Chapter 31
31
ROWENA
I blink awake, my hand instinctively reaching across the sheets. Empty. My heart sinks. He’s gone again. Adrian will probably go back to being a ghost, avoiding me at all costs. I pushed too hard.
I sag on the bed and facepalm myself. What got into me with the striptease? He must think I’m so desperate. And in a way, I am, because even now, I turn my chin and sniff the collar of his shirt that still smells like him—of a starry night.
The front door creaks open, and I let go of the shirt collar—caught in the act. Adrian strides in, gloriously shirtless and glistening with sweat, his T-shirt tucked into the back of his sporty shorts. I drink in the chiseled planes of his chest, the sculpted muscles of his abdomen. I prop myself up on my elbows to get a better view.
“I went for a run,” he explains, still huffing as his eyes meet mine, unreadable.
“Oh. Good. That’s… good,” I stammer, flustered by his nearness, by memories of our bodies pressed close under the covers. Are we going to discuss last night ?
He runs a hand through his damp hair, then looks away. “I’m gonna hop in the shower.”
I guess not.
Adrian disappears into the bathroom, and as the shower turns on, I imagine rivulets of water sluicing over his naked skin, steam rising around his sexy, powerful body. Adrian with his head tilted backward as the jet hits his face, his hands lathering soap over his chest. I picture the way his eyebrows might draw together in concentration or relaxation—gah, what is wrong with me? I’ve turned into a full-blown preggo pervert. I blame the hormones.
My phone buzzes, jolting me out of the sensual fantasy. I grab it from the nightstand. A barrage of texts light up the screen—Nina and Hunter, demanding I meet them for breakfast. They also crashed at the resort after the engagement party.
Throwing back the covers, I pad to the bathroom door on shaky legs, still reeling from the intimate images playing through my head. I raise my hand to knock.
“Adrian?” I call out, trying to steady my voice.
The spray of water stops. “Yeah?” His deep baritone echoes from the other side of the door, rough and sexy.
“Um, Nina and Hunter want to meet up for breakfast, so I’m going to head down,” I explain.
“Okay, sounds good,” he replies easily. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Great. See you in a bit!” I wince at the overly bright tone. Could I be more awkward? Shaking my head, I regretfully slip his shirt off and throw on a sundress and sandals, determined to pull myself together. But as I leave the room, I throw one last glance at the bathroom door, wishing I was on the other side of it .
In the breakfast hall, I pile my plate high with fluffy pancakes drizzled in maple syrup and fresh berries. Perhaps I’m not eating my feelings but I’m definitely eating my lust. I spot Nina and Hunter at a table near the windows, overlooking the beach, and slide into the beachside chic chair—half wood, half rope—across from them with a carefree, “Hey.”
I barely have a chance to dig in before they pounce.
“How were things in the honeymoon suite last night?” Nina asks too casually.
“Not a honeymoon suite,” I deflect. “You’re about two months early.”
“Oh, come on. That kiss last night? You and Adrian set the sky on fire!”
Hunter nods emphatically. “Seriously, the fireworks had nothing on you two.”
I squirm under their inquisitive stares, stuffing a forkful of pancake into my mouth to buy time. How can I explain the complexity of our evolving relationship when I barely understand it myself?
I shrug. “It was just for show. You know, keeping up appearances and all that.”
Nina arches a disbelieving brow. “Riiiight. Because platonic fake-daters always kiss like they’re reenacting the kiss-in-the-rain scene from The Notebook .”
Hunter leans forward. “Are you sure the farce isn’t running away from you?”
“Look, guys, I appreciate the concern, but I’ve got this under control,” I assure them, even as my stomach twists—must be the metric ton of sugar I’m ingesting. “Nothing to worry about.”
No matter my projected confidence, a traitorous voice whispers that I’ve already fallen deeper into this new life than I ever intended. Desperate to change the subject, I turn my attention to Hunter, noting the uncharacteristically blue circles under her eyes.
“Hey, you okay, Hunt? You seem a bit off today.”
Hunter picks at her eggs, avoiding eye contact. “I’m fine, just tired. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”
Nina snorts. “Please. We all know it’s because Dylan brought his new girlfriend last night. Probably has her over at your place often, too.”
Hunter’s head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. “How did you?—”
“Oh, come on, babe. It’s obvious you’re into my brother,” Nina says gently. “But he’s clearly too blind to see what’s right in front of him.”
I nod in commiseration, secretly relieved that at least I don’t have to witness Adrian with someone else—our monogamy clause a sudden, overwhelming relief. The thought of him bringing home another woman, of having to plaster on a smile while they canoodle just a drywall away… I shudder inwardly. Poor Hunter. I can only imagine how gut-wrenching that must be.
“Honestly, I give it two months tops,” Nina declares, stabbing a sausage with unnecessary force. “Little Miss Perfect is not right for him. Even Tristan said so.”
