Chapter 42
42
M aeve
Waking up in a comfortable bed seems like a foreign thing to do. I’d been couch-surfing for a long time before I ended up on the island where the sand and palm tree bed weren’t so comfortable either. Until the last night when Ezra’s chest became my pillow. That was very cozy. And warm. And safe. It felt right .
I didn’t wake up on his chest this morning, but this still feels like a step in the right direction.
I know I’m alone in the apartment before I even step foot outside my room. The place seems empty. Even with Ezra staying in a separate bedroom, I knew when he was here. The place was alive. And now, it’s lonely. Especially with the cold white walls and surgical furniture. I just want to wreak havoc and make it cozy. A few things out of place will make it look so much homier.
I take a hot shower and pour so many products on myself I’m sure I smell like a perfume store. Zero regrets about that though. I’ve missed having good things in life—sue me for that.
In the kitchen, I make myself a cup of coffee and grab a fresh muffin from the counter, not wondering where it came from. Ezra is a billionaire, I’m sure he has people delivering goodies to his place all the time.
Then it’s time to go and cry over how amazing my new closet is. I can’t believe Ezra knows me so well in such a brief time.
As I’m looking through the pieces of clothing and touching them with my hands, I wonder if he knows me better than I do. Or is it this mysterious Martin? The hidden figure like Zorro, helping the King brothers along the way. Whoever it is, I feel seen for the first time in many years. If ever. And this is because of Ezra.
After a quick run-through of my new closet, I get a headache from so many options, so I quickly throw together the first things that come to my hand. It’s a pink flowy skirt with a white off-shoulder sweater—a piece of my tattoo is peeking out on my arm—fishnet tan tights, and pink combat boots, which look absolutely adorable.
To finish the look, I take a black puffy jacket to put on later. It’s unusually warm for mid-October, and I’d probably be fine with something thinner. But remembering how cold I was earlier this month in my revitalized cardigan makes the doubt about choosing the outerwear disappear in the blink of an eye—the warmer, the better.
When I come to the mirror, I get a pleasant surprise. The person looking back at me seems more like me than I ever was. I pile my hair on the top in a messy bun and let a few strands around my face loose. A tan-colored tiny backpack finishes my outfit, even though I don’t have anything to put in there besides a new lipstick or something that Ezra bought for me.
When I go to the kitchen, I find something I can definitely throw in my backpack. On the kitchen island, right where we played our games yesterday, lies a black credit card with my name on it. I could cry out about being an independent woman who doesn’t need one man’s money. But I’m not independent yet. And I do need his money. So I stash the card in my bag, grateful to Ezra for thinking about that.
Next to the card, there’s a phone. I take it, assuming it’s now mine. No one will find me complaining about that because, quite honestly, I missed having the ability to Google things when I need to. Having a flip phone reminded me how to use my brain and not rely on technology so much, but I missed that wonderful time when I didn’t need to use my brain and could just Google the bus schedule.
I tap the screen, and it lights up, asking for a password. Well, that’s a pickle. Maybe the phone isn’t really mine. Just out of curiosity, I decide to try something and press ten-ten. The home screen instantly lights up on the phone. Ezra used our wedding date as a passcode. He’s turning out to be a total marshmallow.
I pull up the contacts and find three names in there: George, Martin, and Husband. Feeling warmth spreading through my chest, I eat breakfast at the kitchen island, enjoying this new feeling I’m not familiar with: happiness.
Then, I decide to look around the apartment and see how I can make this place better. I mean, it’s my home now too. Why not?
A quick walkthrough tells me everything I need to know: I’ve got a lot of work to do. To my utter shame, I pause in Ezra’s room. His bed is unmade. No wonder—he doesn’t strike me as the type to make his own bed. He probably has people come over here and do it for him. No judgment—if I could afford it, I’d be doing it too.
Should I just lie in his bed? Like for a second. It looks so comfortable.
Why not? I crawl on top of it. Looks like he sleeps on the left side of the bed, so I move to the right side, pretending this is where I’m supposed to be.
As I close my eyes and let out a loud groan of pleasure, a female voice cries out. “Dios mío! I’m so sorry!”
I jump up, startled. A woman in a black uniform in her late forties is gawking at me from the door. She just apologized for startling me, and yet, she’s not leaving. Instead, she keeps staring at me with a wide open mouth.
