Chapter 21
The world is a beautiful place when you have a stomach full of sugar and a hand full of husband.
We were walking through the park near the ice cream shop. It was late afternoon, and the sky was painting itself in shades of orange and purple, like a bruised peach.
It was romantic. It was cinematic.
It was delicious.
I wasn't just holding Gabriel's hand; I was swinging it. My arm went swish-swish back and forth, dragging his heavy, reluctant arm along with me.
To his credit, he didn't let go. His grip was firm. His hand was large, warm, and slightly rough—a "working man's hand" (even if his work is mostly typing scary emails and staring at skylines).
And in my other hand?
My Second Bacon Cheeseburger.
"Mmmmm," I hummed, taking a massive bite. Chomp.
"This is heaven," I declared with a mouthful of beef and cheese. "Gabby, you are missing out. The grease is the best part! It lubricates the soul!"
Gabriel walked beside me. He was wearing his sunglasses (even though the sun was setting), looking like a celebrity bodyguard protecting a girl who was addicted to cholesterol.
"I am content with my espresso," he said flatly.
"Boring," I sang. "You need flavor! You need pizzazz!"
I swallowed the burger bite and wiped a smudge of ketchup from my lip.
I looked at our joined hands.
Swish. Swish.
He was holding me so tight. Like I might float away if he let go.
And then, the guilt hit me.
Thump.
It landed right on top of the cheeseburger in my stomach.
I looked at him. I looked at his profile—the sharp jawline that could cut glass, the stoic expression, the way his dark hair fell over his forehead.
He is perfect. He is rich. He bought me ice cream. He is currently tolerating my burger obsession.
And what have I given him?
Nothing.
I bit my lip.
I signed a contract. A legal document! Clause: The Heir.
I promised to give him a baby. A Baby Lucian.
But every time I think about the... process... my brain short-circuits.
I looked at his neck.
Oh my gosh. His neck.
It is thick. And strong. And the serpent tattoo slithering up from his collar looks so... cool.
My eyes traveled down. His chest (hard as a rock). His arms (veiny and muscular). His legs in those denim jeans (powerful).
He is... objectively... extremely hot.
Like, 'cover of a romance novel' hot.
Gulp.
My face heated up.
If we did the thing... it would probably involve a lot of... skin. And muscles. And heavy breathing. And him looking at me with those obsidian eyes.
WAAAAAHHH! NOOO! NOT YET! HUHUHU!
I am not ready! I am a potato! A squishy, shy potato! I will faint! I will spontaneously combust!
But is it fair to him? He wants a legacy! And I am just giving him headaches and laundry disasters!
I squeezed his hand tighter.
"Gabby?" I asked.
"Hmm?"
"Can I ask a question? A serious one?"
He glanced down at me. "Is it about the nutritional value of bacon?"
"No," I shook my head. "It is about... biology."
He stiffened slightly. "Go on."
I took a deep breath. I looked at a passing pigeon so I didn't have to look at his face.
"Have you..." I whispered. "Have you... experienced... the thing?"
Gabriel stopped walking for a split second, then resumed. He cleared his throat.
Cough.
He looked down at me, then looked straight ahead again.
He nodded. Once. A sharp jerk of his chin.
"Yes," he said.
I nodded too. "Okay. Okay."
Mwehehehe. I knew it!
Of course he has! Look at him! He looks like the Captain of the "I Break Hearts" Club! He probably had girls lining up in kindergarten!
But... ouch.
My chest gave a little squeeze. A tiny pinch of jealousy.
"So..." I kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. "Did you have... a girlfriend?"
Gabriel's grip on my hand tightened. I saw a muscle in his jaw jump.
He hesitated.
He didn't answer immediately. He seemed to be calculating. Weighing the data.
Finally, he nodded again. Slower this time.
"Yes," he said. "One."
"One?" I blinked. "Just one? In your whole life?"
"One serious one," he corrected. His voice was clipped. Cold.
"Oh."
