Chapter 8
The sun was hitting my face, but the bed was so soft I felt like I was sleeping on a cloud made of marshmallows.
I stretched my arms, hitting something solid.
Thump.
I froze.
I opened one eye. Then the other.
Beside me, taking up the left side of the massive King-Sized bed, was Gabriel.
My brain did a quick rewind. Last night, after the Great Curry Disaster, he had knocked on my guest room door. He stood there, holding a pillow, and said, "Change of plans. To increase familiarity and pheromone bonding, you will sleep in the master suite. No touching. Just presence."
And because I am a good wife (and also because he looked very serious), I grabbed Primrose and my Squishmallow and marched into his room.
And now... here we are! Waking up together! Like a real married couple!
I propped myself up on my elbow and stared at him.
He was sleeping on his back, his breathing deep and even. He looked... different. Without his scowl, and without his eyes narrowing at my existence, he looked peaceful. His eyelashes were long and dark, resting against his pale skin. His lips were relaxed.
He looked less like a shark and more like a... very handsome, very dangerous sleeping prince.
Poke.
I couldn't help it! My finger extended and poked his cheek.
It was soft!
Poke. Poke.
"Mwehehehe," I giggled silently. I am touching the billionaire.
He didn't move. He must be a heavy sleeper. Or maybe he trusts me so much he knows I won't draw a mustache on his face (even though I really, really want to).
I looked down at the foot of the bed. Primrose was sleeping on the expensive rug, twitching her paws.
"Good morning, my family," I whispered.
Then, the memory hit me.
My smile dropped. I looked at the bedroom door. Beyond that lay the kitchen, where I had murdered a pan of curry and almost burned down the 100th floor.
Guilt washed over me. I ruined dinner. I ruined the pan. I made Gabriel use the fire extinguisher.
"I need to redeem myself," I whispered, sliding out of bed quietly. "I need to show him I am domestic! I am useful! I am an Asset!"
I tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly. Click.
What can I do? I can't cook (banned). I can't clean the kitchen (the professionals are coming).
My eyes landed on a laundry basket near the bathroom door. It was overflowing with Gabriel's clothes from yesterday—the red shirt with the foam stains, some white dress shirts, and... ooh, his socks!
"Yes!" I pumped a fist in the air. Mommy taught me laundry! Separation of colors is for amateurs! Modern technology is advanced!
I grabbed the heavy basket and marched to the utility room. Even his laundry room was fancy. The machines looked like spaceships.
"Okay," I hummed, dumping the clothes into the washer. "White shirt... check. Silk suit pants... check. Red shirt... check."
I looked down at myself. I was wearing my hot pink fuzzy pajamas. They smelled a little like smoke from yesterday.
"You too!" I stripped off my pajamas (I had a tank top and shorts underneath, don't worry!) and tossed the bright neon pink fluff into the machine.
"Efficiency!" I declared, channeling my inner Gabriel. "Washing everything at once saves water and time!"
I grabbed the detergent. It was in a glass jar. I poured a generous amount. Glug, glug, glug. Extra clean!
I pressed the button that said "HEAVY DUTY - HOT WATER."
The machine roared to life. Whirrrrrr.
"Perfect," I dusted off my hands. "Now I wait."
15 Minutes Later...
The machine beeped a happy little song.
"Laundry is done!" I opened the door.
Steam came out. It smelled like lavender and expensive soap.
I reached in and pulled out a wet clump of clothes.
I pulled out my pink pajamas. They looked great! Bright and fluffy!
Then, I pulled out Gabriel's white dress shirt.
I blinked.
I blinked again.
I held it up to the light.
It wasn't white.
It was... blush.
It was a soft, pastel, baby pink.
"Oh," I whispered.
I pulled out another one. Pink. I pulled out his grey slacks. They were now... a weird dusty mauve. I pulled out his white undershirts. Hot pink tie-dye.
"Uh oh," I bit my lip.
I looked at the pile of wet, pink clothes.
"Maybe..." I tilted my head. "Maybe it's just the lighting? Maybe when it dries, the white will come back?"
Yes! That's science! Water makes things darker! The dryer will fix it!
