Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
AMELIE
We landed in California shortly after the nanny had brought the kids home from boarding school. Kai came up beside me with the bags and the same unhurried quality he brought to everything and then looked at me.
Our gazes caught as the air thickened around us, and my skin went hot.
For some reason, I felt incredibly coy around him now.
It was terribly illogical, considering how he had collared me against the en suite bathroom door on his private plane and fucked me just a couple of hours ago.
It was rough and left marks, even though he had kissed me softly afterward like a gentleman.
For the entire ride home, I couldn’t think of anything but him.
Bella launched herself at me before I had both feet inside. She hit me somewhere around the sternum, which was the height she was at, and I caught her and held on tight and breathed into her hair. It smelled like the strawberry shampoo I had bought her.
“I missed you,” she announced into my shoulder.
“I missed you more,” I said.
She pulled back and looked at me with the evaluative gaze of someone conducting an inspection. “You look orange.”
“I was in the sun.”
“Where?”
I glanced up and found Kai watching us from the doorway. His expression had the quality it got when something was happening that he had not prepared to find moving.
“A place far, far away,” I told her.
“Where’s Stefan?”
“He won’t be back for a few more weeks.”
“Oh.”
Bella forgot about Stefan as soon as Kai showed her the gifts we bought for her. The twins were quick to join as he produced their presents as well.
The jet lag settled warm and heavy over everything like a blanket, and I sidled up to the couch as they tore into the boxes.
Kai was on me within seconds, reshuffling me so my head landed on his lap.
Somewhere close by, I could hear the twins in the middle of an escalating dispute over one of the gifts that was quickly resolved by Kai.
My eyes were closed as they bickered over dinner, Kai telling them they needed to finish their homework first, while Bella demanded that we play Pictionary.
It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t. It was just an ordinary life.
Kai returned to work the following Monday.
I assumed the intensity of his attention would waver once he resumed his normal business hours.
His reputation as a mega tycoon was well-earned.
He demanded excellence from everyone, and most of all from himself.
He worked long hours, yet somehow, he still showed up to my work with lunch.
I hadn’t told him what time I took my lunch. It meant that when I got to the parking lot and found him at the curb, it was either a result of spying or something adjacent to it.
“How did you know I was going out for lunch?” I asked in lieu of saying hello.
“I called the hospital.”
I glared at him with the energy of someone who had a great deal to say and was choosing to say it in the correct order. “You called the hospital.”
“The receptionist was helpful.”
Jo. I could picture her exactly, eagerly giving Kai all the information he requested.
There was a semi-smile as he held up a bag. “I made it myself.”
I sighed as he followed me to a public bench. I generally ran to a local deli for food if the ER was slow. It wasn’t the most convenient, as the commute cut into my lunchtime. I could pack my lunches, but I always forgot. It was a vicious cycle I couldn’t break free from.
I glanced at him. Of course, he was already watching me with a stupid, cocky grin.
Although I’d never admit that the chicken sandwich tasted like heaven, I nearly moaned when I tasted the fig jam, truffle aioli, and brie combination on sourdough.
I caught the sound before it fully escaped and turned it into a cough.
Too late.
“Good?” he asked, not looking up from unwrapping his own sandwich.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” he repeated like he was trying the words on and finding them two sizes too small. He finally looked at me, and there it was, that maddening, knowing tilt at the corner of his mouth. “You made a sound, Princess, that made it seem more than just okay.”
“I did not.”
“You did.” He took a bite of his sandwich, unbothered, victorious. “Twice.”
I chewed with as much dignity as a woman could summon around brie this good. I’d have rather died than tell him it was the best sandwich I’d ever eaten. He knew anyway. He always knew.
Lunch continued with a side of our usual lukewarm banter, most of it my attempt to claw back the ground I’d just surrendered for a sandwich. I turned it over in my hand and studied it like evidence. “Do you know what this is?”
“Lunch.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is an old-man sandwich.” I took another disloyal bite.
“Is that right?” he asked dryly.
“Think about it. A man your age chooses fig jam and truffle.” I held up the offending half like exhibit A.
“Twenty-three-year-olds do not choose brie, and least of all, sourdough as the base. We eat cheese that comes wrapped in its own square of plastic. Whereas you chose a soft French cheese. You probably own a cheese knife, too. Probably have opinions about bread as well.”
“You’re building quite a case for older men and their preferences.”
“All I’m saying is it’s a slippery slope. Today it’s truffle. Tomorrow you’ll wake up with a midlife crisis, and before you know it, bam!” I leaned in, warming to the verdict. “You buy a penis-shaped car.”
“Mm.” He wasn’t remotely offended. “And yet.”
“And yet what?”
He leaned back, unbothered as always. “And yet this old man fucked you so many times last night that you had to walk crooked this morning.”
My jaw sagged. He was so crude. And also sort of funny.
His humor was simply like that, no windup, no smile to soften it, just the thing itself delivered at full force and then gone, as if it hadn’t meant to surface.
He didn’t try to be funny. He simply was, but only when he was relaxed.
You couldn’t buy that quality or manufacture it.
You either had it or you didn’t, and he did.
His gaze flicked down, then up. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “That’s— People are eating.”
“You started it, Princess.”
His words poured through me, melting my insides with their heat. Meanwhile, the man in question was made entirely of composure, and I longed to see him fall apart. Not to rattle him, but to be the reason his composure slipped. To be the one significant enough to crack it.
We finished eating. Even though I was initially annoyed by his stalking, I was sad that our time together had come to an end.