I looked at my cheeseburger. It suddenly looked less appetizing.
"What was her name?" I asked quietly.
"It is irrelevant," he said.
"Was she pretty?"
"Aleesha."
"Was she tall?"
"Aleesha."
"Did you..." I stopped walking. I planted my feet on the pavement.
Gabriel stopped too. He turned to face me.
"Did you do the deed?" I whispered, my eyes wide.
Gabriel looked at me. He looked exasperated.
"We were adults," he said. "What do you think?"
I felt like someone poured cold water on me.
"So you did," I whispered. "Many times?"
Gabriel sighed. He looked at the sky, praying for patience.
"Yes," he gritted out.
"Where?" I demanded. My curiosity was morphing into something else. Something prickly.
"Where?" he repeated, confused.
"In the penthouse?" I asked. "In the Velour Noir? On the 100th floor?"
Gabriel went still.
He stared at me. His eyes darted to the side, then back to me.
He didn't answer.
Silence is an answer.
"You did!" I accused, pointing my half-eaten burger at him. "You did the boombayah in the penthouse!"
"Aleesha—"
"Did you do it in the bed?!" I pressed. "In our bed? The King-sized one? The one I sleep in?!"
Gabriel's face darkened. He looked... guilty. Or maybe angry. Or maybe both.
"And not just her!" I continued, my brain spiraling. "You said you didn't have other girlfriends, but you had... transactions! The Musk-Lady! And others! Did you bring them there too? Is the penthouse a... a factory of sin?!"
Gabriel lost it.
He grabbed my hand. Hard. Not hurtful, but possessive.
"Enough," he growled.
He pulled me.
"Let's go home," he commanded.
He started walking fast. I had to trot to keep up with his long legs.
"But Gabby!" I pouted, stumbling after him. "I need to know! It is for hygiene purposes! Do we need to sanitize the mattress? Do we need to burn the sheets? How many women? Was it a revolving door?"
"Be quiet," he snapped.
"Was she louder than me?" I asked. "Wait, I haven't been loud yet. But hypothetically!"
"Aleesha," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
"Did she like pink?"
"No."
"Did she eat burgers?"
"No."
"Did you love her?"
He didn't answer that one. He just walked faster.
I trotted beside him, my heart hurting a little bit.
He had a life before me. A spicy, experienced life. And I am just... the contract wife. The novice.
I took a sad bite of my burger. Even the bacon tasted a little sad now.
★
The car ride back was quiet. Sean drove the Aston Martin (Gabriel was too annoyed to drive, I think).
We went up the elevator. Ding.
We walked into the penthouse.
Usually, I run in and say hello to the furniture. But today, I walked in slowly.
I looked around the living room.
The gray couches. The sleek fireplace. The floor-to-ceiling windows.
I imagined Gabriel here. With Her. The One Girlfriend. Or the Musk-Ladies.
I imagined them sitting on the couch. Drinking wine. Touching.
Hmph.
I crossed my arms. I don't like this imagination game.
Gabriel walked straight to the bedroom.
I followed him.
He stood in the doorway of the master suite. He wasn't entering. He was just standing there, staring.
I peeked around his arm.
He was staring at the bed.
The massive, perfectly made King-sized bed with the gray duvet and the fluffy pillows.
He was staring at it with a look of... disgust? Regret?
I looked at the bed too.
I remembered last night. When I told him I loved him and he told me to shut up.
I remembered the night before, when he almost... and then stopped because I cried.
Then, my brain did a funny thing.
I imagined us.
Not crying. Not fighting.
I imagined Gabriel and me. On that bed. Kissing. Like in the movies.
I imagined him holding me, and me not being scared. I imagined us being... a real couple.
A giggle escaped my lips. Tee-hee.
Gabriel flinched.
He turned his head sharply to look at me.
"What is funny?" he asked.
"Nothing!" I covered my mouth. "Just... intrusive thoughts! I was imagining... us."
I pointed at the bed.
