46. Ava
46
Ava
T he champagne bubbles tickle my nose as I take another sip. I never thought I’d like a place like Daniel, one of those restaurants so fancy they don’t even bother putting prices on the menu.
Pretty sure I saw one waiter physically recoil when someone at the next table asked for ketchup.
But somehow, I’m having the time of my life. I guess I’m still riding the high of the boardroom victory earlier today.
“To successful conclusions,” Gideon says, raising his glass.
Something in his tone makes the victory champagne lose its sparkle. Successful conclusions. Right. The tidy, contractual end of our relationship, twenty-three days from now. The same relationship that’s become anything but tidy in my heart.
“To success,” I echo, forcing brightness into my voice while my stomach knots itself into a pretzel.
When Gideon had started to say “When this is over...” I’d felt my heart climb up into my throat, foolishly hoping he might suggest extending our arrangement. Instead, he’d just wished me success with my gallery. Because of course that’s what he meant. What else would he possibly want from me once he’s secured his company?
Nothing says romantic evening like discussing the expiration date on your fake marriage. Maybe we should’ve ordered the soufflé with “It’s Been Real” written in chocolate sauce.
“You’re still thinking about the board meeting, aren’t you?” Gideon asks, watching me over the rim of his glass, his gray eyes reflecting the candlelight.
“Hard not to,” I answer. “Especially the look on Blackwell’s face when Margaret Chen switched sides. I thought his head might actually explode.”
Gideon’s laugh is genuine, vibrating through the air between us. “I’ve never seen the old bastard so red!”
I grin despite myself. “It’s nice not being the only lobster in the room for once.”
He smiles widely.
These are the moments I’ll miss most. The conspiratorial laughter, the shared triumph, the feeling that we’re partners in something real.
Stop it, Ava. Remember who you’re dealing with.
“Ava King. I thought that was you.”
A voice like honey drizzled over broken glass interrupts my spiral of self-pity. I look up to find Vanessa Clarke standing by our table, wearing a dark red dress that is surprisingly demure tonight, her tits from hell safely tucked away.
“Vanessa.” Gideon’s voice drops dangerously.
“I’m having dinner with the Harrismans,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward the other side of the restaurant. “I couldn’t possibly walk past without congratulating you both. The board meeting victory is all over the financial grapevine.”
Financial grapevine? Is that a thing? Or just something rich people made up to sound important while gossiping?
“Thank you,” I say, trying to match her polished tone while knowing I probably sound like a kindergartner attempting Shakespeare. “It was a team effort.”
“So modest.” Vanessa’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Gideon must be thrilled to have found such a... supportive partner.”
The way she says “supportive” makes it sound like I’m a particularly sturdy piece of furniture rather than a person.
“If you’ll excuse us, Vanessa,” Gideon says firmly. “We’re celebrating privately.”
“Of course,” she purrs. “Enjoy your evening. Oh, and Ava? The ladies’ room here has the most divine hand lotion. You simply must try it.”
With that bizarre parting comment, she saunters back to her table, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume and judgment.
“Well, that was weird.” I take another sip of champagne.
Gideon’s jaw is tight. “Ignore her.”
“She’s right about one thing though,” I say lightly. “Nature calls after all this champagne. Back in a minute.”
I make my way across the dining room, feeling oddly self-conscious. The bathroom is predictably extravagant. As is usual in this type of place, it’s more like a spa than a place to pee.
I’m washing my hands when the door swings open and Vanessa glides in.
Of course. Because this night wouldn’t be complete without a bathroom confrontation scene straight out of a teen movie.
I should’ve realized the comment about the hand lotion was a trap...
“Ava,” she says warmly, as if we’re old friends. “I was hoping to catch you alone.”
I focus on drying my hands with a towel so plush it could double as a pillow. “Well, here I am.”
“You know, I’ve known Gideon for years,” she says, applying fresh lipstick in the mirror. “We’ve always had a special understanding.”
“That’s nice,” I reply neutrally, wishing I could teleport back to our table.
“Has he told you about his views on marriage?” She blots her perfect lips on a tissue. “Specifically, his philosophy that business partnerships are the only relationships that last?”
My stomach drops, but I keep my expression carefully blank. “Gideon and I discuss many things.”
“I’m sure you do.” Her laugh is light and practiced. “I remember so clearly, it was after the Morgenstern gala. We were having a nightcap at his penthouse. He said, and I quote, ‘Marriage for love is a fairy tale. I’ll only ever marry for strategic advantage.’”
The bathroom suddenly feels too warm, too small. I can feel heat climbing up my neck, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me blush. Too late. It’s happening anyway.
