian Magazine, I convinced myself it was for the best. I needed space during Amelie and Kai’s first week as a married couple.
The thought of them together left a sour taste in my mouth, but not knowing what transpired between them was a torture of its own.
The trip was a godsend. Ironically, it was courtesy of Kai, the same man I wanted to avoid.
Sure, I convinced Amelie to say yes to Kai’s proposal, but turning the hypothetical into our reality was a thousand times harder. Suddenly, everything was too real, our future uncertain, with too many questions swirling in my mind.
Did they have sex on their honeymoon?
Did he hold her in his arms after?
Would she eventually fall in love with him, or did her heart only belong to me?
My stomach turned, and I closed my eyes.
No.
Letting myself dwell on the unknowns would make me spiral. I forced myself to focus on what we had gained instead—a clean slate, no debts, and financial freedom.
The children had just returned from a fancy sleepaway camp, a luxury we could not have afforded in the past. They were overstimulated by their welcome-home gifts and were tuckered out after hours of unwrapping toys and playing video games.
Last Christmas, I bought them gifts from the dollar store, and their reactions matched the price tag.
I had never spoiled them before, and Amelie was my next target.
The first thing I did after returning from Africa was shop for my family.
I glanced at the shopping bags on the coffee table.
Hermes.
Louis Vuitton.
Chanel.
Cartier.
Louboutin.
Dior.
I covered all the French designers. They were the best in the business for brand-name items, and my woman would have nothing but the finest things.
I grew up watching my father let my mother down.
They were young when they became pregnant with me and, as a result, dropped out of college.
The best they could do without degrees was blue-collar jobs and living paycheck to paycheck.
My friends’ moms were whisked away to Paris on anniversaries, but the farthest my mother traveled was the East Coast. Other women were spoiled on Valentine’s Day, while Mom was placated with handmade gifts.
She never owned anything fancy or had extraordinary experiences.
I’d never forget the day Mom was mesmerized by a designer purse at Nordstrom. We had planned on window-shopping, but Dad saw the look on her face and couldn’t disappoint her yet again, especially when the dismissive sales associate suggested we couldn’t afford the purse.
Dad marched to the counter with a credit card in one hand and my mother’s hand in the other. For a whole sixty seconds, they were proud of sticking it to the saleslady, only for the card to be declined. The humiliation in my father’s eyes and the dejection in my mother’s were imprinted in my mind.
That day, I vowed never to live a life of mediocrity.
Yet I often experienced the same shame as my father. Those old memories resurfaced whenever Amelie admired something we couldn’t afford. But Kai had answered all my prayers.
Looking around at our sixteen-thousand-square-feet mansion, it was obvious that our mediocre life was behind us.
Large windows overlooked the classic California landscape—a beach and clear blue water.
The insides were as serene as the view, with an open floor plan, minimalistic decor, chic furniture, and tasteful art.
Over the summer, Kai bought and designed this house with this unorthodox family in mind. We each decorated our side of the house as we saw fit, since Amelie was reluctant to do so.
The neutral-colored walls complemented the clean living room.
It was the only shared space for the whole family to enjoy.
Otherwise, the double doors in the far corner separated my set of rooms from Kai’s side of the house.
I hadn’t ventured into his territory out of respect for his privacy and had no idea of his aesthetics.
As for my wing, it looked like the birthplace of minimalism. There was no clutter or excess junk. It was clean and modern, a replica of my dream home. He had granted me a lifelong wish—a house with a breathtaking view.
There were times I wanted to punch Kai for even looking at my wife.
But I couldn’t hate the man who gave me my dream home and job.
This house was featured in Architectural Digest, and my family was living in it.
I wouldn’t mess this up with petty jealousy.
I needed to compartmentalize and cling to denial rather than imagine Kai and Amelie together.
As far as I was concerned, they had a platonic relationship.
I paced the living room of our new palatial home, determined to welcome Amelie and Kai back with zero bitterness and jealousy.
I’d show them just how okay I was with this arrangement.
The doors swung open right as the clock struck eight.
Amelie walked inside with Kai, who rolled in both their suitcases.
They were in airline attire, and for the first time, Kai was dressed down in joggers and a white T-shirt. His usual godlike persona was missing; he almost looked like a mere mortal.
