Chapter 14
fourteen
ELAINA
Four days later…
The Sunday morning sun streams through Hunter’s floor-to-ceiling windows, basking my yoga mat in a golden glow that’s giving serious main character energy.
Which is fitting.
I’m feeling very “main character” after spending the past few days being spoiled rotten by my sexy boyfriend.
I’m sure most people wouldn’t consider riding bikes in Central Park, hitting all the best hole-in-wall restaurants for Thai and Indian food, or spending an entire day at Coney Island taking cheesy pictures and riding roller coasters being “spoiled rotten,” but I do. Hunter cut down to the bare minimum at work this week so he could spend as much time as possible with me.
With. Me .
As we’ve both learned the hard way, time is our most precious, irreplaceable resource. He’s lavished me with his, and for that, I am appropriately impressed.
I was especially touched by the seven hours at Coney Island. Carnival rides and boardwalks packed with screaming, sweaty kids are clearly not Hunter’s favorite thing, but he didn’t complain. And I’m pretty sure he enjoyed himself on the Ferris wheel, even if he did spend the entire ride pointing out all the parts of the neighborhood that would be underwater by 2050 if serious infrastructure changes weren’t made to mitigate storm surge.
Sigh …he’s so hot when he uses words like “mitigate” and “infrastructure.”
We’ve done a lot of talking about his business this week, and I think I finally understand what a private equity firm does. We’ve talked about my future business ideas, too, and Hunter’s been a great help when it comes to pointing out potential cash flow pitfalls for various start-ups. He’s bought, reconfigured, and sold so many different kinds of companies that he has a wide swath of expertise.
He’s also an expert at shooting holes in my exciting new business-idea balloons with alarming regularity. But I like that he’s challenging me to come up with a venture that will stand out in a crowded marketplace, have longevity, and withstand the AI revolution that’s on track to eliminate so many jobs in the coming decades.
I know if I earn a “you could have something there,” from my hard-ass boyfriend, that I’m not wasting my time continuing to study and research.
So far, I haven’t settled on any one thing—I’m still in the brainstorming phase—but I’m in no big rush. Sweet Pussy Café is still turning a profit, even after hiring staff, so I won’t be destitute anytime soon. And for now, Hunter is insisting on paying for everything.
Including the ridiculously expensive 1940s Dior navy silk cocktail dress that I slip into after my shower. He bought it from a collector who’d had it wrapped in acid-free paper in a windowless room for thirty years. It’s in perfect condition, and I’m sure the fact that I’m actually wearing it out in the filthy, light-polluted world would give the collector an aneurysm.
But clothes are meant to be worn, especially gorgeous ones like this…
I smooth the silk lovingly over my hips as I check my reflection in the floor-length mirror in the closet. I’m evaluating whether a navy pump or a sandal is the best shoe choice, when Hunter appears behind me, like some kind of sweaty ninja.
I jump and exhale a startled sound, laughing as I meet his amused gaze in the reflection. “You scared me. Again. How are you so quiet when you walk? You’re huge.” I tilt my head to one side, offering him my cheek as he leans in for kiss, humming as the salty musk of a man fresh from the gym hits my nose. I even love the way this man smells when he’s sweaty, proving this crush is probably getting out of hand. “How was your workout?”
“Good. How was yoga?”
“Good. My balance is getting better, I think. My tree pose…” I trail off as his hand settles on my lower back before smoothing slowly over my bottom, sending a ripple of awareness across my skin. I clear my throat. “See something you like, Mr. M?”
He rumbles thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on my backside. “Yes, very much. Your ass in silk… I’d write poetry about it if I were that sort of man.”
“And who says you can’t be?” I ask, pressing back against his hand, loving the way his expression sharpens with desire. “I think you can be anything you want to be. Including the kind of man who resists the urge to bend me over the bed and shove my skirt up from behind. If you do anything to put the integrity of this garment at risk, I will be very disappointed in you.”
He drags his gaze back to meet mine in the mirror, his lips hooking up on one side. “Fine. I’ll go jerk off in a cold shower instead.”
“Don’t you dare,” I call after him as he turns away, disappearing into the bathroom. “I could be in my fertile window in as little as five or six days. That sperm is mine, buddy. If you waste a drop, you’re going to be answering to me.”