“He was quite adamant about it.” Vanessa adjusts her perfect hair. “Said emotional entanglements were too messy, too unpredictable for someone in his position. That business arrangements were cleaner, more honest. And that after Celeste, women for him were just for release, nothing more. ”
Her words land like perfectly aimed darts. Cleaner. More honest. Exactly what our arrangement is supposed to be.
“Thanks for the history lesson, Vanessa,” I say, amazed at how steady my voice sounds when my insides are churning and my face burns. “But I should get back to my husband .”
Her eyebrows lift at the emphasis I place on ‘husband.’ “Of course. I just thought you should know what you’re dealing with. From one society girl to another.”
I straighten my spine and meet her gaze directly. “I know exactly who I married.”
A lie so big it should have its own reality TV show.
“Well then.” Her smile is pure venom wrapped in silk. “You’re even more pragmatic than I give you credit for. No wonder he chose you.”
She leaves, the subtle scent of her perfume lingering like a taunt. I stand alone, gripping the marble counter, trying to regain my composure.
He’ll only ever marry for strategic advantage.
Why does it hurt so much to hear confirmed what I’ve always known? And yet...
I splash cold water on my face, careful not to ruin my makeup, then return to the table with what I hope passes for a normal expression.
“You okay?” Gideon asks immediately. “You were gone a while.”
“Fine,” I say brightly. “Just admiring the fancy soap dispensers. Pretty sure they cost more than my first apartment.”
Gideon’s eyes narrow slightly. He can tell something’s wrong, but before he can press further, our main courses arrive.
The food is beautiful, artistic even, but it might as well be cardboard for all I can taste it. I push it around my plate while maintaining light conversation, a skill I’ve perfected over months of socializing with Gideon’s circle. For once, I’m grateful these fancy restaurants think a tablespoon of food artfully smeared across a massive plate constitutes dinner.
“What did Vanessa say to you?” he asks during a lull.
I nearly choke on my water. “What?”
“In the bathroom. She followed you in there, didn’t she?”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Just the usual catty socialite stuff. Nothing worth repeating.”
I can tell by the way his eyes darken that he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push. By the time we’re in the car heading back to the penthouse, a thick silence has settled between us.
Way to kill the celebration vibe, Ava. I’m in the running for the Oscar for the Most Talented Mood Ruiner.
Back home, I head straight for the shower, hoping the hot water might wash away the echo of Vanessa’s words. It doesn’t. I step out, wrap myself in a towel, and stare at my flushed reflection in the steamy mirror.
Marriage for love is a fairy tale.
Maybe Vanessa made it up. Maybe she’s lying to create discord. But what if she isn’t? What if Gideon really said those things?
What did you expect? A billionaire with trust issues to suddenly believe in happily ever after because he had good sex with you?
I laugh at myself, the sound brittle in the tiled bathroom. When I emerge, Gideon is sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket and tie discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. He looks up, his expression unreadable.
“Going to tell me what’s really bothering you?” he asks quietly.
“Nothing’s bothering me,” I lie, crossing to the dresser. “I’m just tired from all the excitement.”
“Bullshit. I heard that bitter laugh.”
The sharpness in his voice makes me turn. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve been distant since Vanessa showed up.” He stands, closing some of the space between us. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing that wasn’t true,” I snap, surprising myself with the bite in my voice.
His eyebrows rise. “And what truth was that?”
“That you don’t believe in marriage for love.” The words escape before I can stop them. “That you think business partnerships are the only relationships that last.”
Gideon goes very still. “She said that?”
“Did you say it to her?” I counter, my heart hammering. “During your ‘nightcap’ with her after some stupid gala?”
His silence is answer enough. I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears.
“Great.” I turn away, yanking open a drawer with more force than necessary. “Thanks for confirming.”
“Ava—”
“No, it’s fine.” I pull out sleep shorts and a tank top, clutching them in front of me like armor. “It’s not like you’ve ever pretended otherwise. The contract spells it out pretty clearly.”
“You’re upset,” he observes, as if diagnosing a minor technical problem.
“I’m not upset,” I lie through my teeth. “I’m realistic.”
“Are you?” He moves closer, and I can smell his cologne, the scent that’s become synonymous with home in my mind. “Because you’re acting like someone just told you Santa isn’t real.”
Heat floods my face. “Fuck you, Gideon.”
His eyes darken at my words, and something shifts in the air between us. “Is that what you want?”
The question hangs there, loaded with more than just its surface meaning. My body responds even as my mind rebels.
“Would it matter if it was?” I challenge, stepping toward him instead of away. “It’s just physical, right? Just part of our arrangement?”
“Ava,” he warns, his voice dropping to that register that turns my insides to liquid.
