Chapter 25
25
A lex and Leslie lay intertwined, their breaths synchronizing in the dim, early morning light. As Leslie’s fingers traced absent patterns on his bare skin, she looked up at him. "Are there any specific plans for today?"
She was right to ask. As much as he was enjoying holding her, knowing that the agreement they’d made last night was going to change things between them in a big way, they were not on some idyllic vacation. Their lives were in flux, their futures uncertain, every day carrying an edge of unpredictability.
"You've been trained in self-defense," he said, his voice a steady rumble in the quiet. "All your sisters have. But given what’s happening, I'd like to evaluate that training. Refresh it, show you some additional self-defense techniques."
She nodded, her fingers entwining with his. "I'm up for some self-defense lessons," she said, her voice hinting at the determination he knew she felt. Yet her eyes held a certain weariness, too, a clouded expression that signaled the strain of recent events.
"But can I destress first?" she asked. "I'm not great in the mornings. It takes me a while to settle in."
Alex couldn't help but chuckle at her honesty. He’d already known that about her, both from Branden and his own observations from being around the Duke family over the years.
"How much time do you need?"
Leslie paused, considering his question. "Breakfast and some time sketching or swimming?”
"Sounds good," he agreed.
She smiled then looked down, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the sheets now, her body tense. He could tell something was eating at her, something beyond the mere stress of their circumstances.
He propped himself up on an elbow, studying her face closely. "What's on your mind, Leslie?"
Her eyes flicked to his, a glimmer of worry reflected in them. "Do you think we'll be home in time for Branden's wedding?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and uncertainty. Her brother was due to marry Cara in Scotland soon. He didn't have the answer she wanted, the reassurance that everything would fall into place as they hoped.
"I don't know," he said. "But I'll do everything in my power to make that happen."
Her lips curved into a small, appreciative smile, though the worry never completely disappeared from her eyes. They began to talk about the wedding dress she was making for Cara. Leslie's eyes lit up when she talked about her work, her fingers sketching invisible designs in the air, mimicking the motion of her needle and thread.
"We picked a design," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "I’ve started working on it, and I’m over half-way done."
As she described the intricate details, the fabrics, the textures, the embellishments, Alex found himself lost as to what some of her words meant, but not lost when it came to witnessing the passion she exhibited. He listened, entranced.
When she once again grew quiet, he felt compelled to say again, "I don't know if we'll be back in time, Sunshine. I’m sorry. There are just too many factors at play. But I hope we do make it."
Hell, Branden was his best friend, and Alex was supposed to be his best man.
"Me too," she murmured. Then she said in almost a whisper. "But there is a very small part of me that hopes we don’t.”
His brow furrowed, the unexpected contradiction startling him. "Why?”
“First, because we’ll be over then.”
Alex's heart clenched. "Let's not talk about the end," he suggested, his voice barely more than a whisper, "when we’ve barely even gotten started, yeah?"
Leslie gave him a small smile, a soft sigh escaping her. "Okay."
“So what’s the second reason?”
“Well…Cara and Branden… They're like celebrities," she explained, her fingers once again tracing absent patterns on the bed sheet. "The wedding will be the talk of New York. And the dress, it will get a lot of exposure."
Ah. He got it. Her passion for her craft was evident, yet her fear that the dress wouldn’t be perfect or well received was something she was worrying about.
"I'm sure whatever you design will be beautiful, Leslie," he assured her, his voice soft, soothing. He meant it. She was talented and had an eye for detail that was remarkable.
“Thank you. It’s just… I've always felt like I was riding Branden's coattails. This will just cement that in other people’s minds. And mine.”
The notion seemed absurd to him. He had always seen her as a strong, independent woman. He struggled to reconcile the Leslie he knew with the Leslie who doubted herself. Yet, he understood that even the strongest people had their insecurities.
"Leslie, you are immensely talented. You don't ride anyone's coattails. You've carved out your own place, your own identity."
Emotions flickered in her eyes—gratitude, relief, a hint of lingering uncertainty. It would take time for her to overcome her insecurities, but Alex wanted to be there when she did. He wanted to help her see herself the way he saw her—talented, strong, and deserving of every success that came her way.
