53. Gideon
53
Gideon
M orning light filters through the windows, casting a golden glow across Ava’s sleeping form. I’ve been awake for hours, watching her breathe, still hardly believing she’s back in my bed.
Our bed.
My chest tightens each time I remember how close I came to losing her forever. All over a misunderstanding.
I slip out from under the sheets, careful not to wake her. There’s something I need to prepare before she wakes up.
In my home office, I unlock the safe hidden behind a painting. Not one of hers. One of the few original pieces I kept on the walls after I replaced most of my collection with her work. Inside the safe lies a small velvet box I purchased yesterday before the gallery opening. I tuck it into my pocket and begin drafting something on my computer.
By the time I hear her stirring, I’ve printed the document and am brewing coffee in the kitchen .
“I thought maybe I dreamed last night,” she says, padding into the kitchen wearing only my shirt from yesterday. How I love seeing her wear my clothes. Her hair is a beautiful wild mess of curls, her lips still slightly swollen from a night of kisses.
God, she’s so fucking perfect.
“If it was a dream, we had the same one.” I hand her a mug of coffee, brushing my fingers deliberately against hers. “Two sugars, splash of cream.”
She smiles, taking a sip. “You remember how I like it.”
“I remember everything about you, Ava.” The intensity of my own voice surprises me. “Even the things you think I don’t notice.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Like what?”
I take her hand. “Like how you always bite your lower lip when you’re nervous. How you turn your head slightly to the left when you’re concentrating on a painting. How you hum without realizing it when you’re mixing colors.”
She blushes, a red glow spreading down her neck. “I don’t hum.”
“You do.” I tuck a curl behind her ear. “It’s barely audible. And always the same melody, though I’ve never been able to place it.”
“Now that I think about it, you’re right, I sometimes do. It’s a lullaby my grandmother used to sing while she painted.” Her voice softens. “You noticed.”
“There’s a lot you don’t realize I’ve noticed.”
“Wait here,” she says, setting down her coffee mug. “There’s something I need to show you.”
I watch as she disappears down the hallway toward her bedroom. The one I couldn’t bring myself to enter after she left.
She returns a moment later, carrying a canvas that’s been carefully wrapped in cloth. Her fingers tremble slightly as she unwraps it and places it on the countertop.
“I packed this with my things before I found those documents,” she explains.
It’s a painting I’ve never seen before. A chaotic storm of color and texture contained by a single silver-white line running horizontally across the canvas. A line barely visible yet somehow holding the entire tumultuous composition together.
“I painted this the day after we met with the lawyers for the last time,” she says softly, her fingers tracing the horizon line. “When they were talking about asset separation and returning to original living arrangements.”
“It’s beautiful,” I tell her, moving to stand beside her. The raw emotion captured in each brushstroke makes my chest tighten. “What does it represent?”
She meets my eyes, vulnerability written across her face. “The line is you, Gideon. The horizon I orient myself by, even in the midst of emotional chaos. I didn’t realize what I was painting until it was finished.”
My breath catches. “The line is me? ”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes blinking emotionally.
I take both her hands in mine. “You’ve become my horizon line too, Ava. The stable point I navigate by when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.”
“Oh Gideon.” My name on her lips sounds like a prayer.
“I have something to show you as well.” I pull the document from my pocket, unfolding it carefully. “I wrote this last night while you were sleeping.”
She takes it, eyes scanning the paper. “A new contract?”
“Not a contract. A promise .” I watch her face as she reads, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms.
“Gideon King hereby pledges to Ava Redwood...” she reads aloud, her voice growing thicker with each line. She looks up when she reaches a specific clause. “This says our commitment has no expiration date.”
I nod, meeting her gaze steadily. “Unlike our original arrangement.”
“And here,” her finger traces another line, “you’ve explicitly revoked the ‘no emotional involvement’ clause and replaced it with...” her voice breaks slightly, “a promise of lifelong love and partnership.” Tears fill her eyes. “You put it all in writing.”
“I want there to be no doubt.” I brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “What we have isn’t temporary. It isn’t conditional. It’s forever , if you’ll have me.”
She nods, happy, and blinks away another tear. She wipes her cheek and continues reading.
A small smile plays at her lips. “You included a clause about communication and transparency.”
“I learned my lesson with the Blackwell situation. No more keeping you in the dark to protect you.”
“And this bit about regular date nights?”
I shrug, feeling uncharacteristically shy. “Jonas suggested that one. Apparently Sarah makes him do it. Says it keeps their marriage strong.”
She laughs, the sound lightening something in my chest. “I’ll add a few amendments of my own.” She takes a pen from the coffee table and begins writing in the margins.
I watch curiously. “What are you adding?”
“First, a mutual veto on charity galas. We attend no more than one per month.”
I grin. “Agreed. ”
“Second, quarterly trips away from the city. Just us, no security detail, no business calls.” She gives me a challenging look.
“That’s a security risk, but we can compromise. Minimal security, separate accommodations for them.”
“Acceptable.” She writes again. “Third, you promise to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed instead of retreating into work mode and shutting me out.”
My smile falters. “That already falls under the communication and transparency clause.”
“I know.” She meets my gaze steadily. “But I want to spell it out.”
“Then I’ll add one, too.” I take the pen from her, writing beneath her additions. “Ava promises to share her artistic struggles instead of isolating herself when she’s creatively blocked.”
She reads it, then nods. “Fair.” She takes the pen and writes one more line. “Last one. We both acknowledge that we’re fucked up in our own ways, but we’re working on it. Together.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “That’s remarkably concise.”
“I’m learning brevity from you.” She smiles, then suddenly grows serious. “There’s one thing missing, though.”
“What?”
She takes the pen and at the top of the document crosses out the word “contract” and writes “marriage vows.”
My heart pounds against my ribs. I pull the velvet box from my pocket and drop to one knee.
“I was going to do this at dinner tonight, but now seems perfect.” I open the box, revealing a platinum band with a princess-cut diamond flanked by smaller azure sapphires. It’s nothing like the ostentatious ring from our first arrangement. This one I chose specifically for her, thinking of the blue flecks she often uses in her paintings, and the blue dress she loves.
“Ava Redwood, will you marry me? For real this time. No business arrangement, no end date. Just us, building something genuine together.”
“We’re already married,” she says, eyes shining with tears.
“On paper.” I take her hand. “I want to do it right. Exchange vows we actually mean, in front of all the people who matter to us. Start fresh.”
She kneels down to my level, cupping my face in her hands. “Yes.” Her voice breaks on the single syllable. “A thousand times yes.”
I remove the ring from our arrangement and slide the new ring onto her finger. When I do, I feel something shift within me. The last of my walls crumbling away.
“I love you,” I say, surprised by the ease with which the words now come. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt it.”
“I love you, too.” She kisses me, soft and sweet. “And I’m keeping both contracts. The old one to remind us where we started, and this one to show us where we’re going.”
I pull her into my lap right there on the floor. “You know, as your husband, I have certain responsibilities.”
“Such as?” She raises an eyebrow, already unbuttoning the shirt she’s wearing.
“Ensuring your complete and total satisfaction.” I trail kisses down her neck. “In all areas of our arrangement. ”
Her laughter turns into a gasp as my hands find bare skin. “I believe that falls under the ‘working on our issues together’ clause.”
“Indeed.” I lift her, carrying her back toward our bedroom. “I think this particular issue requires immediate attention.”
“Who am I to argue with such sound business logic?” she says against my lips.
And as I lay her down on our bed, I realize that for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the future. With Ava by my side, Ava, my horizon line steady and true, I’ve finally found my way.