Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Notice the little shit today and have lots of fucking gratitude.
—From Remy’s Badass Bitch Affirmations
Remy
“Who are you talking to?”
Remy yawned as she tied the sash to her silk robe—one that matched her nightgown. It was a silly indulgence, but after a childhood of tattered, second-hand clothes, this was a private way she could spoil herself. Fancy clothes at work didn’t make sense.
She moved further into the living room and froze. “And, more importantly, what in God’s name do you have on your face?”
“Not in God’s name, my queen. In the name of self-care, relaxation…and fine line obliteration.” Sebastian sat up and removed the bizarre contraption. “More importantly, good morning, my queen. Chicane, say good morning to Mommy.”
Her fake almost-husband removed the mask, rising smoothly from the couch, the muscles underneath his athletic shorts bunching in a most appealing way. One particular muscle of his had been on her mind all week at work. It had been an ongoing battle to stop picturing his cock sliding into her.
Around midweek, she’d awakened at two in the morning needing to empty her bladder. Sebastian had been sprawled out on his back, the sheet draped at his waist. Remy had been tempted—so freaking tempted—to pull back the sheet and suck him awake.
But common sense won out. She was already short on sleep and she’d needed to be up within a couple hours. Still, it had taken her much longer than normal to fall back to sleep.
Remy cleared her throat and reached for Chicane, tucking him under her chin. “Good morning, my darling. I’m sorry I’ve barely seen you this week.”
Despite her early wakeup routine, Remy was not a morning person by any stretch.
It was a struggle to be civil until she had at least one Americano flowing in her system—preferably two.
Heading to the kitchen, home of the world’s most beloved espresso machine, she sneaked a glance at Sebastian.
He really was so panty-droppingly handsome it was almost ridiculous.
But not as ridiculous as him choosing her.
All week, people had whispered about her, growing quiet when she approached and pretending to be talking about something else.
But Remy wasn’t stupid. She’d diligently avoided all media coverage of their Miami trip.
She didn’t have social media—well, she did, but it was an Instagram account Melody had recently set up and posted on as Remy.
Despite her guardrails, inevitably someone would come up to her, flashing some picture from Sunday’s race.
Or a shot from after their trip, usually a shitty one of her coming or going from Evangelist. It was like the paparazzi were battling to take the most unflattering picture of her.
Despite her jam-packed schedule, Brinder had created time to check in with her.
The sneaky bastard had her practice manager put a fake patient into an acute time slot.
More than anyone, Brinder understood what it felt like to be connected romantically with a member of the famous Wheatley acting family.
He’d given her space to vent in the vault about the madcap world of paparazzi and screaming fans who lacked boundaries and common sense.
It was refreshing. And even though she was still ticked at him for taking up an appointment slot, something inside of her had unknotted and relaxed.
“So Chicane gets a ‘good morning’ snuggle, but I don’t?” Sebastian leaned against the island looking sinfully alluring in those athletic shorts and a navy T-shirt that hugged his muscular chest.
“Good morning, Sebastian,” Remy offered with an apologetic half-smile, embarrassed at her poor manners, and suddenly feeling anxious and awkward around him. “Sorry. Still waking up. How are you?”
Fuck me. So formal and stilted.
Exhausted and frustrated by her reversion to social awkwardness, she reached for her favorite mug, given to her by Etta so many years ago. The paint was fading on the ceramic, but she could still make out the words, ‘Bon-the fuck-jour.’
“I’m excellent. Thank you for asking! It’s a gorgeous May morning, and I’m heading to the gym with Brinder in a bit to work out.”
He hopped up on the counter—she tried not to twitch at that—and paused to examine her, almost making her squirm as he took in every inch. But she was too fucking coffee-deprived to squirm.
“You look better. Rested. I’ve been worried.
” His low, soothing voice wrapped around her like a hug.
She sank into its warmth, eyes fluttering closed.
Of course, this was Sebastian, so the peaceful respite ended almost as quickly as it began.
She blinked rapidly, wincing in the way of the caffeine-needy as he launched into a stream of chatter.
“Do you want breakfast? I can make you some eggs. I’m looking forward to visiting the shelter. How were your cases last night?”
Remy rubbed one temple, then held up her hand, Chicane still snuggled in her other arm. “Jesus Christ, Sebastian. Take a breath.”
For the short period they’d cohabitated, Remy had always been gone—either at work or the gym—when he woke, so this was her first real experience of morning Sebastian.
Miami didn’t count, because they’d both been excited for the race on Sunday.
And Monday morning, they’d both struggled to wake up given their…
activities…that had lasted into the wee hours.
“Are you”—she opened one eye—“a morning person?”
He threw his head back and guffawed, and Remy opened the other eye…just to fully appreciate the gorgeous specimen relaxing on her counter.
“You know, I do actually have barstools,” she managed, her lips twitching at his infectious belly laugh.
“I know, my queen. But what’s the fun in that?
” He wiggled his body, as if to press his buttcheeks deeper into the counter.
“And, yes, to answer your question, I am indeed a morning person. There is just something so invigorating about a new day.” He cocked his head.
