Chapter 10
The days passed in a blur of anxiety, caffeine, and pink highlighters.
While Gabriel was busy conquering the business world (he bought a hotel chain on Thursday and fired a board of directors on Friday), I was busy with my own mission.
I sat in the library at university, surrounded by towering stacks of books. But I wasn't studying Java or C++. I was incognito mode on my laptop.
Search: How to reproduce efficiently. Result: Diagrams of fallopian tubes. (Boring).
Search: Does it hurt the first time? Result: "Yes, but it gets better." (NOT HELPFUL! HUHUHU!).
Search: How to impress a billionaire in bed. Result: "Wear lingerie." "Be confident." "Do the helicopter." (WHAT IS THE HELICOPTER?! Is he going to fly away?!)
I slammed my laptop shut, looking around nervously to make sure no one saw my search history. If the IT department saw this, I would lose my scholarship.
I needed human advice.
I found Stephie in the cafeteria, eating a salad that cost more than my weekly allowance.
"Stephie," I whispered, sliding into the seat next to her. "I have a question. A... hypothetical question."
Stephie looked at me over her sunglasses. "If this is about whether Hello Kitty is a cat or a girl, the answer is she's a girl."
"No!" I hissed. "It's about... writing!"
"Writing?"
"Yes!" I nodded vigorously. "I am writing a book! A novel! And... and the main character needs to do a spicy scene. But I have writer's block! Because I have never written spice before!"
(This was technically true. I read spicy books sometimes, but the moment the characters start taking off their shirts, I get shy and skip to the next chapter to see if they hold hands later. I am a skipper!)
Stephie raised an eyebrow. "You? Writing smut? Aleesha, you blush when the wind blows your skirt up."
"It is for art!" I insisted. "Just tell me! What is the... protocol? What are the steps?"
Stephie sighed and put down her fork. "Okay, look. It's not a manual, Ali. It's about vibes."
I pulled out my phone and opened my Notes app. "Vibes. Okay. Go on."
"First," Stephie counted on her manicured fingers. "Foreplay. Kissing. Touching."
Note: Foreplay. (Does holding hands count?).
"Second," she continued. "Protection. Unless, you know, they want a baby."
I gulped. Note: Skip protection. Goal IS baby.
"Third," Stephie smirked. "Just relax. If you're stiff, it hurts. You have to be like... water. Flow with it."
Note: Be water. Be liquid. Be soup.
"And finally," she winked. "Make noise. Men like it."
I blinked. "Noise? Like... talking? Like discussing the weather?"
Stephie choked on her lettuce. "No! Like... moaning, you idiot."
Note: Moan. (Like a ghost? Or a dying whale? Need to practice).
"Thanks, Stephie!" I said, standing up. "My book is going to be a bestseller!"
"Sure, honey," she laughed. "Good luck with your... fiction."
★
Sunday arrived like a freight train.
I spent the entire day pacing back and forth in the penthouse living room.
Pace to the window. (Wow, we are high up). Pace to the kitchen. (Still traumatized by the curry). Pace to the bedroom. (THE SCENE OF THE CRIME!).
"Primrose," I told my dog, who was happily chewing on a squeaky toy. "Help me! I am hyperventilating!"
Primrose just wagged her tail. She didn't care. She was living her best rich-dog life.
I looked at the clock. 7:00 PM.
Gabriel would be home any minute.
I ran to the bathroom.
I scrubbed. I exfoliated until my skin was raw. I applied the Miracle Peach Butt Cream (extra layer!). I applied lotion that smelled like vanilla cupcakes. I put on baby powder. I sprayed baby cologne.
I smelled like a bakery exploded in a nursery.
Then, The Outfit.
I pulled out the package I ordered. 100% Silk Pajamas. Baby Pink.
I slipped them on. They were soft. They felt like water against my skin. They had buttons down the front (easy access... oh my gosh, don't think about access!).
I brushed my hair until it shone like black silk. I put on a headband, then took it off. Then put it back on.
"Okay," I stared at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were wide and terrified. My lip was trembling.
"You are Aleesha Muratori," I whispered. "You are an Asset. You signed a contract. You can do this. Think of the baby! Little Lucian! Think of his cute cheeks!"
Click.
The front door opened.
My heart stopped.
I walked out of the bedroom on shaky legs.
Gabriel was there.
He looked... exhausted. He was wearing a black button-down shirt, but the top three buttons were undone. His sleeves were rolled up messily. His necktie was loose, hanging around his neck like a tired snake.
He looked stressed. He looked powerful.
And he looked incredibly hot.
He looked up and saw me standing there in my pink pajamas, clutching the doorframe.
His eyes scanned me from head to toe.
"Aleesha," he said. His voice was gravelly.
"H-Hi, Husband," I squeaked. "Welcome home."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I need a shower. It has been a long week."
"Okay!" I nodded fast. "Shower! Yes! Hygiene is key!"
He walked past me, into the master bedroom. I followed him like a robot.
He went into the bathroom. The water turned on.
I sat on the edge of the King-sized bed.
My heart was beating so loud I thought the neighbors downstairs could hear it. Thump. Thump. Thump.
This is it. He is showering. He is getting clean. For me.
I clasped my hands together. Be water. Be soup. Make noise.
Ten minutes later, the water stopped.
The bathroom door opened.
Steam poured out. And then... Gabriel emerged.
My jaw literally unhinged.
He wasn't wearing clothes.
He was wearing a white towel wrapped low around his hips. Just a towel.
Water droplets were clinging to his skin. And oh my gosh, his skin.
He was pale, like marble. His chest was broad and defined, with muscles that rippled when he moved. He had no hair on his chest and abs (smooth!). He didn't look at me immediately. He was drying his hair with a smaller towel.
