Chapter 40
40
M aeve
So this is where the magic happens? I think, looking around. Everything is surgically precise and soulless. Black and white, with the former dominating the space. No surprise here either.
I walk up to the giant sex tatami that is his bed. It’s a California king. Or even larger. Longer. Just like the man himself.
Sighing, I grab the hem of my shorts and adjust my underwear. It’s not very comfy when it’s so damp. Torturing him made me even wetter than I was before, and I’m sure I’m on the verge of being dehydrated now.
Feeling the silky sheets with my palm, I imagine how nice it would feel on my heated skin.
“Are you planning on jumping in there? Know there will be consequences if you do. ”
I whip around, startled, but quickly try to regain the upper hand.
“Don’t dream about it. I was just thinking that of course you’d take a larger room with a larger bed.”
He lifts his brow up. “Maybe it’s because I’m large?” Innuendo is loud in his words. And I’m here for it. “Or maybe because it’s my apartment, and I didn’t need to share it with someone else.”
“Or it’s because you wanted a match for your ego?”
He chuckles. “Might be that too.”
I shrug, walking past him toward the door. “You can have it back and fit all your large particles in here. I don’t like the room anyway.”
“Why?” he asks, sighing, knowing it’s a trap, and he’s walking into it.
“You don’t know why?” I ask from under my lashes, totally flirting.
“I have a feeling you’ll enlighten me.”
“Because.” I stop next to him. “This. Is.” I rise on my tippytoes to his face. “Bo-ring.”
A muscle on his jaw twitches. I can’t tell if it’s irritation or laughter. Might be both. “Go to bed, Maeve. You’ll be jet-lagged tomorrow.”
“Good idea. Good night.” I rush from the bedroom before we both jump each other’s bones.
Walking through the second floor, I find three more bedrooms. Why he needs so many beats me. Maybe he has women coming over all the time, and all of them can’t fit in one bed.
I halt to a sudden stop. Does he? Bring women here. He’d better not because I will not stand being disrespected like that even in this fake marriage.
I choose the furthest room from his. It’s beige. It has a king-sized bed with a million red pillows, a fluffy comforter, two nightstands, a wall-mounted TV, and two doors.
I check the first one. It’s a bathroom. I turn the light on for a second, run my eyes around, and turn it back off. Then I flip it back on. The bathroom is stocked with many things. I come closer and check the labels. Everything is coconut and mango scented. My favorite scents. I open cabinets and drawers and find many things I used to love before I left my parents’ house. Because these things are expensive, and I’ve never had enough money to buy them. My favorite lotions, creams, and makeup. In different colors. I swallow a lump in my throat. Where did it come from?
When the initial shock disappears, I turn the lights off, carefully close the door, and move to the next one. Not knowing what to expect after the bathroom, I pull it open slowly. It’s a closet. The closet. The closet of the dreams of any woman out there. And it’s stocked too.
If I expected to see boring black and white colors, I’m proven wrong. The clothes are colorful. And edgy—I discover when I start moving through the racks. Tons and tons of clothes. Dresses, shorts, pants, shirts, leggings, boots. Everything is here. And every single thing is something I’d wear. Everything.
My eyes are tingling. My nose is itchy. I rub it, trying not to cry. But I can’t.
Somehow, in this short period of time, he’s come to know me more than anyone else. More than my parents have ever known me.
I run my hands through expensive materials, remembering how much I loved the feel of it. How much I loved creating new clothes from what I had. Because what our parents made us wear was awful and boring and belonged in a fire.
I don’t notice how my cheeks turn wet. I start wiping them with no use—the tears don’t stop coming. And those are happy tears. I didn’t know it felt so nice to be seen.
When the stream turns not so steady, I wipe the leftovers from my eyes and cheeks and head outside, not bothering to look at the mirror. Ezra has seen me at my worst, plus I’m not there to seduce him.