He began to connect the dots, finding a correlation between the tension-filled, demanding life Leslie lived and her draw to BDSM. He pondered on the pressures that clung to her, a part of her everyday existence—the weight of her family name, the scrutinizing eyes always on her, the ambitions that drove her, the relentless strive for perfection in her designs. He could only imagine the weight of it all on her shoulders.
Suddenly, her desire to surrender control, to yield to someone else's commands made a lot of sense. It would be her escape, her sanctuary—a place where she could let go of all responsibilities, all decision-making. It would be her relief, her release.
He turned to face her, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He looked into her eyes, brimming with uncertainty, and took a deep breath, "Leslie, you are truly remarkable."
He let his words linger, hoping she would truly hear them, understand them, believe them.
Alex and Leslie made their way downstairs, greeted by the tantalizing aromas in the air. They bypassed the dining room this time and headed into the kitchen. It was warm and cozy, the heart of the household. Rustic wooden cabinets lined the walls, their surfaces a delightful cacophony of pots, pans, and utensils. An array of spices were lined up on open shelves, their rich colors and varied textures a testament to the flavor they brought to every dish prepared here.
Renee looked up as they entered, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her forehead.
"Buongiorno! Breakfast will be ready in a moment," she exclaimed, her voice hinting at her rushed efforts. Her hands moved quickly, stirring, chopping, and sautéing with a grace and efficiency only years of practice could afford. She made quick eye contact with Leslie.
“Bellissima!”
Leslie blushed and looked at Alex, who grinned back at her.
"Do you cook?" Renee asked Leslie, Renee’s Italian accent turning the simple question into a musical note.
"I used to help my mom's chef a bit when I was younger," Leslie responded, her eyes drifting to the pots and pans hanging above the stove, the glint of stainless steel reflecting the morning sunlight.
Renee nodded and smiled warmly. "Well, perhaps you can give me a hand here."
Leslie looked at Alex and he cocked a brow, staring at her with intensity. It was only then that she realized that her looking at him could be interpreted as her asking for his permission. Suddenly, the memory of her calling him ‘Sir’ invaded her brain.
When she blushed again, Alex smirked and said, “Go ahead. I’m going to call Luke.”
Leslie bit her lip, remembering Alex’s burner phones and him saying he would only check in with Luke when he had to. He was probably going to let Luke know they’d arrived safely and get an update.
As Alex moved away from them to the opposite side of the room, the furthest he could be from them and still keep them in sight, Leslie turned back to Renee. "I'd love to help," she said, rolling up her sleeves.
As they prepared the meal together, Leslie couldn't resist her curiosity any longer. "This house is stunning, Renee," she commented casually. "How long have you been here?"
Renee paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Long enough. I've seen the children grow up here, seen their joys and sorrows," she said quietly.
"And it's been a while since you've seen Alex, right? He told me he met you while he was in the military," Leslie said softly, feeling guilty for even asking that. She glanced at Alex, who was looking at them and speaking on the phone.
Renee gave her a careful look, her lips curling into a smile. "Yes, that's true. But I believe some stories are better left in the past."
Undeterred, Leslie pushed on, "But you must have known him well, right? His likes, dislikes, that sort of thing..."
Renee chuckled softly, stirring the sauce with renewed vigor. "That's a lot of questions about Alex, Leslie."
"I'm sorry," Leslie said quickly.
Renee waved off her apology. "No, no. It's okay. We all have a past. Mine hasn’t always been pleasant, and I hope my granddaughter never have to experience what I have in my lifetime,”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Renee. How many kids to you have?”
A shadow crossed her face. I have—had—two daughter and three sons. You met one of my boys, Nico. He was always the sweetest of the five."
Leslie smiled at the mention of Nico. "And your daughters?"
"Well, one of them is... not around anymore."
"I'm sorry," Leslie said again, a different kind of regret coloring her voice this time.
"It's life, Leslie.” The silence that followed was interrupted by Renee's soft laughter. "Well, this seems like a one-sided conversation, doesn't it? Tell me, Leslie, how long have you known Alex?"
"Since he met my brother in college.”
"And how's the relationship?" Renee asked, raising an eyebrow in a knowing manner.
Leslie felt herself blush. "We're... we're just friends."
The knowing smile didn't waver from Renee's face. "Just friends," she repeated. "Alright."
And with that, they continued their cooking in companionable silence, the word “friends” hanging heavy in the air.