I shoved everything into the dryer and hit "MAX DRY."
★
Thirty minutes later, I was in the living room.
I had the ironing board out (I found it!) and I was folding the warm clothes.
I held up one of Gabriel's custom-made, Italian silk button-down shirts.
It was definitely pink. There was no denying it. It was the color of a strawberry milkshake.
But... honestly?
"It's cute!" I nodded to myself, smoothing the collar. "Pink makes men look approachable! It softens his scary aura! He will look like a K-Pop idol!"
Click.
My heart jumped. The bedroom door opened.
I looked up.
Gabriel walked out. He was wearing black sweatpants (low riding... oh my gosh) and a black t-shirt. His hair was messy. His eyes were sleepy.
He looked like a masterpiece painted by a brooding artist.
"Good morning, Gabriel!" I chirped, standing in front of the pile of pink clothes to hide them slightly.
He stopped. He rubbed his face with one hand.
"Morning," he grunted. His voice was raspy. Sexy raspy.
He walked slowly toward the living room, heading for the kitchen. But to get to the kitchen, he had to pass the sofa. And the laundry.
He stopped.
He looked down.
He looked at the neat stack of folded clothes on the coffee table.
He looked at the shirt on top. The formerly white, now unmistakably bubblegum pink shirt.
He stared at it.
He stared at it for a long time.
He reached out and picked it up. He held it up by the shoulders. It looked tiny in his big hands. The pink fabric caught the morning sunlight.
"Aleesha," he said.
"Surprise!" I stepped forward, clasping my hands. "I did the laundry! To make up for the curry! I washed everything! Efficiently!"
He looked at the shirt. Then he looked at me. Then he looked at my pink pajamas sitting in the basket.
"You washed... my silk suits... with your polyester pajamas," he stated. It wasn't a question. It was an observation of a crime scene.
"Yes!" I smiled nervously. "And look! It customized them! Now you have a pop of color! You always wear black and white and grey. It's depressing! This is... joyful!"
Gabriel lowered the shirt.
He touched the fabric. It was probably ruined (silk doesn't like hot water), but he just rubbed it between his thumb and finger.
He looked at me. His face was... calm.
"I see," he said.
He folded the pink shirt. Neatly. And placed it back on the stack.
"I will not be wearing this," he said. His voice was level. No anger. No shouting.
"You won't?" I pouted. "But it would bring out the flush in your cheeks!"
"No," he said. "However..."
He looked me in the eye.
"Do not worry about the clothes. I will have them replaced. The effort is... noted."
My jaw dropped.
He's not mad?
He's not yelling?
Mr. Samuels once yelled at me for 20 minutes because I used a glitter pen on a quiz. Gabriel just lost an entire wardrobe of Italian silk, and he just said "noted"?
A massive, waving, neon green flag!
He is so patient! He is so understanding! He values my effort over his material possessions!
"Okay, Gabby!" I beamed, saluting him. "I won't worry! You are the best husband ever!"
Gabriel flinched at the nickname.
"Do not call me Gabby," he muttered, walking past me toward the kitchen.
I finished folding the pink disaster pile (I decided I would wear his shirts as nightgowns since he didn't want them) and carried them to the walk-in closet.
I put his pink suits in the back. Just in case he changes his mind and wants to go to a Barbie premiere.
Then, I skipped to the kitchen.
Gabriel was sitting at the island on a high stool. He was drinking an espresso from a tiny white cup. He was reading news on a tablet.
I grabbed my Hello Kitty mug from the cupboard. I poured myself some milk and popped it in the microwave.
Ding!
I grabbed the warm milk and hopped onto the stool next to him.
"So!" I said, swinging my legs. "How did you sleep? Did you have good dreams?"
Gabriel didn't look up from the tablet. "I slept adequately."
"But dreams!" I pressed. "I dreamt that we were riding a giant flying turtle and you were wearing a crown made of sausages. It was weird. What about you?"
Gabriel took a sip of his coffee.
"I do not dream," he said.
I paused, my mug halfway to my mouth.
"What?" I blinked. "That's impossible! Everyone dreams! It's REM sleep! It's your brain processing the day!"