Then, he tossed the small towel onto a chair. He looked at me.
His eyes were dark. Darker than usual.
"Aleesha," he said.
"Y-Yes?" I whispered.
He didn't waste time. He didn't ask about the weather. He didn't ask about my day.
He walked toward the bed.
He crouched down in front of me, so his face was level with mine. I was sitting on the edge, my legs dangling. He stepped between my knees.
I smelled him. Soap. Sandalwood. Man.
He put his hands on either side of me, resting them on the mattress. He caged me in.
"Are you ready?" he asked softly.
I couldn't speak. I just nodded. A tiny, jerky nod.
He leaned in.
His lips brushed the side of my neck.
Electricity shot through my veins. My whole body went rigid. I stiffened like a board. My shoulders shot up to my ears.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
His lips were hot. He kissed the sensitive spot under my ear.
My instinct screamed: RUN! DO JUMPING JACKS! HIDE UNDER THE BED!
I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper.
Gabriel didn't stop. He moved closer. His weight pressed against me. He pushed me gently backward until my back hit the mattress.
I was lying down. He was hovering over me.
He reached for the towel around his waist.
Whoosh.
He tossed it aside.
I squeezed my eyes shut. TIGHT.
Do not look. Do not look. Do not look.
I felt the mattress dip as he settled over me. He wasn't crushing me, he was holding his weight up on his arms, but I could feel the heat radiating from him.
I felt his hand—large, rough, warm—cup my cheek. His thumb brushed my skin.
Then, his hand moved down. To the buttons of my pajamas.
Click. First button. Click. Second button.
He parted the pink silk. The cool air hit my skin.
And then... the spiral began.
My brain, usually so chaotic and happy, suddenly turned dark.
What if he hates it? What if he looks at my body and laughs? What if I am just a job to him?
The thoughts came faster and faster.
He doesn't love me. He just wants an heir.
Once I give him the baby, what happens to me?
Will he dump me in a house somewhere and never visit?
Will he find a mistress? A smarter, prettier, sexier mistress?
What if I give my virginity—my most precious gift—to the wrong man?
What if I regret this forever?
The fear wasn't about the pain. It was about the emptiness.
I felt a lump in my throat. A massive, painful lump.
I tried to swallow it down. Be efficient, Aleesha. Be an Asset.
But I couldn't.
A tear leaked out of my squeezed-shut eye. It rolled down my temple, hot and wet.
Then another one. And another one.
I tried to stifle a sob, but my chest hitched. Hic.
Gabriel's hand froze on the third button of my pajamas.
He stopped moving.
The silence in the room was deafening.
He wasn't kissing my neck anymore. He wasn't moving.
Slowly, slowly, he lifted his head.
I kept my eyes shut, tears streaming down my face now. I waited for him to get mad. I waited for him to say, "Stop crying, you are ruining the mood."
"Aleesha," he whispered.
His voice wasn't gravelly anymore. It was... tight.
I opened my eyes.
Through my blurry, watery vision, I saw him.
He was hovering above me. His hair was messy. His face was flushed.
But his eyes... his obsidian eyes were wide. He was looking at my tears. He looked horrified.
He looked at my wet cheeks. He looked at my trembling lips. He looked at my hands, which were clenched into fists at my sides.
"You are crying," he stated.
I sniffled loudly. I quickly wiped my face with the back of my hand.
"No!" I choked out. "I'm not! It's... it's allergies! I'm allergic to... to silk! Or... or handsome men!"
I tried to smile, but it wobbled and broke.
"It's fine, Gabriel!" I babbled, panic rising. "Really! I'm okay! Just... ignore the water! I'm liquid! Like Stephie said! Just... just do it! We have a contract! Clause Three... no, Clause Four... wait, the baby!"
I reached up and grabbed his shoulders.
"Please," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Just get it over with."
Gabriel stared at me.
He looked at my hands clutching his shoulders. He looked at the fear in my eyes.
His jaw clenched. Hard. I saw the muscle pop.
"No," he said.
He pulled away from me.
He didn't just stop. He retreated.
He sat up on his knees. He reached for the edges of my pink pajama top.
With gentle, shaking hands, he pulled the silk back together.
He buttoned the second button. He buttoned the first button.
He covered me up.
"Gabriel?" I whispered, confused. "What... aren't we...?"
He stood up from the bed. He turned his back to me immediately. He grabbed the towel from the floor and wrapped it around his hips again.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, gripping the strands tight. He let out a harsh breath.
"I do not," he said, his voice low and rough, "take what is not freely given."
He turned to look at me.
I was lying there, buttoned up, eyes red and puffy.
"You are terrified," he said. "You are trembling."
"I... I'm just nervous!" I argued weakly.
"You are crying," he corrected. "We are not doing this."
"But the heir!" I sat up. "The timeline! The efficiency!"
"Fuck the efficiency," he growled.
I gasped. He cursed! Clause Six violation!
But he didn't look mad at me. He looked mad at himself.
"Go to sleep, Aleesha," he said firmly.
"But... where are you going?"
"To my office," he said, walking toward the door. "I have work to do."
"But..."
He stopped at the door. He didn't look back.
"Do not follow me," he commanded. "Lock the door."
And then, he was gone.
Slam.
I sat alone in the giant bed, wearing my pink pajamas, smelling like a baby, and feeling like the biggest failure in the world.
I failed.
I couldn't do it.
And now, my husband is sleeping in his office because I couldn't stop crying.
I hugged my knees to my chest and buried my face in the silk.
"I'm sorry, Lucian," I whispered to the empty room. "Mommy is a coward."