Genevieve
Chapter thirty-one
The kitchen lights were dimmed low, casting a soft glow against the countertops. The rain had just started outside, tapping gently against the windows in the way only a gloomy New York evening could.
I stood barefoot on the cool tile, my slippers long forgotten as I’d gotten comfortable, the silk of my slip brushing my thighs, hair still damp from the shower. A pot simmered on the stove, the smell of rosemary and garlic clinging to the air.
I stirred the pasta slowly, trying not to think of California, or to admit how much I enjoyed the sun, Reid’s penthouse, the little moments that had us almost resembling a family… and the sex. The amazing, mind-blowing, life-altering sex that had me in my mind about it constantly.
The last time I’d stood in this kitchen, late into the night, daydreaming, thinking, like this, he showed up, claimed me in ways I’d only had in memory ever since he’d left. The thought of that night had my skin going hot, my face flushing as I stirred… or maybe it was the boiling water.
Upstairs, I could hear the water running, followed by Cara’s light laugh and Eugene’s squeals.
Bath time, she’d told him after I’d finished my own relaxing shower.
Just a quick rinse before she headed out.
And I’d nodded, surprised at how… normal this had become.
Letting her help, letting someone else take care of him for once.
All of a sudden, it didn’t feel like losing him anymore.
I turned at the sound of the front door opening. Raymond was still at the hospital with Jamie and I’d gotten so used to waiting up for Gregory that I knew it wasn’t him.
His footsteps moved through the hallway. A moment later, Reid appeared in the doorway, jacket slung over one shoulder, collar loosened, top buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the strong, veined forearms that still made my breath hitch in spite of everything.
His eyes landed on me: all domestic with damp hair, bare legs, cooking in a quiet kitchen.
Something flickered across his face.
“Making dinner?” he asked.
I gave a small shrug. “Thought I’d get started now while I had the time,” I said softly without turning away from the stove.
He stepped closer. “Cara upstairs?”
“Mmm.” I nodded. “Giving Eugene a quick bath before heading out.”
He leaned against the counter, watching me. “You sure she isn’t taking away from your quality mother and son bonding time?” I could hear the mischievous teasing in his tone.
I rolled my eyes at his antics. “It’s been a long few days, okay?” I admitted, then shrugged. “She’s… good with him.”
“I told you. She knows his routines.” He didn’t gloat, just stated it simply like he did on the plane in that same way that reassured my place in my son’s life.
I finally glanced at him. “Not better than I do,” I whispered, the same words he told me, and he only hummed, pushing off the counter before disappearing behind me. I turned back to the stove.
“You know,” he said eventually, “my mind is still stuck on the last time we were in this kitchen…” He stepped closer. “You were braced against that counter—”
“Don’t,” I warned, but it came out more breathless than I’d intended. His hands ended up resting on my hips, his frame towering over me as he watched me from his height.
“Am I not allowed to reminisce the memory of you on my tongue, mon amour?“ His French hit my ears in a way that made my knees buckle almost instantly.
I cursed in my mind, my face flushing even more.
I swallowed, forcing my hands to keep moving.
The spatula trembled slightly as I stirred the chicken simmering in the pan.
“You’re shameless,” I murmured, and his hands only wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I couldn’t help but melt against his chest, sighing in relief almost, like having him near me could let me breathe again.
“Can you blame me? I’ve waited a long time,” he said, low in my ear, “to remember out loud.”
At his words I froze. The steam from the pan curled up into my face, but it wasn’t the heat that made my eyes sting. My mind flickered to older memories with Gregory.
He didn’t touch me like this. He didn’t lean in close, press his chest to my back like he needed to memorize the shape of me or whisper sweet nothings in my ear like they meant something, like I meant something.
He would ask what was for dinner and walk away before I answered. He kissed my cheek like it was an afterthought. Helped me believe stability was the same thing as safety. That routine was love. That settling meant surviving.
I let him into my relationship with Reid, into my body. Into my child’s life.
Hiding all of that from the one man who would’ve burned the world down to keep us safe. A familiar hollowness bloomed within. My shoulders tensed, my body going rigid under Reid’s hands, cold shame sliding down my spine.
You don’t get forgiveness yet.
His words rang loud in my ears. Maybe I didn’t deserve his forgiveness. Maybe I never would.
My hands moved slower, my mind drifting further, the past sinking like a weight on my shoulders. I didn’t notice the tears until one hit the counter.
Then his hands gripped tighter. Grounding me, bringing me back from wherever I was.
He leaned in again, breath brushing the side of my neck. “Vieve…”
“I’m sorry.” It was barely audible.
Reid sighed before he turned the fire down, the flames softening to a low flicker, then eased me into him with a tug that left no room to protest. His arms wrapped around me fully now.
My cheek pressed against his chest, the thump of his heart beneath my ear. It felt wrong to rest there. And yet, it felt like the only place I could breathe.
He didn’t rush to comfort me or tell me I was forgiven. He just held me. For tonight, that should’ve been enough. It wasn’t. It would never be enough.
“I wish I could go back,” I whispered, “undo it all… and I can’t.”
His chin rested atop my head. His voice was quieter now as he spoke. “I know.”
A minute or so passed and his hand slipped up my back, resting at the base of my neck, thumb brushing once across the curve there. His touch was so gentle and reverent, you wouldn’t have guessed I’d told him I ruined everything only minutes ago.
I felt a warmth at the back of my knees. Tiny arms wrapped around my legs, clinging tight. My brows furrowed as I glanced down. Eugene had snuck in silently, comforting me in the only way he knew how.
Then, a soft throat-clearing sounded from the edge of the kitchen. I blinked, lifting my head over Reid’s shoulder.
Cara stood in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face, waving once. “Heading out,” she said, her voice soft.
Reid let go, just enough for me to turn in his hold. I looked down again. Eugene was still hugging my legs, damp curls pressed to my thigh, his tiny sockless feet cold against the floor.
“Thank you, Cara,” Reid said for me, and she nodded again.
“Of course, Mr. Kaufman. See you in the morning.” And with that, she disappeared down the hall, door clicking behind her a minute later.
I brushed a hand through Eugene’s hair. He looked up at me with a frown, then lifted both arms high, his silent demand to be picked up. Reid moved first, scooping him into one arm like muscle memory, his other arm easing around my waist like second nature.
“Hi, Lovebug,” I whispered as he watched me.
He blinked at me, then frowned again. “You’re crying, Mom.”
I let out a shaky laugh, my fingers brushing my cheek, Reid’s hand running up and down my back gently. “I am, baby. But I’m better now.”
He nodded solemnly, resting his head against Reid’s shoulder.
“Dinner’s almost ready, bud,” Reid murmured. “Think we should help Mom finish up? Make her feel better, what do you say?”
Eugene nodded against him, eyes already half-closed, small fingers curling in Reid’s shirt. I smiled at his version of helping as I turned to finish what was left, a quiet calm filling the kitchen as Eugene mumbled and chatted with us about his day. Reid never let him go or left my side.
And for a second, this felt right. For a second, everything seemed natural. This… this was the family I’d always wanted. But instead of basking in the moment, I could only smile through the pain, hating every lingering second, knowing it was too late to be real.