Chapter 19
Nate
Grace is asleep within seconds of lying down.
I watch her breaths even out, her body relaxing slowly.
I could stay here, watching the evening creep in, but I’ve got an app to check on, a dinner to put together, and a dog to walk.
And not in that order. I press a kiss to my wife’s forehead and head outside, finding that Shep is already waiting for me on the deck.
He gives me a doggy grin and I ruffle his ears. “Let’s go, boy.”
We head to the woods encircling the northern portion of the property. There are well-worn paths where Mihirangi and her brothers ran wild when they were kids.
Shep puts his nose down, sniffing enthusiastically, while I call Dare for a catch-up.
He confirms what I’ve been hoping for: the currency error is resolved, and most of our clients have already gotten over it.
He tries to refuse the day’s profits as a bonus for his fast actions, but accepts when I point out that the take will be low, considering how badly the error hit our numbers.
We put together a plan for smoothing the most ruffled feathers—a few big kickbacks to our biggest accounts should do it—then I tell Dare to get an early night.
His diligence has covered everything I’ve missed throughout the last twenty-four hours, and both of us know it.
I ring off, admitting to myself that Nick would have arrived at this point of resolution earlier, and likely at a considerably smaller cost. It stings more than it should and I take a moment to miss my twin.
Shep comes loping back through the trees, whining at me.
“Yeah,” I say, accepting a clumsy cuddle, “it’s just about dinner time, eh?”
Pink streaks of oncoming sunset peek through the canopy above. New spring leaves have begun to unfurl. I breathe deep, making a note to show Grace these pathways soon. She might love her woods as much as she loves her beach.
I leave the ghost of my brother behind and take Shep back to the house.
He gets dinner first, then I prep the steaks I defrosted earlier while a pot of rice simmers on the back burner.
Our veggies will be from the same organic catering company as the soup I served for lunch.
I’m determined to keep Grace’s food as low-allergen as possible; Nick kept reasonably fit, so I don’t think her diet was truly bad before, but I know how often her mother forced rubbish on her.
‘Sweets for her sweet’, which Grace no doubt felt obligated to eat, even if they hurt her.
Thinking of Constance Fucking Reid is enough to make me grit my teeth.
I slow down and pour myself a finger of Scotch.
The last thing I want going into this evening is misplaced anger corrupting my time with Grace.
By rights, I should follow Eileen’s advice and go relax in the sauna; I know my own tension is causing inflammation in my body.
Normally, I’d let heat and light bleed it from me, but I’ve got Grace to take care of.
I sip the Scotch and fry the steaks, Shep whining at my side until I kick him out of the kitchen.
It’s tempting to refill my glass, but I don’t.
Now that I have a wife, there are other ways to deal with stress—for both of us.
I cover the steaks to let them rest, and set the table in the dining room.
Time to wake Grace. My stomach swoops pleasantly when I see her beneath the blankets, curled up tight in my bed. I savour the sight for a full minute before I sit down on the edge of the mattress. My hand goes to the dip of her waist—too thin.
I’m grateful all over again that she’s mine sooner than I expected. At what cost? part of me whispers, but I shake it off. I never wished Nick dead. I would have bided my time and taken her when the moment was right.
“Grace, my love.” I lean in to kiss her cheek. “Time for dinner.”
She replies with a murmur of nonsense, shifting towards me on the mattress. I smile, enjoying her half-awake sweetness.
“Still so sleepy.” I let my hand roam down her waist to the swell of her hip, then to her ass. It’s round, squeezable. “Dinner will get cold if you take too long. Come on, now.”
“N-nate?” she whispers, a question I answer with a kiss. She turns away with a distressed little sound, my lips landing on her ear. “I just want to sleep. Please.”
Patience…
I turn her over to face me.
“We’ve talked about this, Grace. You have to function like a human being in order to be a functional human being. That means eating at mealtimes.”
“Says the guy who only eats once a day.”
That startles a laugh out of me. “And now you get to watch me eat my single daily meal. Come on, love. Don’t make a guy eat all alone.”
She sits up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m not hungry.”
“I’m going to feed you anyway.” I flick the blankets off her, seize her wrists, and pull her up. “Either you walk or I carry you. Let’s go.”
She frees herself with a huff, but she’s up. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’d best not forget it.”
