Chapter 45
45
E zra
I come back home to an unfamiliar smell. Cooking. Someone is cooking in my virgin kitchen. And singing. The off-key voice makes me pause—the sound bringing me back to the island when Maeve sang at the top of her lungs as I fetched papayas for her.
Carefully padding toward the sound, I try not to spook my pink-haired canary who doesn’t hear a thing because she’s wearing headphones while dancing around my— our —kitchen barefoot, wearing a white T-shirt (mine) and black panties with a yellow smiley face on her ass. Her wild hair, still wet from the shower, is piled on top of her head.
Leaning my shoulder on the wall, I try to enjoy the view for as long as I’m allowed. I’ve never had a woman in my place besides my mom. And seeing Maeve feeling so comfortable around here does some odd things to me.
She’s trying to sing a high note when I can’t take it anymore and start laughing. She jumps on the spot, dropping a spoon on the floor.
“Fucking hell!” Her small hand clutches her chest, lifting the shirt higher and revealing her very enticing legs. “You scared the living crap out of me.”
I make my eyes refocus on her face. “You’ve done the same to all the neighbors with your singing.”
Her eyes narrow viciously. “I will not apologize for having fun.”
“As you shouldn’t.” I walk toward her, watching her reaction. I’m unsure where we stand after her visit to my office, even though I have hope. She tilts her head to the side, curiously watching what I’ll do next. I’m curious too because it’s new territory for me. “I’ll be downstairs so you can enjoy yourself.”
She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “I thought this building was yours.”
“Not this one.” I smile back, walking up to her. “But if you burn this building down too, I might have a chance at buying the land and putting mine here. What do you think? Will you help me?”
She laughs, throwing her head back. A tiny birthmark under her chin makes an appearance for the first time, and I wonder how I haven’t noticed it before.
“I just might. Ask me in the morning again before I have my coffee.” Her eyes are playful, her posture relaxed.
And I go for it.
Wrapping my arms around her back, I pull her to me. Her arms follow the cue to do the same. She feels perfect just like that, with her squished to my stomach.
“What are you making?” I ask, suddenly feeling out of place but eager to learn the rules.
“Noodles,” she replies with a wide smile.
“Noodles? ”
“Noodles,” she confirms with a nod. “When we were on the island, this was all I was dreaming about.”
“Not a steak? Or even a burger?”
“Nope.” A shake of her head. “Noodles. For the past five years, I couldn’t afford steak. Or even a burger at times. So noodles were my comfort food.” Then she adds with a giggle, “Or any food sometimes.”
I don’t know how she can laugh about that because all I feel is anger. At her parents, for the people who were supposed to care for her. They should have fought harder to bring her back. They should have loved harder.
“Do you want to go and get a steak?” I offer with a tight throat. “The biggest one we can find. A double tomahawk.”
“Nope.” She pulls her head back to look at my face. “I’ve learned some mean recipes, so we are eating noodles tonight.”
My eyes dart between hers, and I think I recognize how important it is to her to have this shared meal.
“We’re having noodles tonight.” My voice is firm, leaving zero other suggestions in meal choices for the evening.
With a giant smile on her beautiful face, she lifts up on her tippytoes, plants a quick kiss on my lips, and flies away to the stove.
I wash my hands and walk to the fridge. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“I’ll take whatever you’ll be drinking.”
Fuck, I wanted bourbon, but Maeve is not the bourbon type—I saw how sour her face became when I was drinking it at the hotel. So I grab a bottle of red wine and pour it in two glasses. Soon, she places two steaming bowls on the kitchen island and takes a seat next to me. With her crisscrossed legs in a yoga pose and bare legs, my attention is not on the bowls in front of me.
“So,” her voice brings me back to the food, “we’ve got my favorite recipe I found on YouTube a year ago. It’s got everything you might want to eat.”
I glance at the artfully arranged bowl. Even the egg, cut in half, looks enticing. Taking the chopsticks and pulling the noodles out, I’m determined to eat it even if the food tastes like shit. I’ve never been a noodles guy, but I’ll become one if she wants me to.
To my surprise, the food tastes amazing. Quickly finishing my bowl, I drink the broth and ask for seconds. My request must make her happy because she jumps to her feet with a giant smile on her face and fixes me another bowl.
We chat about nothing and everything. The mood is light, the words are flowing. Until I bring up her escape. But I need to know. I need to know what happened that made her run away from the house where she had everything and go to poverty where she had to sleep in the coffee shop. Yes, she has shit for parents. It’s understandable. But I’m sure there was some major catalyst in this story.