“You didn’t have to bring me lunch. It’s—” I stopped myself, because the thing I was about to say was sweet and saying that would require me to reevaluate several firmly held positions. He shouldn’t be calling the hospital for my lunch schedule, among several other serious invasions of privacy.
He glanced at me sideways. He knew exactly what I hadn’t said.
“I can pack my own lunches from now on,” I said instead.
“You’ll forget.”
“I won’t.”
It turned out that I did forget, and for the rest of the week, Kai either brought me lunch or took me out to eat.
Despite his own grueling work schedule, he never missed a day.
We discovered every mom-and-pop cafe within a five-mile radius.
I also discovered other things, like the fact that Kai loved to spoil me.
Sometimes it came in the form of an expensive gift, and other times, it was the most unbelievable gesture.
On Tuesday, Kai learned to make mujadara the way my teta used to. He watched me take the first bite the way other men watch the stock market.
“Well?” he asked.
The lentils were soft, the onions caramelized almost black. It tasted like being six years old in Teta’s kitchen. It tasted, God help me, better than Teta’s. Not that I’d ever admit it. Poor woman would have rolled over in her grave if I had said the words out loud.
“It’s close,” I said.
“Close.”
“Almost as good as Teta’s. Keep practicing.”
He set down the spoon and braced both hands on the counter on either side of me, close enough that I had to tip my head back to hold his gaze. “Admit that it tastes better.”
“Never.”
Something dangerous moved across his face. “Stubborn.”
After that, he fucked me nine ways to oblivion until I conceded that his version, in fact, tasted better. Men!
On Wednesday night, I told him I loved the look of bougainvillea.
On Thursday, I stood in the doorway in my scrubs, keys in hand, and found myself staring at the bright magenta flowers spilling up both sides of the entry like something out of a dream.
I threw the door open and attacked him with a sexual vigor I didn’t know I possessed. We didn’t even make it to the bedroom.
After work on Friday, he took me shopping. He handpicked everything he wanted to see me in. The only reason we didn’t get kicked out of the stall for having sex in it was that he practically bought the entire store.
On Saturday, he blew off a business function for an ordinary family day with the kids and me.
We went to the farmers market for locally sourced produce, which he later used to cook a Lebanese feast, keeping true to the Arab style of cooking for one hundred people instead of five.
There was everything from tabbouleh, kibbeh, and pita, all of which he made from scratch.
I tried to help, but Kai found me hopeless in the kitchen and shooed me away.
By Sunday, I had stopped going to Stefan’s side of the house and moved my things into Kai’s bedroom.
That was when I found them at the back of Stefan’s closet—the red-bottom heels, still in their original dust bags, and the last quilted Chanel bag that had shown up by courier.
It had arrived the morning after Stefan had left for Dubai, and I’d understood the meaning behind the bag perfectly.
Sorry. Here’s a gift. Now, everything is good between us.
I had picked it up. Ran my thumb over the leather.
Then I set it back down on the shelf, exactly where it had been, and closed the door on that side of the house for good.
Before returning to boarding school, the kids also moved their belongings to their rooms on Kai’s side.
Stefan was never there; it made no sense to keep returning to an empty wing.
Not only was Kai’s side of the house decorated with furniture I had accumulated over the years, but the clothes hanging in our shared closet were also more to my taste.
Rather than buying me the most expensive label, Kai was focused on curation.
Anything he bought for me was intentional and thoughtful.
The scarf I had pointed out at the farmers market.
The famous Carrie Bradshaw shoes from Sex and the City, because I’d once mentioned they’d look great in silver.
Jewelry pieces from an online store I followed on Instagram.
I’d never told him about that account. Come to think of it, I’d never told him about half of what kept arriving. Once, I’d asked how he knew. He’d said, “It was a good guess,” and kissed my temple, and I’d let it drop because the earrings were perfect.
Unlike Stefan’s gifts, Kai’s gifts weren’t weak excuses for blowing me off or apologies for dodging my calls.
There were no ulterior motives. He wasn’t buying me off or trying to shut me up.
That was the difference. Putting on the outfits Kai selected for me made me feel special.
Anytime he pampered me with a personalized gesture or a tangible gift, I felt like he had hung the moon.
His form of gift-giving and his attention to detail bordered on scary.
It was intense, just like everything else about him, especially sex.
Going into this marriage, I knew he’d expect it, but I hadn’t anticipated the never-ending hunger. I couldn’t breathe under the weight of his attention, which was ironic because nowadays, I felt the most alive under his watchful eyes.
Clearly, I had become a woman possessed. I thought about him all day, every day, all night when he wasn’t fucking me to oblivion.
Seven days.
Seven days, and I’d already started picking out his footsteps in the hallway. Already knew the difference between the sound of his key in the lock and the nanny or the housekeeper.
He had put a spell on me with all the great sex.
It was the easiest explanation. The truth, however, was simpler and more alarming—I liked him.
I really liked him. In fact, I was falling for him.
Not because of what he did for me. Not the mujadara or the bougainvillea or the earrings that arrived before I knew I wanted them.
I liked the specific person he was. His humor.
The dry delivery. The economy of words. The way he handled the twins’ arguments without raising his voice.
His newspaper. His snobbish way of cooking with top-grade ingredients.
The fact that he was extraordinary at almost everything and somehow never made you feel small for being ordinary beside him. That was the actual spell.
I’d better google patches for this Kai addiction. Something I could slap on my arm so I could wean myself off slowly, in measured doses, so I could walk past him without my heart thudding embarrassingly. I wasn’t ready for how badly, or how fast, my need for him would spiral out of control.
It scared me how quickly I had gotten used to it. How quickly I had lost myself in him.