“What?” I press closer, deliberately provocative. “Are you going to remind me about our ‘no emotional involvement’ clause? Or tell me how business partnerships are so much cleaner than messy feelings?”
His jaw tightens. “You’re pushing me.”
“Am I?” I tilt my head, a deliberate challenge. “Maybe I just want to know where we stand. Twenty-three days left, right? Might as well get our money’s worth.”
I see the moment something snaps in him. His hand catches my wrist, not painfully but with unmistakable intent.
“You want to know where we stand?” His voice is dangerously soft. “You’re standing on very thin ice right now.”
“What are you going to do, Gideon?” I taunt, heart racing. “Punish me? ”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t tempt me, Ava. Unless you’re sure that’s what you want.”
I should back down. I should apologize for being childish and emotional. Instead, I reach up with my free hand and deliberately push against his chest.
“Maybe I do want that,” I whisper, shocking myself with the admission.
In one fluid motion, Gideon sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me over his lap. The towel slips, leaving me exposed. I gasp, both from the sudden movement and the realization of what’s about to happen.
“Last chance to tell me to stop,” he says, his voice rough with restraint.
My heart hammers so hard I’m sure he can feel it against his thigh. “Don’t stop.”
The first strike catches me completely off guard. Not hard enough to hurt, but definitely firm enough to get my attention. My breath catches in my throat.
“This what you wanted, vixen?” His hand comes down again, a little harder this time. “To provoke me?”
“I—” The words stick in my throat as another spank lands. The sting blooms across my skin, followed by an unexpected wave of heat that has nothing to do with pain.
“You thought you could push me and I wouldn’t push back?” Another strike, another gasp. “You forget who you’re dealing with.”
My body responds in ways I never anticipated, arousal building with each careful spank. I’m mortified by how much I’m enjoying this, yet I can’t bring myself to want it to stop.
“Answer me,” Gideon demands, his hand pausing. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes,” I admit, my voice barely audible.
His hand slides between my legs, finding the evidence of my arousal. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his tone both surprised and pleased. “So wet for me.”
I should be embarrassed, but instead I press against his hand, seeking more contact. He obliges, his fingers exploring my pussy with practiced skill.
“Such a good girl,” he praises, and the words send a shiver through me that has nothing to do with temperature. “Taking your punishment so well.”
In one smooth motion, he flips me onto my back on the bed, looming over me with hunger in his eyes. I reach for his belt buckle, suddenly desperate to feel him. He helps me undress him, revealing his hard cock straining against his boxers.
“This is what you do to me,” he growls, pushing his boxers down. “Make me lose control.”
He rolls on a condom, and when he finally enters me, it’s with a force born of frustration and need. My body welcomes him, adjusting to his size as it always does. His gaze locks with mine as he establishes a rhythm that’s just this side of punishing.
“Hold onto me,” he commands, and I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.
It feels different this time. More urgent, more desperate. As if we’re both trying to say through our bodies what we can’t with words. His hands grip my hips with bruising intensity, each thrust a statement, a question, a demand.
“Look at me,” he orders when I close my eyes. “I want to see you.”
I obey, meeting his gaze as pleasure builds within me. There’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Vulnerability beneath the dominance, need beneath the control .
“Gideon,” I gasp as my orgasm approaches. “Please.”
“Cum for me, my vixen,” he urges, his rhythm faltering as he nears his own release. “Let me see you cum. Tell me how much you enjoy it.”
My climax crashes through me with unexpected intensity. I cry out his name, clinging to him as waves of pleasure overwhelm me. He follows moments later, his body tensing as he cums with a deep groan.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, breathing hard. His weight pins me to the mattress, a comforting pressure I don’t want to lose. Eventually, he shifts to the side, pulling me against his chest in a way that feels achingly tender after the intensity of our rough encounter.
For a few precious minutes, I allow myself to pretend this is real. That we’re a normal couple who just had an argument and had make up sex. That we have more than a little over two weeks left. That he could love me the way I love him.
I’m not sure why I provoked him. I guess I thought the provocation would make him say something real, and break through whatever wall he’s built around his feelings. Instead, all I got was incredible sex that somehow left me feeling emptier than before.
Gideon’s breathing evens out, his arm still draped over my waist. I stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore the ache in my chest that has nothing to do with our vigorous activity and everything to do with the words Vanessa planted in my mind.
Marriage for love is a fairy tale. I’ll only ever marry for strategic advantage.
Twenty-three days left in our contract. Twenty-three days until I have to say goodbye to this man who’s somehow become the center of my world. Twenty-three days to pretend that having my heart broken was part of the deal all along.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come, knowing it won’t. Because for all my efforts to provoke an emotional response, all I’ve managed to do is confirm what I feared most: this arrangement might be the only real thing we’ll ever have.