33. DELE
Chapter 33
DELE
Three days into my cycle and still no sight of Luke. I’ve just been texting him my whereabouts, so he doesn’t feel obligated to wait around for me to show up. I step out of class and head towards my car, but I freeze in place when I see Luke leaning against it. My eyes dart around and land on Martin idling at the corner.
“Hi,” I murmur. His tired eyes and the faint five o’clock shadow on his face lend him a rugged charm. But what’s he doing here? My gaze shifts again, scanning for any onlookers.
“Hi,” he replies, stepping away from the car and moving closer to me.
“Did I forget to text you?” A sly smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but I still can’t figure out why he’s here.
“No, you were perfectly diligent with your texts—so perfect, in fact, that I started wondering if you were avoiding me,” he says. He can’t be serious.
“Why would I avoid you? I’ve just been busy. Besides, we live in the same house.”
“Yet, we’re like two ships passing in the night,” he counters. I scoff lightly.
“That’s not true. We’re just both busy, that’s all. I was about to grab lunch before heading to my next class.”
“Well then, let’s have lunch,” he says casually.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Lunch is a sandwich from a vending machine, a quick call to my parents, and then rushing to my next class.”
“A sandwich from a vending machine it is. Then we can both say hello to your parents before class. I’m tired of this passing-in-the-night dynamic.”
Frustration bubbles within me. I really don’t want him here—keeping him out of my mind has been hard enough.
“Can we not do this, please?” I plead. He steps closer, grabs my waist, and presses my back against the car. His body is flush with mine, one of his legs nestled between mine. His lips graze my neck, nuzzling me, and the familiar scent of him coupled with the soft kisses awakens every nerve in my body. My mind shuts down, leaving my body yearning for just a small taste of him.
“We are doing this. I’m spending the day with you. Since you’ve decided not to come home, I’ll just have to come everywhere with you,” he whispers, sending shivers coursing through me.
“Don’t you have a company to run?” I mutter, trying to hold on to reason.
“Not when my wife has gone missing in action every night.”
“Fine. If you want to spend the day eating vending-machine sandwiches and sitting through pharmacology lectures instead of being in some fancy boardroom, who am I to stop you?” I retort.
“Good, glad we’re on the same page. Don’t forget—you still need to call your parents,” he adds dryly.
“I can call them after class,” I answer, avoiding eye contact. There’s no way I’m letting them know about this marriage just yet. But his gaze sharpens.
“They don’t know about me, do they?” His voice hardens, tinged with steel. I want to lie, but his eyes dare me to, so I slowly shake my head. He steps back, hurt flashing in his expression.
“Why?” he asks softly, his voice laden with pain. I take a deep breath and decide to explain.
“My parents are conservative. If I tell them I got married, they’ll first get upset, then worry, which my dad’s health can’t handle. Next, they’ll demand to know why you didn’t ask for my hand or have a traditional wedding with both our families involved. If we somehow get through that, they’ll start asking for grandchildren. And if we explain that school is delaying that, in three years, when you decide to file for a divorce, I’ll be breaking their hearts because they’ll never understand why.” I exhale, then continue.
“The only reason they might accept for a divorce is if I claim you’re abusive, and that wouldn’t be fair to you. Believe me, they’d rain curses down on you for hurting their daughter. You don’t want that.” I stop, watching his face carefully.
“I want to talk to them,” he says firmly, catching me off guard. My mouth drops open before I snap it shut and glare.
“Did you not hear a word I just said?” I sneer.
“I heard everything. That’s why I’m saying, let’s talk to them. But first, let’s grab your lunch,” he insists.
“No, I’m not calling them until you and I have set clear rules.” I fix him with a stern look, refusing to budge. My parents are not to be trifled with.
“Fine. We’ll discuss it later. What time is your next class?”
Relief washes over me, but I mask it with a firm expression. “In forty minutes,” I reply. “You’re not seriously planning to come to pharmacology class with me, are you?” I still can’t fathom what’s going through his mind.
“I am. I’m spending the day with my wife, who, by the way, isn’t wearing her wedding ring.”
“I told you, it’s expensive. Taking it on and off between school and work increases the chances of losing it.” I shift uncomfortably. “You’re not wearing yours, either.”
He flashes his hand, showing the ring, and I’m at a loss for words. I glance away and say, “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.” He’s throwing me off-kilter with all this “husband” talk.
I pick up the pace, but he matches me easily, his strides steady.