“Actually, I’m a night person, too. So much of the best fun happens at night,” Sebastian added with a salacious smile.
“Plus, I love the moon. Must be the wolf in me. All phases of it, but those thin crescent moons on an inky night sky get me every time.”
Sebastian hopped down from the counter, tugging the mug from her fingers and placing it under the machine.
“To be fair,” he continued, his back to her as he adjusted the settings to her preferred strength—how did he know that?
—“I love the afternoon, as well. You’ve got a morning behind you, the day is full and blossoming, and you have the promise and sensuality of night ahead.
” He lifted his shoulders, turning slightly to face her, and winked.
“I guess you can say I’m an all-day person. An everything person.”
In her arms, Chicane chittered and chirped his approval. “Did you even take a breath in there? Just curious,” she groused. Too early for this many words.
“I am not going to allow your morning crankiness to bother me, Grumpelstiltskin.”
Sebastian patted the now-grinding machine like it was a pet. And, in fact, she loved that espresso maker almost as much as Chicane. He moved back to her, dropping a kiss on her shoulder—on the exact spot he’d marked her—then reached up to pull a box of Fruity Pebbles out of her cabinet.
“Do I even want to ask why you have sugary kids’ cereal?”
She cast a longing glance at her mug, which wasn’t filling rapidly enough.
Her routine was to wake up with her first Americano on the drive to the gym.
A brisk swim helped with the task. And a second Americano from the hospital’s coffee shop provided the final boost she needed to be properly civilized.
When she’d lived with Etta and Tasha, they would tease her mercilessly about her morning crankiness. Hence the mug.
“You ask because you’re curious, Oscarina the Grouch. And I’ll tell you because I’m magnanimous with my personal truths in the presence of those I care about.”
Her weary brain snagged on those last words, her heart joining in with the little skip dance at being someone who was cared about. It was…a pathetically rare experience in her life. And yet the casual way those words came tumbling out gave her assurance that he meant it.
“When I’m training for my roles, I have a very regimented diet. But I make it a practice to allow myself a food splurge now and then.”
Sebastian handed her the coffee mug, smirking at the words written on it, and she took a fortifying swallow.
“When I was a kid,” he went on to explain, “I stayed with my friend’s family for a week while Honor was having her first surgery.
His mom allowed him to have a breakfast treat once a week if he kept his room clean.
When I saw the Fruity Pebbles in their pantry, I personally cleaned his room.
I even changed the sheets, though I didn’t understand the difference in sizes at the time, so he ended up with a king-size fitted sheet half-wadded under his mattress to make it fit. ”
Remy smiled into her mug at the image.
“And the best part of these”—he waved the box—“is the breakfast broth.”
“Which is…” Remy trailed, unable to stop smiling.
“That, my queen, is the delicious, fruity milk that remains after you finish eating the cereal.”
Her jaw dropped and she busted out laughing. She couldn’t help it. “Sebastian, that’s just…gross. You’re a forty-nine-year-old man. You shouldn’t be putting that crap in your body.”
“I wasn’t aware there was an age limit on breakfast broth,” he harrumphed.
But his eyes were twinkling. “Honestly, I haven’t had these since I was in elementary school.
But I went to the grocery store this week—in disguise, of course—and found myself wandering the cereal aisle.
I saw good ol’ Fred and Barney happily tapping spoons, and I had to have some.
I’ve been waiting for a special occasion to crack open this beauty.
My queen emerging from a six-thousand-hour work week seems just perfect.
” Sebastian paused and dramatically poured a generous amount into a mixing bowl, topping it with fat-free milk.
Remy settled onto a barstool—like a normal adult—and guzzled her coffee while she cuddled Chicane. Sebastian was such a born performer, and she had to admit she was enjoying the show, even if her caffeine hadn’t yet kicked in.
“Delicious yumminess of youth, enter my mouth!”
Sebastian’s booming delivery was worthy of the stage. He took a heaping spoonful and chewed, a small frown unfurling. He swallowed and ate another spoonful—this one smaller.
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he muttered, “Well, that’s a fucking buzzkill,” and tossed the napkin onto the island, glaring at the bowl.
“Something wrong, dear?”
He arched a brow, her innocuous tone not fooling him.
“Yes, something is very, very wrong. I have ruined a core childhood memory. Just the idea of Fruity Pebbles brings back the glorious, memorable scent. This was my favorite childhood treat. And now the magic is gone. The magic is gone!” he wailed, throwing himself around the kitchen.
“Goofball,” Remy mumbled under her breath without heat, a smile tilting up her lips.
“I can never get it back. Now when I imagine my Fruity Pebbles and my beloved breakfast broth, all I will remember is this—this swill!”
Chicane chirruped in solidarity.
“Poor baby.” Remy stood and kissed Sebastian’s cheek. “I’ll make us some eggs.” She handed him the bunny and reached for the refrigerator handle, a wicked smile playing across her face. “So, I’m guessing we shouldn’t have SpaghettiOs for lunch?”
“Evil queen,” Sebastian whispered, and fell to the ground.
It was Remy’s favorite morning ever.