He pops his head back in, heat in his gaze that makes my already taut nipples tingle. “Then you’d better get out of that dress and spread your legs, little girl. Right now. I’m hard as nails for you, and I need to come.”
Fuck…
He knows what he does to me when he talks like that. I’m instantly wet enough to put my dress in peril, anyway.
Still, I make a big show of slowly drawing down the zipper and stepping out of the garment before draping it gently over the padded chair in the corner of the closet, keenly aware of his eyes hot on me the entire time. With my back still turned, I flick open the hooks on my bra, letting it slide down my arms onto the carpet before turning back to him in nothing but my tiny black lace panties.
“Well, you’d better hurry,” I say, my voice husky with need. It grows huskier when I see that he’s already out of his clothes and idly stroking his swollen cock with one big hand. “We only have an hour before we need to pick your mother up for the theater.”
“Speed won’t be a problem,” he says, still stroking himself slowly as he nods toward the floor. “Down on the carpet, panties off, legs spread. I’m going to fuck you right here. I can’t wait the time it would take to get to the bedroom.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, teasing him with that phrase I know he secretly loves as I shimmy out of my panties. A beat later, I’m flat on my back on the carpet, holding his gaze as I spread my legs, then reach down to spread my inner lips wide, showing him how slick I already am.
“What a little slut you are,” he says, crossing the room in one big step. “A little slut who’s always wet for me and desperate for this cock.”
“Yes,” I agree, moaning as he moves over me, entering me in one deep, firm thrust.
I cry out, clinging to his shoulders as he fucks me hard, without foreplay or any of his usual attention to my clit.
But I don’t need it. By the time he warns, “I’m about to come. To come so deep in this pussy,” I’m already spiraling. As he groans and begins to pulse inside me, I dig my nails into the muscles of his ass and join him, rolling my hips in little circles that draw out the blissful contractions.
When I’m finally finished, I open my eyes to find Hunter watching me with a soft smile. “What?” I ask, still breathless.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just like watching you come for me.”
I smile. “Good. I like coming for you, so that works out.”
He bends to kiss my forehead, whispering, “I’m going to shower. I made you a latte after I got back from the gym. It’s on the kitchen counter.”
“Thank you,” I say, touched by the gesture. I’m pretty much a master at the machine by now, but still…I love that he already knows that I like a second coffee after my new morning workout routine.
Five days of being his “real” girlfriend, and I’m still not entirely used to these moments of genuine sweetness from him. They catch me off guard every time, making my heart do little flips that I know I shouldn’t encourage.
But I can’t help it.
Everything about this week has been magical.
As I clean up with one of the body wipes under the sink, get re-dressed, and head into the kitchen to fetch my coffee before doing my makeup, I can’t help ticking through all the ways Hunter and I are proving to be perfect together.
The sex just keeps getting hotter, we laugh together all the time, and now that he’s stopped fighting it, the affection he feels for me is so obvious, I feel kind of dumb for not seeing it sooner. And it’s not just little gestures like the coffee. It’s the way he steps up and does his best to answer my hard questions, the way he reassures me when I’m getting overwhelmed by my “what comes next” dilemma, the way he holds me as we drift off to sleep like I’m something precious he doesn’t want to lose.
It’s hard to believe I’m really the first woman who’s been able to see the tender man beneath his brusque exterior. Even when he’s at his most dry and sarcastic, even when he’s annoyed by my mess or my stubbornness or my smart mouth, I can still tell how much he wants to be there for me.
To be with me.
Even our arguments are kind of awesome.
Like at Coney Island, when he warned me to stop taking selfies of us because he hates having his picture taken. I refused, of course, seeing as I found the fact that he insisted on brooding in the background of every shot super entertaining.
Then, he got seriously annoyed. Then, I laughed so hard I got the hiccups. Then, he made fun of me for having the hiccups, and I got seriously mad. And then we made up by sharing a lemonade and having a stranger take one real picture of us that was supposed to be the end of the picture taking.
But obviously, I started taking selfies again because I have a teensy tiny sadistic streak, and he felt compelled to drag me behind an abandoned cotton candy stand and spank me.
It was so hot, I almost came right there, mere feet from some seriously gross old trash.
I smile at the memory as I sip my latte.
We’re having fun together. Easy, but sweet and serious sometimes, too. Surely, if things keep going this well, Hunter will see that it would be dumb to call it quits…
“No. Bad, Elaina,” I whisper, slapping my own hand before forcing the smile from my face. “One of you desperately wanting a kid and the other hating children with the passion of a thousand white hot suns is a dealbreaker. It would be dumb not to call it quits.”