"Kissing," I whispered. "Maybe."
Gabriel choked.
COUGH. COUGH.
He turned red. Like, actually red. His ears turned pink.
He looked at the bed again. Then he looked at me. Standing there in my pink dress, holding a burger wrapper, looking at him with big, hopeful eyes.
He looked pained.
He ran a hand down his face. Rub, rub.
He took a deep breath.
"Pack your things," he said.
...
...
My smile fell off my face. My heart stopped beating. The burger wrapper dropped from my hand.
Flutter. Plop.
"W-What?" I whispered.
"Pack your things," Gabriel repeated. He wouldn't look at me. He was looking at the floor. "We are leaving."
"Leaving?" I squeaked.
Tears sprang to my eyes instantly. Instant faucet!
"You are kicking me out?!" I wailed.
I threw myself at him. I grabbed his arm with both hands.
"No! Gabby! Please!" I begged. "Don't kick me out! I'm sorry! I'm sorry about the questions! I won't ask about the ex-girlfriend! I won't ask about the bed!"
I shook his arm.
"I will be good! I promise! I will be the goodest, goodest, good wife of all the best wives in the universe!"
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
"I won't speak unless spoken to! I will be silent! Like a mime! I will never argue! I will eat my vegetables! I will give you the heir! I will try! I promise I will try! Just don't throw me away!"
I buried my face in his sleeve. I sobbed. "And Primrose likes the rug! Please, Gabriel!"
I felt him freeze. He stood there, rigid, while I snot-cried onto his expensive polo shirt.
"Aleesha," he said. His voice was strained.
"I will clean the floors!" I cried. "I will learn to cook without fire! Please!"
Gabriel sighed. It was a deep, chest-rattling sigh.
He reached down. He placed his hands on my shoulders. He gently peeled me off his arm. He crouched down so we were eye-level. He forced me to look at him. His eyes weren't angry. They were... soft. And a little bit sad. He reached out and wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
"I am not kicking you out," he said firmly.
I sniffled. "You... you aren't?"
"No," he said. "I would never kick you out."
"Then... why pack?" I hiccuped. "Where are we going? Back to may parents' house?"
Gabriel almost smiled. Almost.
He looked over my shoulder at the bed. The bed he hated. "We are moving," he said quietly.
"Moving?" I blinked. "To another room?"
"To another house," he said.
He stood up, pulling me up with him.
"This place..." Gabriel looked around the penthouse. The cold, gray, lonely penthouse.
"This place is not a home," he said. "It is a headquarters. It is filled with... old data. Old memories."
He looked at me.
"You asked if I brought others here," he said. "The answer is yes. And that is unacceptable."
He gripped my shoulders. "You are my wife," he stated. "You do not live in a museum of my past transactions. You deserve... fresh data."
I stared at him.
He is moving... for me? Because I asked about the girls? Because he wants a fresh start?
"A new house?" I whispered.
"Yes," Gabriel said.
"Is it... is it nice?" I asked.
"It is acceptable," he said. "It has a garden. For the dog."
"A garden!" I gasped. "Primrose will love it!"
"And," Gabriel looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "It has a kitchen. With a safety induction stove. So you cannot burn it down."
I giggled. "Hey!"
"Pack your clothes, Aleesha," he said gently. "We leave in an hour."
"Okay!" I beamed. "I will pack! I will pack efficiently!"
I turned to run to the closet, but I stopped.
I turned back to him.
"Gabby?"
"What."
"Will the new house have a bed?"
He looked at me. His eyes darkened.
"Yes," he said. "A new bed. That no one has ever slept in."
"Good," I nodded satisfied. "Because I don't want to share with ghosts."
I ran to the closet. "Goodbye, Penthouse of Sin!" I shouted. "Hello, House of... Purity!"
I heard Gabriel choke on air behind me.
Cough.
I giggled. We are moving. Together. To a house with a garden.
Maybe... maybe being a wife isn't so scary after all.