Chapter 12
I woke up and reached out.
My hand hit... cool sheets.
I blinked my eyes open. The spot beside me was empty. The pillow was perfectly fluffed, as if no heavy, handsome head had rested there all night.
Gabby is gone.
A heavy rock settled in my stomach. I threw myself out of the massive bed, landing on the fluffy rug with a soft thump.
I looked around the room. It was huge, gray, and silent.
"Gabby?" I whispered.
No answer.
"Woof."
I looked down. Primrose was sitting near the foot of the bed, her tail wiggling back and forth like a windshield wiper. She looked happy. Of course, she was happy; she wasn't the one who cried her eyes out and rejected a billionaire husband last night.
"Morning, Prim," I sighed, stretching my limbs. I crouched down and kissed her furry forehead. "Where is your daddy? Did he leave? Did he go back to the casino? Did he fly to Mars to escape my awkwardness?"
Primrose just panted. Hah-hah-hah.
"You are useless," I told her lovingly.
I stood up and smoothed down my pink silk pajamas. I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked... rested. My eyes weren't puffy anymore.
"Okay, Aleesha," I slapped my cheeks. Pat-pat. "New day. New strategy. You need to apologize. You need to be a Wife."
I marched out of the bedroom.
The penthouse was quiet. The morning sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making dust motes dance in the air.
I walked toward the kitchen.
And there he was.
Gabriel was sitting at the kitchen island. He was wearing a fresh white button-down shirt (not pink, sadly) and gray slacks. He was reading a newspaper—an actual paper one!—and holding a cup of black coffee.
But that wasn't what made my heart do a little squeeze.
In front of him, on the marble counter, sat a tall glass of milk.
For me.
He remembered.
I smiled, a genuine, warm feeling spreading in my chest. "Good morning, Husband!"
Gabriel lowered the newspaper slowly. He looked at me over the top of the pages. His face was blank. Unreadable.
"Good morning," he said. His voice was raspy.
I walked over and hopped onto the stool next to him. I grabbed the milk and took a big sip. Gulp, gulp.
"Thank you for the calcium!" I beamed. "It makes my bones strong so I can carry the heir!"
He didn't smile. He just went back to reading about the stock market.
I leaned closer. I sniffed the air.
Sniff. Sniff.
"You smell like soap," I noted. "But underneath... I smell decisions."
"Decisions?" he asked without looking up.
"Bad decisions!" I pointed a finger at him. "You were drunk last night! When you came home! You smelled like a brewery! And you drove!"
I slammed my milk glass down (gently).
"Gabby!" I scolded. "I hate it! You cannot drink and drive! It is illegal! And dangerous! And irresponsible!"
He finally put the paper down. He turned his chair slightly to face me.
"I was in control," he stated calmly.
"No!" I shook my head vigorously. "Alcohol slows your reaction time! It impairs your judgment! What if you got into an accident? Huh? What if the black tank crashed?"
I felt my eyes stinging again. I really hate the idea of him getting hurt.
"What about me?" I whispered. "I would be a widow at nineteen! I would have to wear black forever! And what about..." I patted my stomach. "What about future Baby Lucian? He needs a father! He can't learn how to conquer the world from me! I only know how to make onigir!"
Gabriel stared at me. He looked at my worried face. He looked at my hand on my stomach.
His jaw tightened. He looked away.
"It will not happen again," he said quietly.
"Good," I nodded. "Because if you die, I will be very mad at you."
Silence stretched between us. It wasn't a comfortable silence. It was heavy with the memory of last night. Of me crying. Of him stopping.
I needed to break the tension. I needed to be useful!
I stood up abruptly.
"By the way," I announced, rolling up my pajama sleeves. "I am cooking pasta!"
SCRAAAAAAPE.
Gabriel shot out of his chair so fast the legs shrieked against the floor.
He was beside me in a nanosecond.
He grabbed the frying pan from my hand before I could even touch the stove knob.
"No," he said firmly.
"But—"
"Sit," he commanded.
He pointed to the stool.
"But I want to make breakfast!" I whined. "Carbonara! It's easy! Bacon and eggs!"
"You are banned," he reminded me, placing the pan out of my reach on a high shelf. "I enjoy having a roof over my head. Sit down, Aleesha."
I pouted. My lower lip wobbled. "You are a tyrant."
But I sat down.
I watched him.