I crawl off the bed and try to get myself together.
“Hello?” I half ask.
“I’m so sorry. You must be the new Mrs. King. I mean the only Mrs. King. Besides the old Mrs. King.” Her cheeks turn red. “I mean not old, but the elder one.”
I chuckle. “Stop. Don’t worry. I’m Maeve.” I walk up to her to offer her a hand. “But yes, Maeve King.”
“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes once again. “They told me Mrs. King will be here, but when she’s here, she’s in the guest bedroom, you know. I didn’t expect her to be here.” She waves at me and at the bed, making me laugh. Because no, I don’t know. “It’s just,” she continues, “I’ve never seen anyone but Mr. King and the old Mrs. King,” she pales, “I mean the mother King. The other King.” The more she talks, the redder her cheeks become.
“Please, don’t be so scared. I was homeless a month ago, so don’t feel like you have to treat me any different. I don’t belong to this world, you know.”
She blinks. Then blinks again.
“What did you mean when you said you didn’t expect anyone here?”
The woman looks around and then turns to me with a suddenly mischievous smile on her face. “I mean,” she sounds surer of herself, “I’ve never seen a woman here.”
“In his bed?”
She lowers her voice. “In his place.”
I smile at her with narrowed eyes. “How long have you been working for him?”
“Almost five years.”
“And you’ve never seen anyone here?”
She leans closer to me. “No one.” Her eyes sparkle. “But I’m glad he’s got one of us for a wife. You know, simple people. About time someone showed him how to be human.”
I rear back in mock horror. “Is he unfair?”
“No!” she replies quickly. “He’s very fair. He pays more than enough and always tips us well. But he’s—” She pauses, chewing on her lip.
“What?” I edge closer.
“He’s a bit standoffish. And never talks, you know. Like he doesn’t say hi or bye.”
I edge a little closer. “I think I know why.”
“Why?”
I look around, pretending I’m scared of onlookers. “He is very shy. And very awkward. He’s probably scared of you.”
“Oh, Dios mío.” She places her open palm to her chest once again. “That poor boy.”
“He is.” I nod. “So don’t even think he’s bad or something.”
“He’s just scared?”
“Yep.” I pop the p . “Very much so.”
“To think of it, I remember when I was working for his parents?—”
“You worked for his parents?” My ears perk up.
“Yes. For like ten years before I started working for him.”
Interesting. “What happened? ”
“His father used to be a…” she mumbles something incomprehensible under her breath.
“What?”
She mumbles again.
“What?”
“A dick!” she nearly yells. “He was a dick.”
“Oh.” That’s all I can say without bursting out laughing. “How so?”
“He was always making them kids trying to compete with each other.” Her voice is full of disapproval, and I second that. “But he always put a lot of pressure on the eldest one. Even when that poor boy was little, he was never allowed to be little. I remember how devastated he was when they came back from the trip to his nana, and their father never let them go there again.” She starts nodding her head. “It’s their mom’s mom, you know. I’ve never seen her myself. And I don’t even remember when I’ve seen Mrs. King the last time.” The woman looks around as if to check that no one joined our little duet. “Now it actually makes sense what you said about him being shy and awkward. Now I see that. With pressure from his father like that, anyone would turn cuckoo.”
Well, look at that. I meant it as a joke to loosen her up around the house, so she doesn’t think ill of Ezra, but it’s turning out to be true. Unfortunately. Looks like we’re truly more alike than we both are willing to admit.
We chat some more before I bid her goodbye and walk to the elevator. Even growing up with rich parents, we’ve never had a penthouse because it was in bad taste to live inside the city. Rich suburbs were a way to show off to everyone what you were made of.
When the elevator’s door chimes open, I step outside only to meet George, the driver from before. He rises to his feet as soon as he sees me .
“Mrs. King,” he says with a short nod. I’m beginning to dig this new name of mine.
“Hello, George. Please, call me Maeve.”
“As you wish, Maeve. Where shall we go?” He motions for me toward the glass door outside.
“Are you sticking to me today like a guard?”
“More like a chauffeur, to drive you around the city as you please. So you don’t have to walk around this dangerous place.”
I level him with a stare.
“I think Mr. King was worried about the city more,” he adds with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.
That makes me chuckle. “Let’s go, prison guard. I need to see my husband.”
He nods with a smile.