“Ezra,” I start, pushing the door open. “I wanted to?—”
He turns around. His hair is wet. The droplets of water run down his bare chest, then down to his equally bare torso, and then get absorbed by the white towel wrapped around his hips. The towel reaches his knees but doesn’t cover the bulge underneath it. I know Ezra is packing, and his package happens to come in equally big sizes of everything. He likes big things. Turns out, I like them too.
“What happened?” He strides toward me. “Why are you crying?” He grabs my chin and brings my face up, his intense eyes darting between mine.
“I’m just—” I clear my throat, trying to find my wits again. I’ve never been known to lose my brain cells over a naked man, but Ezra has been showing me the new me. Apparently, his naked body has this effect on me.
He suddenly pulls away, dropping his hand. “Is that another trick?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
“No,” I say back simply. “I was just touched by your gesture.”
“What gesture?”
“That gesture.” I wave back at the door like he can understand me. “You know, buying me all that stuff.”
The apples of his cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. And I don’t think it’s the after-shower effect. “I didn’t buy anything. I have a personal shopper who did.”
“I figured.” I smile softly. “But they wouldn’t have known what to buy if you didn’t tell them. ”
He shrugs one shoulder, grabbing the hem of his towel and tucking it in deeper.
“Thank you. No one has ever done something like that for me.”
Another shrug. “Yeah.”
My smile grows more confident. This is new territory for him too! So I nod and turn to walk back to my room. But I stop right before I leave.
“How did you know I was going to pick that room?” I ask him with narrowed eyes.
“Really?” He quirks a brow, and another drop falls down and rushes down his face to his corded neck.
“How?”
His chest expands with a sigh. “It’s the only room with any color in it. You like color.”
“How do you know?”
He just keeps watching me without replying.
“How, Ezra?”
“I know you more than you think I do.”
I pull the inside of the cheek between my teeth—something I do when I’m thinking. Hard. When I draw a blank, I ask him again with a sigh, “How did you know about the products and all that stuff? How did you know those are my favorites?”
“Your sister.”
“What?”
“I asked your sister to put everything you like in the cart, and then just asked Martin to get it delivered here.”
“She helped you?”
I don’t know why the idea of my sister helping him sounds more unrealistic than him actually doing that. He confirms with a nod.
“Makes sense now,” I mumble to myself. “Thank you anyway. ”
I leave his room and slowly walk to mine when I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Maeve.”
I pause and turn around. He’s leaning his back on the doorframe of his bedroom. “Yeah?”
“I picked the clothes myself.” He clears his throat before continuing. “Well, not myself, but I told Martin what you like and what you don’t.”
“You did?” I whisper. He nods.
“Beatrice doesn’t know you. Well,” he clears his throat, “the new you.” He flicks his hand in the air as if it can explain what he means by that. But the odd thing? It does explain a lot. But it also terrifies me even more.
I can’t come up with a smart reply, so I go with the one that seems the most sincere. “Thank you.” Why does my voice sound so small?
“Do you like it?” He sounds so unsure my heart starts aching.
“Yes,” I whisper, swallowing tears down. “I love it. All of it.”
He scratches the back of his head and looks to the side. “Good.”
“Thank you,” I say again, not knowing how to express my gratitude for not only buying clothes and stuff but buying something I like. Another short, unsure nod from him.
Before I leave him, I have another burning question.
“Does Martin buy all your clothes?”
“No, never,” he replies firmly.
“But—” I feel my brows drawing together. “Why did he buy my clothes then?”
He watches me silently. His stare is heavy. His mood is cloudy. It’s suddenly different. I think he’ll leave me without an answer when he starts speaking. His voice is quiet .
“Because I’d never trust something so personal and so important to a personal shopper. I trust Martin.”
“So important?” I ask in a whisper.
He lifts his chin. “Something that will touch your skin and hug your body. I don’t trust anyone else with that.”
“Oh,” I say, blinking like a silly, brainless doll.
“Good night, Maeve.” He pushes from the frame and walks back to his room, closing the door behind him.
And leaving me with the worst case of unresolved feelings.