Hunter smiles weakly, but I can tell she’s cheered by Nina’s prediction. I’m about to add something encouraging when a shadow appears over the table. I recognize his scent before I even lift my gaze to look at Adrian. He asks us if we mind if he takes a seat, and of course, we reply not at all. He sits next to me, so close and yet so distant, making my brain short-circuit for the rest of breakfast, so much that I have to struggle to keep up with the conversation. The entire time, I’m hyperaware of his presence beside me—every movement, every breath throwing me off. It’s a losing battle to stay focused, and by the time we say goodbye and head back to New York, I feel mentally drained.
As Adrian navigates the sleek Ferrari down the Long Island Expressway, only the purr of the engine fills the taut silence. After saying goodbye to his mom—Sam is driving Claire back to her home—we left early to beat the weekend traffic. Now, with nothing but open road ahead and a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air, I find myself second-guessing everything.
I steal a glance at his chiseled profile, the way his strong hands grip the steering wheel with quiet confidence. The same hands that held me so tenderly last night. He stares straight ahead, lost in thought.
I force my gaze back to the blur of passing scenery, mulling over the unexpected intimacy of the weekend. It should feel awkward. I barely know this man—we only met a month ago. And yet, being with him also feels oddly familiar. Comfortable. Right.
Adrian adjusts his grip on the wheel, but keeps quiet. My gut is full of tangled wires short-circuiting as I silently will him to speak, to say something, anything to break this deadlock. But he remains silent, eyes fixed ahead. The car vents hum, cool air washing over my bare legs. I shift uneasily, too unnerved to sit still.
Being with Adrian is a well of contradictions—thrilling and steadying, foreign and familiar, maddening and mesmerizing. When we’re close, I’m constantly on edge, every nerve ending electrified and attuned to him. Yet there’s also this inexplicable comfort, like coming home to a place where I never knew I belonged. It doesn’t make logical sense. Then again, nothing about this bizarre situation does.
I chance another peek at him and find his eyes on me. Heat rises in my cheeks as he arches an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk on his carved-from-a-dream face—and I’m talking the kind of sexy fantasy that would require a cold shower and a confessional. Busted. I glance away, pulse racing. That’s where I keep my gaze for the rest of the journey—firmly ahead.
It’s a relief and a disappointment when we pull into the underground garage of Adrian’s building. I exhale slowly, bracing myself for his inevitable retreat, the wall of avoidance that always seems to slam down between us when there isn’t a public engagement forcing us together.
As we step into the private elevator, Adrian turns to me, his expression cryptic. “I have a few emails to respond to,” he begins, his voice gravelly. Here we go, now he’ll say bye and disappear into his office forever. “But maybe later, we could watch a movie together? If you’re not too tired.”
I blink, taken aback by the unexpected offer. Oh, so he isn’t planning to be MIA for a month. “Um, sure. That sounds nice.”
His mouth twitches into a smile, gone as quickly as it appears. The elevator dings, and we enter the penthouse, the familiar surroundings doing little to ease the restless energy flowing in my veins.
I’m too tired to follow his lead and work on my toy console project—so far I’ve defined the improved functionalities, schematized the basic coding, but I still need to dig deeper into the specifications. Instead, I take a long bath, review my schedule for the week, noting a doctor’s appointment I should tell Adrian about, and nap.
By evening, I’m waiting nervously on the couch, shuffling movies and wondering what Adrian enjoys watching. He emerges from his office ten minutes later, a drool-inducing vision in sweatpants and a tight white T-shirt.
He self-consciously passes a hand through his thick hair. “Still up for movie night?”
“Yeah. I’ll make some popcorn,” I offer, desperate for something to do with my hands. “You pick the movie?”
Adrian nods, already scrolling through the options on the massive flatscreen. I busy myself in the kitchen, the mundane task of popping kernels calming. By the time I return with a giant bowl of buttery goodness in my hands, he’s settled on the couch, a Will Ferrell comedy queued up and ready to go.
I sink down beside him, careful to leave a respectable distance between us. But as the opening credits roll and the laughter begins, I inch closer, drawn to his solid warmth like a night-blooming flower to moonlight. We’re not quite cuddling, but I savor every electrifying second of it.
When the movie ends, I tell him about the upcoming doctor’s appointments.
“I have an ultrasound this week.”
He raises an eyebrow at my out-of-the-blue declaration as if saying, And you’re telling me, why?
“I made a calendar,” I say, forwarding him the sheet I drafted on my phone. “Of all my check-ups and stuff. I figured you might need it, in case anyone asks about the baby and you want to appear… involved.”
Adrian looks at his phone, his eyes scanning the dates and times. “Your next one is tomorrow,” he notes, glancing up at me. “I’ll go with you.”
Pressure builds behind my ribcage. “You… you want to come? I’m sure it’s enough for you to know the basics for Dominic to…” I trail off under the narrowed focus of his stare.
He holds my gaze. “I’m coming.”
The seed of hope I’ve been desperately trying to suppress blossoms like a rose in the desert, thriving where it shouldn’t. He wants to be at my doctor’s appointment. Why? What does it mean?