In the car, I try to get more information about my new husband from his driver who, obviously, knows more than anyone else because he’s always where Ezra is. But George is tight-lipped. So I give up on this idea, moving it to the back of my mind for later when he’s more comfortable with me.
When the car stops in front of the building, George comes to open my door.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” I tell him, looking around, hoping no one sees. I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door.
“This way, please.” He ignores me and proceeds to open yet another door for me. The building one.
Security rushes to us, and George stops them with a wave of his hand.
“Let me introduce you to Mrs. Maeve King,” he tells them.
All three men look between each other with a puzzled look on their faces, but they are quick to offer greetings. Then, George leads me to the elevator. He waits for me to step inside, and when the doors are about to close, he says, “The top floor.”
“Thank you, George,” I reply warmly and press the appointed button.
When the doors quietly slide open, I’m greeted with shouting. A man shouting. A very angry one. My new husband. Great timing, Maeve.
“Well, hello there,” a male voice greets me a few seconds into my walk toward the angry shouting. I jump, startled again. What’s up with my nervous system these days?
The most stylish man of all stylish men on the planet is looking at me with open interest. He’s leaning his hip on a printer. A stack of paper in his hands. His suit is gray with bright, golden details. Something that should be approached carefully, but he makes it work. I like two-toned jewelry, but I don’t see how it can work in an office wardrobe. It’s playful, but it’s for a specific setting. And yet, he proves me wrong. His suit is flawless, and the whole office interior just matches him.
Right off the bat, I know it’s Martin. And I instantly know why Ezra would trust him to pick clothes that would ‘hug and touch my body.’ Hubby, you big, possessive shit.
I also get the feeling that I’ve seen him somewhere. A very strong feeling, but I can’t place him anywhere no matter how much I try. I’ve always been bad with faces, and it got worse when I moved to New York.
“Hello, Martin,” I say with a neutral smile, trying to figure out what he knows about me before I compliment him on his taste or something like that. I might have called Ezra awkward, but I’m the one who lives with a foot in my mouth. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he replies with a way warmer smile than mine and then instantly narrows his eyes as they scan over my figure. “Well, I don’t know how you made this combination work, but you do. Damn, you go.”
I glance down at myself, chuckling. “Funny, but I was thinking the same thing about you. How you can pull off a two-toned suit like that is beyond me.”
He swats the invisible dust away from his shoulder with a smug smile. “I’ve got superpowers.”
“That you do,” I confirm, giving him another onceover. “Thank you for, you know, all of this.” I gesture at myself.
“Oh, please.” He waves me off. “I don’t remember having such a fun assignment before, so it was very beneficial for me too. Like therapy.” He presses his open palm to his chest. “I’m happy you like it though. I wasn’t sure, you know.”
“I’m not picky,” I say with a shrug.
“He is.” He points his index finger at the office where the shouting continues. “He was very specific about the things I needed to buy.”
I feel my brows drawing together. “What do you mean?”
“Well.” He looks at the shut office door to make sure it’s still closed, I assume, and continues. “He explained the feeling to me.” He widens his eyes.
“The feeling?” I ask, confused.
“The feeling of you.” He stares at me with a meaningful look. “ Of you.”
“Of me?” I parrot.
He gives me a slow nod. “Of you. And then I sent him a few things I picked, but he said no-no, Martin.” His tone turns flirty. “That’s not who she is. And then he picked a few things to send to me so I could get a feel of you too.”
Everyone is getting a feel of me in this story, and it makes me slightly entertained.
“Did you?” I ask with a quirked brow and a half smile.
He gives me another onceover. “Looks like I did alright,” he says, a double meaning heavy in his words .
I chuckle and nod. “You did. Thank you.”
Another loud shout makes Martin wince. “He’s not having a good morning.”
“Why?” I ask with genuine interest. For some reason, I have an urge to soothe him.
“Looks like the building won’t be reopening anytime soon.”
“Oh, shit,” I whisper, feeling a wave of guilt washing over me. No matter what happened after, I’m the initial denominator of the whole situation. Me and the fire I caused.
“ Oh shit is right.” He looks at the closed door with a sad look on his face. “I don’t know how he’ll get out of this one.”
With a deep sigh, I square my shoulders and head toward his office.
“Do you want me to put my headphones on?” Martin asks to my back.
I respond to him with a middle finger behind my back, making him laugh.
“Oh, I just might love you, Maeve King.”