Chapter 45 Gabriel
Gabriel
One Week Later
Sydney unlocks the door and steps into her old apartment. The staff maintain the place weekly, but slightly stale air wafts out through the open door, a natural consequence of remaining unoccupied for more than a year.
She never spent a single night here after our wedding.
Sydney moves farther into the living room and runs her hand across the back of the emerald-green velvet sofa that practically swallows this room whole.
How many times have I stood exactly where I am now and knocked on her door? I can see those first seven years in flashes of images in my mind: then layered over now.
Her door, decked in a Christmas wreath, swinging open. Sydney fighting a smile and me with a present behind my back. Year after year.
Her door opening and Sydney in pajamas, her cheeks flushed fever-bright and me with a container of soup in one hand and a bag from Duane Reade pharmacy in the other.
Me with Rufus in a baby sling.
Sydney accepting the motorcycle boots I passed her.
Sydney, handing me a big bowl of popcorn and dragging me inside, telling me we’d have our meeting when the movie was over because she was busy watching Howl’s Moving Castle.
She fell asleep on me for the first time with both of us sitting on the green sofa I nicknamed “The Monster,” watching what was supposed to be a kid’s movie.
But Sydney hadn’t had much of a childhood, and it was new to her. I sat with Rufus on my thigh and my arm numb where Sydney used me as a pillow. I’d breathed her in, unwilling to risk disturbing the moment by moving so much as an inch.
There were days when I was struggling and made an excuse to see her face. Nights when I was celebrating . . . and still needed to see her face.
I’ve stood in this doorway . . . it must be close to a thousand times. But after we married, this place stopped reminding me of what we’d been and became a symbol of everything we had to lose.
She never fully moved out of here. She packed some bags and a couple boxes of necessities and started sleeping at the penthouse. The apartment is a shrine to her single life, ready and waiting for her to return to it on a moment’s notice.
She won’t, but knowing that doesn’t seem to make it any easier for me to step inside. So I lean against the doorjamb, attempt to hide my tension, and watch her move through the space like she’s slipping into one of her favorite sweaters.
Sydney looks over her shoulder at me. “Would you hate if I had this furniture brought up to our place? I know it doesn’t go with your aesthetic, and we might have to get rid of some of yours to make room for mine. So I’ll understand if you’d rather I didn’t.”
My lips curve upward, a fraction of the tension inside me loosening. “The only reason the penthouse has an aesthetic is because I hired a designer to deal with it. I’d much rather have your taste all over it.”
She grins at my innuendo.
My gaze holds hers, then my smile falls away entirely. “The penthouse is your home. It’s ours. Nothing would make me happier than you moving The Monster and every single other thing you own into it.”
“Don’t just say yes to things you don’t like.”
I snort. “Do you know how many times I fantasized about bending you over the arm of that couch? The cushions are wide enough for us to spoon on. Trust me, I like it. I like all of it.”
“Then why won’t you come inside the apartment?”
I make a show of dragging my attention down her body, then back up again. “I was enjoying the view.”
She turns fully to face me. “Besides that. What’s going on in your head right now?”
In my head? The bitter memory of realizing, months after we married, that she really was going to keep this entire world intact forever.
A place she could run to if I failed her the way her father had.
Somewhere she called home that didn’t include me.
I was allowed to enter only by invitation.
Never the bedroom here. That door had always remained closed. A sanctuary within a sanctuary.
I push off the frame and shut the door to the corridor behind me, leaving Annabel on the other side. The snick as the lock engages seems louder than it should.
“I apologize. I deflected your question out of habit. It wasn’t deliberate.
” I run a hand through my hair then take a heavy breath.
“I understood why you kept this place. But I hate that you didn’t know you were safe with me, and I hate that you keep it here as some sort of escape hatch.
We all need safety and financial security, but this is more than freedom to leave a bad situation. This is an exit plan.”
I force a smile. “This place brings up some pretty shitty feelings for me. We made good memories here, but I can’t see this apartment the same way you do anymore. I’m sorry.”
She looks at the floor for a moment, then moves closer and traces her fingers over my jaw, her eyes troubled. “I wanted to surprise you, but I should have told you why I wanted you to come down here with me first.”
Fighting to control the bubble of hope rising inside, I cover her hand, then slide her arm over to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Why did you ask me to come here?”
“I wanted you with me while I packed, because you were part of every important memory I made here anyway. And I thought it would be good to figure out what we both wanted to bring home or what I should donate before I put the apartment on the market.”
It takes a beat for the words to sink in—long enough for my heart to reel from one hard, nearly painful knock first. I feel her meaning before my brain processes it.
So many times, I knocked on her door. It only seems fair she knocked back.
I cradle her head in my hand. “You’re sure?”
Sydney searches my eyes. “Not a single doubt in my mind.”
I kiss her temple, because if I kiss her mouth I won’t stop. “Then I’ll help you pack it all up. And we’ll take your things home.”
She slips her fingers into mine and gives a gentle tug toward the hallway. “I think we should make one last happy memory first before we let this place go.”
More heat stirs, and my pulse kicks—that hallway leads to the one room in the apartment that I’ve never been invited into. The heart of her safe space.
She pulls me toward it.
“What kind of happy memory?” I tease. “I vote for a naked one.”
Then I remember that under those loose black pants she’s wearing the socks with my face printed on them. “You can leave the socks on.”
She gurgles with laughter. “They’re shockingly comfy.”
“You just like the idea of me kissing your feet.”
She bites her fingernail and lowers her voice. “I like the idea of you kissing me anywhere at all.”
My cock twitches against my zipper. “I’m going to kiss you everywhere.”
“Even the ticklish parts?”
“You’ll be too busy coming to laugh.”
She passes through the bedroom doorway and leads me inside. “I love your confidence.”
“You love me,” I say smugly.
She stops just inside the bedroom, turns, and rests her free hand against my chest, her eyes growing serious. “I do. This isn’t my safe space, Gabriel.”
I nod. “The penthouse—”
She cups my jaw and shakes her head. “You’re my safe space, Gabriel. You.”