Chapter 3
LUCIAN
Aspen arrived home with a subtle click of the lock. After that, each sound built in a crescendo, warning of the chaotic storm headed my way.
The slam of the door.
The clang of her keys against the entryway table.
The sharp strike of her heels clicking to the same beat as the jazz music playing through the speakers. Increasing in tempo and force, the closer she got.
The thud of her bumping into something, followed by an adorably grumbled swear word in Spanish.
All of it grew until she stormed into the kitchen with a final huff of irritation, looking entirely too put together for someone most likely leaving a trail of fire in her wake.
I stood at the stovetop and watched her over my shoulder. “Bad day?” I asked once she reached my side.
With another huff, she rested her hip against the counter and crossed her arms. “You would not fucking believe it.”
“Want to talk about it?” As soon as I offered, a knee-jerk reaction urged me to take the words back.
An alarm that continued to sound when I asked similar questions throughout the week, warning me of how similar I acted as a devoted, loving husband with Daria before she screwed me over.
Despite the continued alert, it got easier to ignore each time it sounded—it got easier to make excuses for why I kept pushing for a closeness I shouldn’t want.
Tonight, I thought of how she might want to end our agreement after five years.
If I showed her that our marriage could be friendly and supportive, then maybe she’d forget her self-imposed timeline.
I could do that without getting sucked into something more.
I could show a side of myself that could care without exposing a hole for her to crawl inside of.
With my daily affirmation locked in place, I cocked a brow and waited for her response.
“Where do I start?”
“I would assume from the beginni—”
“That would be when I received a phone call from one of the donors for the charity event,” she cut in before I could finish, throwing her arms wide. “Freaking Jade Hart. Mother. Freaking. Jade. Hart.”
“The actress?”
She scowled. “Yes.”
I bit back a smile. Not that I would ever say it out loud—or maybe I would just to see her scowl more—but her scrunched nose and curled lip were kind of cute. And undeniably sexy. “What about mother freaking Jade Hart?”
“She pulled her fucking donation. Saying she couldn’t possibly take another man as a date to the Oscars when she’s in love with someone else.
That would be like cheating.” She pitched her voice high in mockery, rolling her eyes as her arms flew up again.
“Who even falls in love in a week? No one. Or, maybe, some vapid actress who doesn’t give two shits about anyone but herself.
I mean, she’s dating a guy whose name is one letter different than hers.
Narcissistic much? Ugh. She’s probably confused and really in love with herself.
And you know what? I hope she trips on the red carpet.
And I hope she doesn’t win any awards. And maybe her tit falls out or some shit. ”
“Anything else?” I asked calmly.
“Anything else?” she screeched. “That was just the fucking beginning. As soon as I get off the phone with her, my dad comes in to finally have the more in-depth conversation I thought I’d escaped earlier this week.”
While she recapped the conversation with her father, I stirred the sauce and studied her from the corner of my eye, noticing her breathing pick up.
“I hate, hate, hate lying to my dad, but I needed him to believe me so he would stop grilling me about us. And then, when I think I’ll finally catch a break from the shit show—” Her words tumbled into a high-pitched laugh, her hands flying into her hair as if she couldn’t stop them.
The edge in her laugh—and the way her arms wrapped around herself, fists clenched—told me she might need a different kind of comfort.
The more she talked, the tighter her muscles coiled, and if I let her keep going, she might implode.
I turned off the stove and faced her. She didn’t seem to notice as I closed the distance in measured steps, her words still spilling out.
“When I thought for sure I could take a breath and move on with my day, Emily walked by and overheard our conversation.” She cringed and shook her head. “Ugh. She looked at me like I’d stabbed her in the back while she simultaneously congratulated me on our engagement.”
My steps faltered, unaware of why Aspen would care. Shaking off the confusion, I continued my approach, slowly backing her toward the wall of cabinets behind her.
“And I didn’t stab her in the back. I ju-just hedged around the truth when she asked me if you and I were together.
Because technically, we weren’t. Yo-you were just spanking me and making me come,” she defended, her rapid breaths turning her words choppy.
“And the-then she confessed how she was only asking because she c-cared about you, and I just sat there and smiled, letting her believe that she had no-nothing to worry about from me. An-and now, here we are, engaged. I-It’s like I broke some girl code, and now she has no respect for me.