But I’m not sure my heart is listening.
And honestly, I was annoyed by the kids at Coney Island, too. Surely, Hunter would have more patience with a cute, well-behaved child.
“Doesn’t matter,” I mutter. “Just enjoy the now. The now is now, and the now is good.”
It is good.
It’s great, actually, a fact Hunter proves by emerging from the bedroom looking like a fine-ass snack in a deep blue dress shirt and navy slacks that pair perfectly with my dress. “We look good together today,” I murmur, admiring our reflection in the mirror above the entry table as we wait for the elevator.
He glances at the mirror, gaze warming. “We do.”
“You know what that means,” I say, a wicked grin curving my lips.
He laughs. “Yeah, I do. Two selfies. Two , that’s all you get. Try for more than two, and you’re going to end up in the family restroom at the theater, with your dress up around your hips while you take your punishment.”
“Oh no, not another spanking,” I say, my bottom lip pushing into a faux pout. “Whatever will I do?”
He shakes his head. “Trouble. You’re trouble, woman,” he says, even as he takes my hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze.
I follow him into the elevator, feeling seen.
And adored.
And…maybe something more than adored.
I peek at his profile as the elevator whisks us toward the ground floor, wondering if it’s too soon to call it love.
“I called ahead to have Katie help Mom down to the lobby,” he says, checking his watch. “I figured better to head out a little early, in case there’s traffic in midtown.”
“There’s always traffic in midtown. That’s why it’s the worst,” I say, earning a grin and another hand squeeze.
“Look at you, talking like a real New Yorker.”
I beam. “Just wait until you hear me complain about the subway delays. I’m getting really good at that.”
He laughs as we exit the elevator and head toward the town car waiting for us outside. Across the park, at Margaret’s building, Charles, the Sunday doorman, has clearly been waiting for us, and wheels Hunter’s mom out in her wheelchair just moments after we pull up to the curb.
She looks more tired than she did Friday night at dinner. The shadows under her eyes are deeper, and her movements more careful, making me think today must be a bad pain day.
But her smile is bright as ever as Hunter helps her into the car, settling her into the bench seat facing our own.
“Don’t you two look swanky,” she says, her gaze flicking back and forth between us as the driver eases into traffic. “What a handsome couple you make. You look more like movie stars than entrepreneurs. I’m going to need a picture of you in these clothes to show the ladies at bridge at the senior center.”
Turning to Hunter with a grin, I say, “Of course. We would love to have our picture taken, wouldn’t we, baby?”
“You’re the devil. Satan herself,” he says, making both of us laugh.
“He’s always hated having his picture taken,” Margaret says, shaking her head. “I never understood it. I mean, if he were homely, it would be different, but he’s always been handsome.”
“He’s a weird one,” I agree.
“Takes one to know one,” Hunter says, nudging my knee with his.
In midtown, the theater district is already bustling, despite the early hour. Sunday brunch crowds mix with tourists and theatergoers, creating a crush of humanity as we head toward Seventh Avenue. As we exit the car, a street performer plays saxophone on one corner, the music floating above the traffic noise, as two people in gorilla suits amble toward Times Square and a man in overalls shouts something about union-busters from the shadows of a nearby loading dock.
Ah, New York…
So chaotic, so wild, so exactly what I didn’t know I needed after a lifetime in a sleepy small town.
“I used to bring Hunter to shows when we first moved to the city,” Margaret says as we slide into the line heading into the theater. She leans heavily on Hunter’s arm, but seems to be doing okay so far without the wheelchair she insisted on leaving behind. “We didn’t have much money. But back then, they’d let you in to see the second act for free if they had room. We saw the endings of so many shows. Remember?”
“I blame that for my lack of skill with story structure,” Hunter says, handing our tickets to the usher at the door. “I have no idea how stories start, only how they end.”
I hum low in my throat at that but hold my tongue as we follow the usher’s directions to go to the right, toward the middle of the orchestra.
He has no idea how stories start, only how they end…
But I know how they start.
So maybe together…
I push the thought away, smiling as I accept a program from another usher and Hunter leads us to incredible seats, just a few rows back from the stage.
Staying in the now.
I am staying in the now .