Amelie wore a gray tank top tucked into a tennis skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her skin tanner than usual from the Caribbean sun. No makeup; she didn’t need it. She was stunning even after a long flight.
I missed her like crazy, but I didn’t rush up to pull her into my arms. There were unwritten rules now. I couldn’t flaunt our relationship in front of Kai and hoped he would maintain the same discretion.
Please, don’t make me witness your relationship. I can’t bear it.
It turned out my worries were for nothing. They weren’t holding hands, and Amelie wasn’t remotely in love with Kai. She walked five paces ahead and seemed seconds from hitting him over the head with something heavy. He had pissed her off, and they had been married for two minutes.
Relief washed over me, and I let go of the breath I’d been holding since Tanzania. Everything would be all right. I hadn’t lost her, our relationship had simply evolved.
“Hi, baby!” I said as she drew closer.
Her eyes landed on me. There was a spark of love in them, love for me, not him.
Why was I so anxious? Amelie would never love Kai. Her heart was already full, just like mine, and there was no space for anyone else.
“Hi,” she mouthed, watching Kai out of the corner of her eye. We exchanged an awkward kiss when he turned his back to us to station their luggage. The relief from our brief intimacy clashed with the immediate tension of his being nearby. We were unsure how to act in his presence.
“Hey, man,” I said louder for his benefit. “Welcome home.”
Kai straightened. He turned slowly and nodded, giving nothing away with his expression.
Was this whole thing just as awkward for him? Was he regretting this arrangement? Or was he merely tired from the flight? It was impossible to tell with Kai, he was the farthest from expressive.
“Where are the kids?” His voice was detached, without deeper meaning or any passive-aggressive territorial behavior.
“Asleep.”
Amelie seemed bummed out. “Oh. I was hoping to tuck them in.”
I smiled at her. “They were exhausted after opening all their welcome-home gifts. I bought you some stuff, too.” I was beyond excited to spoil my wife with things I had never dreamt of buying her.
But Amelie was too distracted to notice the gifts on the coffee table. Her expression dimmed as she took in the house. She hadn’t seen it yet, and her eyes tracked the living room furniture. “Um. Where’s all our stuff?”
I returned home before her and hired a moving company. They dropped off our measly belongings from the old home. “Upstairs. I put everything away,” I answered.
She tsked. “I meant the living room furniture. Where’s the vintage mirror and my gray armchair?”
The question made me chuckle because I thought she was joking. When I realized she wasn’t, I said, “That mirror’s falling apart, and we bought the armchair off Craigslist. I didn’t have the movers bring that stuff because we don’t need them.”
“Why would you think that? It was our stuff, and I want it.” Amelie watched me with disbelief, and I found myself watching back incredulously. This place looked like a piece of art. Why would she want to bring ragged furniture into a house full of designer items? What purpose would that serve?
I glanced over her shoulder at Kai, hoping he would weigh in. There was no way he’d be okay with secondhand Craigslist furniture in this million-dollar home. But Kai had checked out of the conversation and texting someone on his phone.
Amelie placed a stubborn hand on her waist. “I swear to God, Stefan, you’re sleeping outside if you threw away my things. I’d been measuring Bella’s height on the brown cupboard since—”
“The furniture will be dropped off tomorrow,” Kai interrupted in a bored tone.
We glanced at him, surprised. We didn’t think he was paying attention, let alone taking proactive measures to pacify Amelie.
“What?” she asked, baffled.
“I texted my assistant. Your old house hasn’t been put on the market yet. He’ll have someone move the furniture tomorrow.”
I couldn’t help the huff that came out of me. “Come on, Am. There are throw-up stains on our sofa from when the twins got sick.” I waved a hand at our new home with white furniture and shiny, marble floors. “That stuff doesn’t go with this house.”
I knew it was a mistake the moment I said it. I saw my wife’s wrath in her flared nostrils before she even spoke. “That stuff is years’ worth of memories—”
“They can go on my side of the house,” Kai cut in to mollify her rising hysteria.
Once more, Amelie and I were dumbfounded. “You want the broken furniture?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow at Kai.
“Doesn’t bother me.” He glanced at Amelie. “Feel free to decorate my side however you want.”