Vanessa
F ive months later.
Marriage to Stephen has surprisingly not been as tough as I initially thought it would be. Ever since that night we got married, he’s been different. It’s like he’s reverted back to the Stephen I met all those years ago. He’s kind, patient, funny and above all he takes care of me.
I’m not the best cook in the world so he’s taken it upon himself to cook for me. His housekeeper, Tita Rosita comes for a few hours a day to cook and clean for us so there’s always a nice home cooked dinner which he is home for most nights. There have been times when he’s been stuck at work and has to miss out but he makes a point of ordering dessert to be delivered so I know he’s there in spirit.
His words, not mine.
I’m honestly not sure what to make of it. For years I trained myself to be indifferent to his charms and now it’s like he raised the level for maximum effect.
It’s hard to resist but I do because falling for Stephen is not something I can allow myself to do.
He took a few days off after we got married to support me at P&T before we officially closed for renovations. Ben, who apparently is this tech whiz, did an extensive dive into the employees and found out that several of the people I worked with, mostly the management team, were fully aware of all the criminal things Don was doing behind the scenes. Not only was Don predatory but Ben found evidence of embezzlement and money laundering. No wonder his investors were dropping out and suing him.
We ended up having to let go of the team members who were complicit.
While the rest of the P&T team was temporarily reassigned to a lounge club called the Nomad Dreamer . A business Stephen evidently is a silent partner of and co-owned with his friend Colton.
So while the bar is under construction, my days are filled with meetings with the contractor and interior designer. I spend the majority of my time at work looking at blueprints and shopping for pieces for the redesign of the bar.
I’m not positive what I’m doing is right but Stephen is copied in every email correspondence between me and the team.
I’ve also made sure to ask him before every purchase to ensure he’s on board with my decisions.
I get the same answer everytime.
Stephen: I trust you, 100%. Trust yourself too. Everything looks great. Don’t forget, what’s mine is yours so that bar? It’s ours.
And every time, I have to force myself not to take it to heart.
Because if he keeps saying things like this to me, I might actually believe him.
I’m sitting in the living room, going over the concept sketches of the VIP floor, comparing it to the pictures I took today when Stephen walks into the penthouse looking like he just walked straight out of the pages of GQ magazine.
I needed to be at work early so this is the first time I’m seeing him today.
He’s wearing a sage green two piece suit with no tie and he’s shed the jacket. It’s swung over his shoulder, his other hand in his pocket like he’s got no cares in the world.
And damn he looks good enough to eat. Judging by the smirk, he knows it too.
He saunters over to me, tossing his suit jacket on the couch before joining me on the floor. He positions his hand behind me, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. He leans over to pick up one of the pictures I took and smiles.
“I saw these in my email earlier but I got called into a meeting right after. I’m so sorry I didn’t reply but I love it.” He drops one and grabs another.
I stare at his profile that’s mere inches away as he looks over every detail of the sketches I worked hard on. I feel myself getting choked up from the simple gesture and all of a sudden, I feel the full weight of what he’s entrusting me with and a tear falls down my cheek, then another. I move to get up not wanting him to see but the next thing I know, I’m in his lap and he’s resting his back on the couch.
His warm hands cup my cheeks, his thumbs swiping at the moisture that’s gathered there.
“Hey… What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, my hands clutching his wrists. I make a feeble attempt to remove them but I end up clinging to him. As soon as my forehead falls to his chest, his arms engulf me in a hug.
“Oh, baby. I hate it when you cry.”
Which, of course, only makes me cry more. He pulls back, resting his forehead on mine. His breath dusts my cheek as he once again asks me what's wrong.
“Please talk to me.”
But I can't. I can't find the right words to accurately convey how I feel.
He places the softest of kisses on my temple, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. It’s okay if all you want is for me to just sit here and hold you until the feeling passes. I'm so fucking sorry that I've been busy and haven't been around much. I hope you know that no matter what I’m doing or where I am, the second you tell me you need me, I’ll be here. I know you've been lonely and I know you think you're alone but you're not. I’m here. I want to be here for you. I’ll always come home to you.”
I still at his words. The gentle way he cares for me is my undoing.
If I were honest with myself, he’s been slowly unraveling me with each day that passes.
I don't know what I did to deserve this man's kindness. I just know that I no longer wanna run away from it.
I want it. I want this man.
I know he wants me too. I feel it in the not so subtle way he touches me when we're together.
A hand in the small of my back when we’re in the kitchen cleaning up after meals. In the hugs he always gives me when he leaves for work and when kisses my cheek or forehead everytime he comes home. In the way his fingers caress my cheeks when he tells me good night.
How every day, his touches last longer and grow bolder.
I see it in the looks he gives me. Lingering looks that tell me he wants me.
Why shouldn't I want him too? I'm his wife. He's my husband.
Fuck my fears and every single man who made me feel unworthy and scared.
I want my husband. I need my husband.
Consequences, be damned.