Gabriel moved around the kitchen with efficiency. He cracked eggs with one hand. Crack. Plop. He sliced bacon with terrifying precision. Chop. Chop. Chop.
He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.
I stared at his forearms. The veins. The muscles shifting under the skin. The ink of his tattoos moving as he worked.
He was... wow.
"You are sexy," I blurted out.
Gabriel paused mid-whisk.
He didn't turn around. He didn't say, "Thank you, wife." He didn't say, "You are sexy too."
He just stood there for a second, staring at the eggs. Then he continued whisking, a little faster than before.
I leaned my chin on my palm, watching his back.
"Gabby," I said softly.
"I told you not to call me that," he muttered, pouring the eggs into the pan.
"Gabriel," I corrected. "I want to say sorry."
The sizzling of the bacon filled the room.
"About last night," I continued, picking at the placemat. "I was... a coward. I know we have a deal. I know I am supposed to be an Asset. But I just... I got scared. Because..."
I took a deep breath.
"Because I want my first time to be special," I whispered. "And I got in my head. I thought... maybe you hated me. Maybe I was just a job."
Gabriel flipped the bacon. He didn't speak.
"But!" I straightened up. "I am ready now! I am educating myself! I am researching!"
He turned around, holding two plates of steaming Carbonara. He raised an eyebrow.
"Researching?"
"Yes!" I nodded proudly. "I know how to do the deed now! Like, really, really know it! To the max level!"
I leaned in conspiratorially.
"I watched 50 Shades of Grey," I whispered.
Gabriel froze as he set the plates down. He looked at me. His expression was a mix of horror and confusion.
"You watched... what?"
"The movie!" I explained. "With the guy who likes ties! And the girl who bites her lip! I watched it!"
(I didn't tell him that every time they started kissing aggressively or went into the Red Room, I squeezed my eyes shut and hummed the Spongebob theme song until it was over. But I saw the vibes! I saw the helicopters!)
"So I know!" I declared. "I know about the... the intensity! And the elevators! And the contract!"
"Aleesha," Gabriel rubbed his temple. "That is fiction. And it is... not an educational resource."
"It is to me!" I insisted. "So don't worry! Next time, I will be brave! I will be Anastasia! Without the biting, because that seems unsanitary."
"Eat your pasta," he said, cutting me off.
He sat down across from me.
"But—"
"Eat," he ordered.
I looked at the pasta. It looked delicious. Creamy and yellow and perfect.
I picked up my fork. We ate in silence.
Clink. Clink.
I chewed slowly.
I looked at him. He was eating elegantly, looking at his tablet again. He was building a wall. He was shutting me out.
He is mad.
He is definitely mad about the rejection. He thinks I am a child. He thinks I am useless.
Panic.
I need to fix this. I need to make him see that I am committed! I need to show him that I am a Very Very Good Wife!
What does a good wife do?
She supports him. She cooks (banned). She cleans (he has maids). She... loves him.
Yes.
Affection! Disarm the opponent with affection! Law 48... or maybe Law 12? I forgot.
I swallowed a piece of bacon.
I looked straight at him.
"Gabriel," I said.
He didn't look up. "Hmm?"
"I love you."
The world stopped.
The air conditioner stopped humming. The traffic outside stopped honking. Even Primrose stopped chewing her toy.
Gabriel froze.
His fork was halfway to his mouth.
He didn't move. He didn't blink. He just sat there, frozen in time, staring at a piece of bacon.
One second. Two seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds.
My heart started hammering. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Say it back, I begged silently. Say "I love you too." Say "Thank you." Say something!
Slowly, very slowly, Gabriel lowered his fork.
He cleared his throat. Ahem.
He picked up his coffee cup. He took a sip. He put the cup down.
And then... he cut another piece of bacon. And he continued eating.
He didn't look at me. He didn't say a word. He just... kept eating.
My heart sank. It dropped right out of my chest and splattered on the floor like the curry sauce.
Oh.
He ignored it.
He ignored me.
I felt a stinging in my nose. I looked down at my pasta. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore.
I gripped my fork tight. "Okay," I whispered to myself.
I took a bite of pasta. It tasted like ash.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
He is rich. He is handsome. He is the father of my future children.
But he is a fortress. And I am just a girl with a pink fork trying to break down a steel door.
I sighed, a long, sad sound.
"This pasta is good," I said quietly, my voice small.
"Thank you," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
And we finished breakfast in silence.