Which shouldn’t matter because I barely know her.
B-b-but I still feel guilty. Which is-which is dumb.
But—ugh—the look on her face. I mean, why coul—”
“Aspen,” I said softly, resting my palm against her chest.
Her brows pinched as her attention snapped to my hand pressing her back against the dark cabinets, unaware of how fast her breathing had become. Slowly, her gaze lifted to mine, her chest still heaving. “I-it was j-j-just a lo-long day.”
“I know, baby.” I held her wide stare and crowded her in, blocking out everything but the space between us, pushing harder to restrict her lungs. “Let’s slow it down.”
“I-I’m tr-try-trying.” Her words broke apart between sharp inhales; her eyes squeezing shut.
“Look at me,” I ordered, adding more pressure.
After a moment, she obeyed.
“Good girl,” I praised. “Now, on the count of three, I want you to take a deep breath.”
She nodded, her ragged breaths already easing.
I spread my palm wide, almost reaching shoulder to shoulder, and added more force as I counted.
On three, I lifted my hand, allowing space for her lungs to expand with a sharp, hungry inhale.
She held it for a heartbeat, then slowly let the air slip free, her shoulders collapsing with the release.
Lingering tension still coiled around her muscles, continuing to restrict her breath—but not as much as before, leaving room for her to reclaim some control.
Reaching down, I took her cold fingers and pressed them to my chest. “Feel me. Breathe with me.” I inhaled slowly, waiting for her to mirror each rise and fall.
After two full breaths, her head tilted back to rest against the cabinets, and I leaned in, responding softly to her day, keeping every inch of our connection.
“Did you find a replacement donation?”
Her shoulders tensed, and she choked over a breath again. “No. I ca-called around all afternoon, and I-I do—”
“Shhh. Stay with me.” I held her gaze and repeated my inhalations, waiting for her to find our rhythm again. “I can find a replacement for you.”
“What? How? And it can’t be something inadequate like n-no-nosebleed seats or a photo o-op, or so—”
“Stay. With. Me.” I punctuated the words with a dominant glare. I’d let her vent when she got home, but now it was time for her to let go and give her control to me. I waited two more matching breaths before continuing. “I’ll let you know for sure by lunch tomorrow.”
Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t pull her hand away from my chest, and she didn’t falter over her inhale. “Okay.”
“I’m proud of how you handled the conversation with your father,” I praised, my voice deep and calm. “You sound like you were in control and very professional. Even when you struggled with the lies. I know how hard it can be.”
I knew better than I wanted to how hard it was to lie to someone you cared about.
I hated the lie I’d told my godparents. It had started simply with a serious girlfriend I might marry someday, and snowballed into cornering Aspen into a marriage of convenience.
Guilt tugged at my chest—for lying and for making Aspen lie, too.
Shoving it aside, I focused on the last complaint of Aspen’s day.
“As for Emily…”
Aspen cringed and groaned. “Forget I said anything. I was rambling and didn’t think about…”
Her words faded as I lifted my hand to her neck, drawing her gaze to mine while my thumb slid along her jaw. “As for Emily, she has no claim on me. Therefore, you have nothing to worry about.”
“You would have asked her to marry you if I had said no,” she challenged. The honeyed tones in her eyes swirled, sparking under the darkness of my shadow, luring me to reveal more than I should.
Luring me to admit she had nothing to worry about because I never would have asked Emily to be my wife, even if Aspen had said no. I couldn’t imagine anyone but her standing in my kitchen now, which reset the alarms from earlier.
Again, I ignored them, but bit my tongue to hold back the confession. “You have nothing to worry about,” I repeated instead.
I continued to trace my thumb along her soft skin, letting the quiet stretch between us—space enough for calm to settle, even as the tension deepened. We stood pressed together, so close our breaths mingled with each exhale, and with every inhale, I tasted her.
Her tongue slid across her lips, and I ached to chase it back into her mouth with my own—to succumb to the desire to feel the plump flesh moving under mine after going without for so long.
But I couldn’t. Not now, with vulnerable confessions lingering too close to the surface.
Not when the last time I gave in and kissed her, I lost control and fucked her on my desk.
No, in this moment, I needed to remain in control. She needed me to be in control.