“Why did you leave your parents’ house, Maeve?”
My question makes her pause with chopsticks halfway to her mouth.
“Because I wasn’t happy there.” Her mood gets cloudier with every word.
“I bet you weren’t.” It’s time to push. I need to know, no matter how much it will hurt. Because I need to know whom I’ll need to hurt. “But what really made you run away?” I move my chair closer to her. “What happened, Maeve? Tell me.”
She sucks her lip between her teeth, contemplating if she should continue. And I just know I’m not going to like the story.
“Maeve.” I gently place my hand on her knee, giving her the comfort to continue .
“They wanted me to marry this awful dude who was too handsy.”
I feel my jaw clench shut. The desire to smash her father’s face is strong. For trying to marry his eighteen-year-old daughter to some dickhead. And then to punch said dickhead. Many, many, many times.
“I suspect your parents didn’t do anything to protect you?” My voice sounds foreign to me. Like I’m witnessing myself speak from out of my body.
“Protect?” Her short-lived laugh is sad. “They wanted me to marry him. Didn’t matter what he did.”
Another stab in my chest. “Did he?—”
“Nah.” She rolls her eyes. “I’d never let a dickhead like him touch me when I didn’t want him to. So he probably has one testicle less after our dinner. Whatever.” She shrugs her shoulder nonchalantly. “I’m over it.”
I squeeze my hand on her knee, not feeling over it . I’ll find that man. And I’ll talk to him, making sure he has no balls left after. And then I’ll talk to her father—fuck the shares.
“Ezra?” Her soft voice calls out to me, bringing me back from the dark place I’m in. “It’s okay. I’m really over it. Look where it got me.” Her gentle smile lights up some of the dark corners of my mind, making me want to believe her. But it doesn’t mean I won’t be having the talks with those douchebags. Maeve has never had anyone in her corner before, but now she has me. And I can be a vicious motherfucker when someone of mine is touched. And she is mine.
“Ezra?” she calls again. “I got you something.”
I rear back in surprise. “You got me something?”
“Yes. Hold on.”
She jumps off the chair and runs out of the kitchen. A click of her door and then her quick footsteps. Back in the kitchen, she pauses, looking unsure.
“What’s the matter, Maeve? What happened? ”
Her arms are crossed behind her back—looks like she’s holding something. “I walked by this place today when I went to the store.” Her neck moves in a swallow. “And then I saw it. So I bought it. It looked like it could, you know, fit you.”
“Fit me? Did you buy me clothes?” I ask, confused. I’m not sure our styles will match, but I’ll humor her and wear it. She took time to find something for me. For me . And I’ll wear it for her.
She quietly pads toward me and places something small on the table. Her hand is still covering it, and at this point, my anticipation is through the roof. I’ll wear her duck undies if she asks me to.
When her small hand pulls away, there’s a black velvet box left on the white surface.
I look at Maeve and ask after I swallow a sudden lump in my throat. “What is that?”
Her hand moves toward the box to open it. “It’s the ring I was supposed to have ready for you during the ceremony.”
Then she rushes to add, “It’s okay if you don’t like it or don’t want to wear it, you know. It’s fine. You know what? Let’s forget about it.” Looking like a spooked animal, she strikes her hand forward, trying to grab the box.
She’s fast. Like a little rattlesnake. But I’m faster. Grabbing the box right before she touches it, I lift it up far from her reach.
“Sit down, Maeve,” I order, using the voice she likes. She can chatter all she wants that I’m a douche and an asshole, but she likes to obey when I talk like that. And she does. She plants her ass on the chair and watches me with her big, blue eyes.
I look inside the box. The golden wedding band is simple. It’s not wide, it’s not heavy. But it’s classy. Something that I’d choose for myself if I didn’t want to impress anyone. Something I can wear every single day.
“What do you think?” she asks in a tight voice.
“I love it,” I say back, taking the ring out of the box and aiming to place it on my finger.
“Wait!” Maeve cries out, making me pause next to my finger. “May I?”
I nod silently, not sure I’ll be able to speak in a regular voice without breaking at the end. She pries the ring from my hand and carefully pushes it on my ring finger. It fits perfectly. Not loose, not tight. It looks like it belongs here.
My gaze moves to her face. She’s biting the inside of her cheek, looking adorably unsure.
I grab her hand and pull her toward me. “Thank you,” I whisper when I hold her in a tight hug.