The show is magical, even better than I’d imagined a Broadway musical would be. From the moment the overture starts, I’m transported. The sets are gorgeous, the actors are fantastic—both real and over-the-top at the same time—and the energy of the crowd is infectious.
I find myself laughing out loud more than once. And then, suddenly I’m tearing up during “Till There Was You.” Not just because of the beautiful performance, but because Hunter is holding my hand, and I can’t stop thinking about how much more beautiful the world seems now that I get to share it with him.
There is no longer any doubt about it.
I’m not falling in love with this man, I’ve already fallen.
At intermission, Hunter goes to fetch us drinks, while Margaret and I relax in our seats.
“I confess, I’m feeling a little smug about not drinking anything during the first act, so I don’t have to pee,” I confide. “That line for the ladies’ looks horrific.”
She nods. “It’s always awful. Seems they would have added more stalls by now.”
“Or taken over the men’s room,” I agree. “We should make the boys pee in the alley outside and claim their territory as our own.”
Her eyes crinkle at the edges. “That’s the spirit.” Her smile fades as she adds in a softer voice, “And in the spirit of doing bold things, I wanted to share something with you, Elaina. Just between us.”
“Of course,” I say, sobering. “What’s on your mind?”
“First, promise you won’t tell Hunter.” Once I’ve assured her, she continues, “I just received word from Mount Sinai that I’ve been selected as one of their trial patients for an experimental new surgery.” She speaks quickly, as if afraid of losing her nerve. “It’s risky, very risky for someone my age, who’s already so far down this road…but there’s a chance they’ll be able to help.” A smile trembles across her lips. “There’s also a chance that I won’t make it through the procedure.”
I exhale, but it does nothing to ease the tension fisting around my ribs.
Instantly, I doubt the wisdom of promising to keep this to myself…
“Wow.” I blink faster. “Okay. And when is this?”
“Two weeks,” she says, making my eyes fly wide. “I know, dear. It’s fast. And I’m so sorry to burden you with this, but I wanted someone to know…just in case. But I can’t tell Hunter.” She grips my forearm with surprising strength. “He’s finally made peace with all this after all those months of calling in every specialist in the world. I don’t want to disturb that peace, and I don’t want him to know about the risk until it’s over, one way or another.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “He loves you so much. I think he’d want to know. To be able to be there for you.”
“I’m sure. In my heart, I know this is for the best,” she says with a steady smile. “We’ve already said all the things we need to say. We’re just in a sad, hopeless, holding pattern at this point, a waiting game that isn’t fun for anyone anymore.”
I sigh and nod.
Because I get it. Boy, do I get it.
“It was like that with my mom,” I confess, feeling terrible. But it’s the truth, and I feel I owe Margaret as much of that as I can give her. “I think we were both a little glad when we knew it was almost over.”
“I can imagine,” she says. “It’s so hard, on both sides. Knowing the waiting is almost over, one way or another, is actually a great comfort to me.”
“But you don’t think it would be for him,” I say, seeing where she’s coming from.
“Precisely,” she says. “But I know he’ll understand why I made this choice in time. And now that I know he has someone like you in his life, I see no reason to draw this out any longer.” She covers my hand with her thinner one. “I’m so grateful for you. And so glad Hunter’s finally met a woman who can see how much love he has to give beneath that protective shell.”
She glances behind us, ensuring we’re still safe from behind overheard before she adds, “That’s all it is. Just a shell. Inside, he’s as tender as they come. He was just hurt so badly as a boy. I didn’t understand how badly until we were out of that house. I thought I was shielding him from the worst of his father’s anger, taking it on myself so he’d be spared, but…” She shakes her head. “I was a fool who realized my mistakes too late, and I’ve never quite been able to forgive myself for it.”
The weight of her words—of her trust in me in sharing all this—settles heavy in my chest. “He’s forgiven you,” I say, no doubt in my mind. “And he wouldn’t want you to spend another moment feeling guilty. You’re his favorite person, Margaret. Truly, he would do anything for you. And you don’t earn that kind of devotion by being a bad mom.”
“Thank you, Elaina. Hearing that means so much to me.” She blinks faster, her eyes beginning to shine. “But I think he has a new favorite person, and I, for one, couldn’t be happier.”
“Happier about what?” Hunter says, appearing at the end of the aisle with our drinks.