"I do not remember them," he corrected, scrolling down on his screen. "Therefore, they do not exist. Dreaming is a malfunction of a resting mind."
I pouted. My lower lip wobbled a little.
"That is the saddest thing I have ever heard," I whispered. "Dreams are magic! It's where you can fly! It's where you can eat unlimited cake without calories!"
He glanced at me sideways. "I can buy a plane. And I can buy a bakery. I do not need to dream to achieve those things."
"You are hopeless," I shook my head, taking a sip of my milk. "I will dream for you tonight. I will dream that you are happy."
Gabriel froze for a split second. His hand on the tablet paused.
He didn't say anything. He just took another sip of coffee. But I saw his Adam's apple bob.
"Anyway!" I set my mug down. "Since we are having breakfast together like a real family, we need to discuss the Agenda."
"Agenda?" He raised an eyebrow.
"The Baby!" I clapped my hands. "I know we haven't... started production yet. But we need to be prepared! A good project manager always has a plan!"
I pulled out my phone and opened my Notes app.
"I have brainstormed names!" I announced proudly.
Gabriel turned his stool slightly to face me. He looked amused. Or maybe he was just marveling at my genius.
"Proceed," he said.
"Okay," I cleared my throat. "I think the name should represent our union. A combination of our essences!"
"Option One," I read. "Gabeesha. It's Gabriel plus Aleesha! It sounds exotic!"
Gabriel stared at me. "It sounds like a sneeze."
"Okay, rude," I crossed it out. "Option Two: Aleebriel. Sounds like an angel!"
"It sounds like a brand of cheese," he countered.
"Hmph. Option Three: Serenatori. Serena plus Muratori. It sounds powerful! Like a gladiator!"
"It sounds like a pasta shape," he said flatly. "No."
"Okay, fine!" I huffed. "Option Four: Pinky. If it's a girl."
"Absolutely not."
"Why?!" I whined. "It's cute!"
"It is a color. Not a name. My heir will not be named after a crayon."
"You are no fun," I crossed my arms. "Then what? Do you have ideas? Mr. I-Don't-Dream?"
Gabriel put his coffee cup down. Clink.
He rested his elbow on the counter and propped his chin on his hand. He looked at me. His obsidian eyes were dark and intense.
A smirk played on his lips.
"Lucian," he said.
The name rolled off his tongue like dark honey. Low. smooth. Powerful.
I blinked.
Lucian.
I replayed it in my head.
It wasn't on my list. It wasn't a combination. It wasn't pink.
"Lucian?" I repeated.
"Yes," Gabriel said. "Lucian Muratori."
"But..." I frowned. "What if it's a girl?"
"It will be a boy," he said with absolute certainty.
"You can't control that!" I laughed. "That is literally up to the chromosomes! It's 50/50!"
"I do not lose coin flips," he said simply.
"Okay, but Lucian?" I tilted my head. "What does it mean? Does it mean 'The one who pays for ruined shirts'?"
"It means Light," Gabriel said softly.
He looked away from me, staring out the window at the city skyline.
"Light," he repeated. "To illuminate the dark."
I stared at his profile.
He wanted to name his son Light. This man, who wears black, who lives in a dark penthouse, who thinks dreams are malfunctions... he wants his son to be the Light.
My heart did a little squeeze.
"Okay," I whispered. "I like it."
Then, my stubbornness kicked in.
"But!" I raised a finger. "We should still consider Gabeesha as a middle name!"
Gabriel turned back to me. The smirk was gone. The wall was back up.
"Lucian," he said firmly. "End of discussion."
He stood up, grabbing his tablet.
"I have meetings. Do not enter my office. Do not use the stove. Do not do laundry."
He walked away.
"And Aleesha?" he called out without looking back.
"Yes, Hubby?"
"Drink your milk. You need the calcium."
He disappeared into his office.
I sat there, holding my Hello Kitty mug, smiling like an idiot.
He cares about my calcium!
I looked down at my stomach.
"Lucian," I patted my tummy. "Your daddy is scary, but don't worry. I'll make sure you get a pink blanket."