Her arms come around me, and we stay like that for a long time. Neither of us want to move. It feels like we are where we’re supposed to be. If someone offered me my company back right now in exchange for giving up Maeve, I’d send them straight to hell.
I thought I’d be wearing this ring for her. But with every passing second it’s sitting on my finger, I’m coming to understand that I’ll be wearing it for me.
An hour later, we’re on the couch in the living room, where I’m forced to watch a TV show. I never waste my time on things like TV shows, but if watching these teenagers, who don’t even look like teenagers, swoon over each other lets me hold sighing Maeve for the next five hours, I’m game.
She’s leaning her head on my chest while my arm is wrapped around her body when I decide to pop the question that has been bothering me for some time.
“Mae?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles back, engrossed in this Paxton Hall or whatever it’s called .
“Did you orgasm with me?”
Her whole body goes stiff. I don’t even think she’s breathing.
“Why?” Her voice is robotic.
“Did you?” I repeat, suddenly aware that her answer is very important to me.
“Ezra.” She pulls away far enough to look at my face. “Why are you asking that?”
Ignoring her question, I push mine again. “Did you? Did you really orgasm with me?”
“I did,” she replies with her eyebrows drawn together in obvious confusion, not knowing where the question is coming from. “Why are you asking that?”
“You mentioned on the plane that you’ve never done it with another person.”
Her eyes turn so wide, I’m scared they’ll fall out of the sockets, while her cheeks turn a scorching red. She jumps away to the other side of the couch, covering her face with her hands. “I hate these moments. I hate them.”
“When you don’t orgasm?” I’m barely able to contain my laughter seeing her beet red face.
“No, you idiot!” She throws a pillow in my face. “When I mumble when I’m nervous.”
My body shakes with silent laughter. “So, it looks like I was the first one to make you come, wasn’t I?”
Another pillow flies to my face, but I catch this one midair.
“Oh, you shut it!”
I laugh more.
“Stop looking so smug!”
“I can’t help it,” I wheeze through the laughing. “Talk about playing someone’s body like a tune.”
“Ezra,” she growls like a tiny, wild beast. Her nostrils flare as if that was supposed to be her warning. “Stop it! ”
“Or talk about one’s schlong being very capable.” I’m nearly hiccuping at this point, reminding her about the word I asked her not to use when she described our time together.
“Ew, don’t say that!” She winces in disgust, but her eye is twitching.
“What did you say about our coitus before? Was it fulfilling enough?”
She jumps at me, knocking down the pillow I was holding like a shield. Her thighs are on either side of mine. Her hands are on my shoulders. “I don’t remember. I’m afraid you’ll have to demonstrate again so I can be the judge of it.” Her mischievous eyes dart between mine. Her little tongue peeks out to lick her lips. Teasing. Distracting.
“I’ll be happy to prove myself right now.” My voice is husky. Tone promising. Because I know I can back it up. It’s easy with Maeve, we’re so attuned to each other.
She presses her lips to mine while her pussy pushes on my already hard cock. We make out like teenagers in the back seat of a car. I can’t get enough of her body pressed into mine. I’m drunk on the feel that she’s mine from now on. That I can kiss her anytime I want. That I can fuck her anytime I want.
That I can call her mine.
Three weeks come and go, and I live in a blissful nirvana. The company is losing more and more money. More investors are pulling away. More contracts are getting cancelled. But I’m becoming happier. A paradox. This company and the idea of making it great have been my life for as long as I can remember. I’ve never known what else to do with my life. Until now.
Turns out, coming home to my wife cooking simple meals and stinking up the whole place with garlic gives me more butterflies than any merger would. Seeing her slowly transforming my penthouse into a chaotic mess makes me understand how a real home should look and feel.
Hearing her sing every chance she gets is the only sound that can make me laugh these days. Seeing her cheat in cards and Monopoly with Noah and Martin in our living room fills me with contentment and odd happiness. Her regular visits to my empty office make my awful days bearable.
Seeing her sleeping in my bed with her pink head on my pillow. Watching her steal my comforter every single night, leaving me in the shivering cold. Smelling her coconut scent in every room, on every piece of clothing I own. Laughing at her buying unmatched coffee mugs. Noticing her giving cash or buying food for every single homeless person she meets. Her smiling at every cashier or clerk, even those being rude to her. Or running toward an opening door to hold it so someone with a stroller can go in. Being kind to people who don’t deserve it.
It all makes me realize that I’m falling in love with my wife.