“Just girl talk,” Margaret says smoothly, accepting her water bottle. “Elaina was telling me that you two might be thinking about starting a family soon.”
My jaw drops in shock so complete, it takes several moments for me to sputter, “N-no! I didn’t.” I glance at Hunter, worried he’ll think I’ve jumped the gun, but he seems unfazed.
“Stop, Mom,” he says, shooting me a reassuring look as he hands over my glass of white wine. “We aren’t even officially engaged yet.”
“Well, that’s something that can be remedied quickly,” she says with a sniff. “I have my old ring if you’d like it. It used to be your great-grandmother’s and is actually a very nice piece. It was from back before our family fell on hard times.”
“No, it’s okay. I already have that part taken care of,” Hunter says, reaching into the pocket of his pants, making my jaw drop a second time as he pulls out a small ring box. It’s half the size of a normal one—the only explanation for how he was able to hide it in his fitted pants—but the ring inside isn’t small by any means.
It’s giant, a massive rock of a diamond that summons a “Wow, that’s huge” from the women behind us.
“Elaina Murphy,” he says, holding my gaze as Margaret gasps and begins to tear up on his other side. “I hope you’ll forgive me for not getting down on one knee, but I’m a big man and this is a small aisle. But I love you, Elaina. I love your good heart and your clever mind and your smart mouth. I love the way you challenge me and excite me and make me look forward to the start of a new day more than I ever did before you came into my life. I am a better man because of you, and I want to keep getting better. Together. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Fighting real tears, I nod yes to the fake engagement, barely able to breathe as Hunter slides the ring on my finger, let alone speak.
By the time I’m finally able to say, “thank you,” to Margaret for her congratulations and kiss Hunter on the cheek, the lights are flashing above the audience, signaling the start of the second act.
As the lights go down, Hunter squeezes my hand, silently assuring me I played my part just fine.
But I don’t feel just fine.
I feel…overwhelmed.
The rest of the show passes in a blur, my mind spinning with Margaret’s secret and my heart doing a bittersweet swan dive in my chest every time I glance down at the ring on my finger.
And forget about making eye contact with Hunter right now. I have no idea how I’m going to hide this secret from him. What if the surgery doesn’t work? What if it does? Either way, I’m keeping something huge from this man who means so much to me, something that could seriously impact the rest of his life.
The weight of it sits heavy in my chest through dinner afterward and the car ride home, during which I do my best to pretend to be excited about his surprise fake proposal.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks as we brush our teeth over the his and hers sinks in the master bath. “You’ve been quiet.”
I nod and spit toothpaste, focusing on rinsing my toothbrush as I reply, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. Theater is kind of exhausting, isn’t it? All those emotions… I mean it was great, don’t get me wrong, just…tiring.”
“Then let’s head to bed early,” he says, gathering me against him and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I don’t mind. I have an early meeting tomorrow anyway.”
I return the embrace, holding him close as I tell myself that keeping this from him is for the best. I mean, Margaret knows him better than anyone. If she thinks it’s the right call, I have to respect that.
And there’s no reason he ever has to know that I knew about the surgery beforehand. If I decide the truth will cause more pain than good, then I’ll keep it to myself.
Feeling better, I kiss his chest through his t-shirt. “Yes, let’s go to bed early. Though you should probably take your shirt off first. And your pajama pants…”
I hear the smile in his voice as he says, “You’re very wise.”
Am I?
I don’t know.
But as we make love, slow and sweet—at least for us—I’m so grateful for every second with him. After all, there might not be as many of them left as I thought. If Margaret doesn’t make it through the surgery, this could all be over sooner than we ever imagined.
Once she’s gone, Hunter might rethink this whole “making a baby” thing. After all, what would be the point, if his mom wasn’t around to share in the happy news?
And what if she makes it? What if she lives a lot longer than expected? What is he going to do if his mom is still alive long after the baby is born?
It’s a confounding thought, so much so that not even the heat of Hunter wrapped around me can banish the cold settling in my gut.
I don’t know why it took me this long to connect those dots, but it did. And now, I have to decide—break my promise to Margaret, or find some other excuse to convince Hunter that I want to stop trying to get pregnant for a while…
I can’t keep trying now, not until we know how this ends.
I chew on that for the rest of the night, barely sleeping a wink, even as Hunter snoozes peacefully beside me, oblivious to that fact that our life just got a whole lot more complicated.