I’m tempted to take her wrist again, to keep her at my side as we walk down the accordioning hallways, but Grace is skittish. I settle for leading the way.
“We’re eating in here tonight?” she asks, looking worried when I gesture her into the dining room.
“It’s our first meal together in our first house.
” I’ve laid the table beautifully, with candlesticks, long tapers, and linen napkins.
A violin concerto plays on the hidden speakers, adding to the soothing atmosphere.
I can’t wait for the time when Grace’s own style will feature here.
For now, it’s simple but elegant. I push her chair in and bend down to kiss her hair. “Be back in a sec.”
The steaks are perfectly rested and the rice is ready. I put everything on a tray and carry it through to the dining room. Grace is sleep-rumpled and sorrow-eyed in the flickering candlelight.
Beautiful.
I serve her first. She stares down at the plate. “Did you make all this?”
“The ribeyes and rice, yes. The veggies, no. Let me know what you like best, and I’ll make sure we always have more of it.”
She hesitates, but I dig in. The best part of eating one meal a day—aside from the immense clarity of mind—is how fucking good food tastes when you’re properly hungry.
The steak is medium rare and my body sings with gratitude as I cut into it.
Grace eats her meat slowly, piece by small piece, leaving the bloodiest bits to one side.
I watch her as I savour every bite, enjoying how the candlelight softens the shadows beneath her eyes and catches on the waves of her hair.
I swallow the last bit of my steak and reach for the covered tray, where a second pair of ribeyes sit under tinfoil.
“Another?”
“No,” she says, shifting the rest of the food around the plate without eating it.
I serve myself a second steak, the rarest of the bunch.
“Eat your rice. You need to balance your macros.”
“I have no idea what that means and you know it.”
I raise my brows inwardly, even as I take another bite.
“You need to balance carbs, proteins, and fats if your body is going to process food properly. If you don’t have your carbs, you’ll transition into ketosis.
It’s not a bad thing, but you don’t need that kind of stress right now.
So have at least a few bites of rice, then eat some veggies.
They’re sautéed in duck fat. You’ll love them. ”
She glances at my plate. “If macros are important, why don’t you have any rice?”
“Because it makes me bloat, which I only found out thanks to Eileen. Come on now—do I have to spoon-feed you? Because,” I set my cutlery down with a clink, “I will.”
Her answer is a resentful mouthful of rice. She eats about half her portion of rice, but finishes the green beans. I make a note to get more.
“Now,” I say, when she puts aside her cutlery, “let’s talk about who gets access to your bullet journal.”
She doesn’t meet my eye. “I won’t do it.”
She’s playing with non-sequiturs, forcing me to the defensive before we’ve even really started.
I let a measure of impatience seep into my voice. “What, exactly?”
“I won’t use my bullet journal at all if you’re going to use it against me.”
I let out a scoff, then finish off my vegetables. When I look at Grace again, she’s staring at me, her plate pushed aside. She’s not even close to finishing her meal, but she’s had enough to satisfy me.
“You cooked,” she says, “so I’ll do the dishes.”
I know exactly what she’s doing, escaping both the table and this discussion, but I allow it. “I’ll help you carry things back into the—”
“I’ve got it,” she says, setting her dishes on the tray and coming around the table for mine. I watch her face, which reddens.
Interesting.
I realise this is the first instance of Grace serving me, and I wonder if that’s what has her flustered.
I sip my water as she scuttles away, listening to the sound of the tap turning off and on in the kitchen, the scrubbing of a sponge against the cast iron.
She has no idea how to handle the skillet, of course, but that doesn’t matter.
I’ll re-season it later. The noise dies down after a few minutes, and I picture Grace leaning against the island counter, eyes distant as she tries to figure out what to do.
How to escape properly, or else extend her power within the situation.
I get up, taking my empty glass into the kitchen. I find Grace staring out the back door, towards the dark forest. I put my glass into the dishwasher then approach from behind. Her eyes widen in the glass of the French doors, her image dusky.
“Come, little heart.”
“Where?”
She sidles away. I stop her with an arm around her waist.
“Where we’re going to settle everything in our marriage: the bedroom.”
She shakes her head, messy hair sliding over her shoulders. “I don’t want to.”
I ignore that and get into what matters. “Do you need to go to the bathroom? If so, now is the time.”
“Why are you asking me that?”