Chapter 5
Chapter Five
TRULY
It must have been the long flight and the mix of emotions I’ve been having since I landed that knocked me out. There was no way I should have been able to sleep, but the second I lay down on the couch, I was out. It was the only option to lie down, with there being only one bed.
“I’ll make us something,” Blake says when I don’t answer him. I watch him walk over to the kitchen and start pulling things out.
When he had his driver bring me here, this wasn’t what I expected. I was sure we’d be in the penthouse of a swanky building a million floors off the ground. Thankfully, we are not. We’re still in the city, but the view gives you a sense of peace.
"You know there is only one bed," I tell him after a few minutes of silence.
"I'm aware." He starts chopping vegetables. I don’t know why, but I never imagined him being the cooking type. It’s a stark reminder of how little I know about him these days.
"If I'm to be here for the next year, don't you think I'll need a bed?"
"There is a bed."
"Don't be obtuse."
He pauses his knife. "You're my wife. We will share a bed." A small gasp leaves me. I have never shared a bed with anyone before. "We're adults, Truly. We can share a bed."
"That's not the point. I have never shared a bed with someone."
"Neither have I, but I'm not going to pounce on you. Do you think so little of me?"
I just stare at him. That sentence held a lot to it.
"I'd hope you haven't been sharing a bed with anyone. You are a married man." I can't keep the sarcasm out of my tone.
"I," he says, pronouncing the word hard and punctuated, "don't cheat, nor do I go back on my word."
"I don't cheat, but it wouldn't matter if I did. You don't treat me as a wife, so why would I act like one?"
He slams down the skillet he'd pulled out, making me slightly jump.
I'm not scared of Blake in the physical sense. I’m just shocked by these emotional responses by him.
I have only ever seen him as polite, even his tone.
Usually, you don't get any kind of reaction from him. But like I’ve said, that was the Blake I knew years ago.
The man standing in front of me is a whole other person.
"We are married, and rest assured I'm going to treat you very much like my wife." Did I just set my own trap? Careful what you ask for.
"What does that mean?" I stand. I can't deny that a sliver of my anger with him dissipated when he said he never cheated on me. That he had been faithful all these years.
Does that really mean something, or could he not risk a scandal? Scandals often lead to a decline in stocks, and if the men around me care about anything, it is money and how the rest of the world perceives them. Maybe there was some sort of clause in this deal he made with my parents.
"It means you will have meals with me, accompany me to events, and share our bed each night." Okay, I can do that. It sounds simple enough, but I'm not so sure. In theory it is, but I will have to continuously remind myself that none of it is real. That it’s all a facade.
"I don't think that you would pounce on me," I tell him. If anything, I thought the opposite. God knows if he'd ever tried anything all these years, I would have melted for him. I'd often dreamed about our first kiss, even before I knew about our impending marriage.
“I’m making us stir-fry.” He goes back to chopping, and I merely stand there, not sure what I should do. “Would you like a drink?” Blake asks.
“Wine?” He nods, going over to a cabinet, he pulls out a bottle and grabs a couple of glasses. “I didn’t picture you having a home like this.” I make my way over to the kitchen island, where he set my glass.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe a penthouse condo.” He stares at me. “What?” Why is he looking at me like I’ve lost my mind?
“You’re afraid of heights. You think I’d force you to live in a tall building?” Now it’s my turn to stare at him.
"You remember that?"
"I remember everything." That is true. I’ve heard many times that Blake is gifted. That when he sets his mind on something, there is no stopping him.
Blake has always been kind to me. He might be cold, but I would get sparks of his warmness. It's part of why I fell for him. I convinced myself that only I got that. That he saw me differently than everyone else and felt comfortable enough to show me that part of him.
I pick up my glass and take a sip. It grows quiet again except for the sounds of him cooking. I don't know what to say or do, so I keep on drinking my wine and pour myself another one.
I take a seat at the kitchen island and watch him. “Can I help?” I ask.
“If I recall correctly, you’re a terrible cook.” Sometimes that good memory works in my favor, but in this instance not so much.
“Hey, that’s not my fault.” I didn’t get to use the kitchen much. My parents always had a chef, and at college I ate in the Student Hall.
“You don’t have to cook if you don’t want to.” He sets a plate down in front of me.
“I might as well learn.” What else am I going to do? I should keep trying to find a job. “Not much else for me to do.” Blake fills up my wine glass again.
“You’re not a prisoner. You are free to come and go as long as you use the driver.”
“Babysitter,” I correct.
“I’m a very wealthy man, and we both come from known families. Don’t fight me on this.”
“Got it.” I pick up my wine and take a giant sip. He lifts a brow. “Going to police my wine now too?” He shakes his head, making a plate for himself before sitting down next to me.
"I don't want to be fighting with you all the time, Truly."
"I don't either."
"Can we call a truce for now?"
"You blackmailed me into staying your wife for the next year," I remind him. Now he wants to call a truce after getting his way.
"We can spend the next year fighting over that, or we can try and move past it."
I glare at him, taking another sip of my wine.
"That's fine." I take a breath, trying to keep my hurt from showing. I don't want him to know how much he can affect my emotions.
"Good, now eat."
"So are you like my boss now? Just going to be ordering me around?" I roll my eyes but pick up my fork to try a bite.
“If I could simply order you around, things would be a lot different.”
“What does that mean?”
He only shakes his head at my question. “Eat.”
I shove the bite into my mouth because I am starving, not because he ordered me to. A small moan leaves me. He’s a freaking talented cook too. I see Blake’s jaw harden.
“What did I do now? You told me to eat, and I did.” He doesn’t answer me, taking a few bites of his own food.
“Do your parents know you’re back?”
“I didn’t tell them. If you haven’t noticed, we’re not tight.”
“Tight.” Another shake of his head.
“Your headshakes are starting to get annoying,” I tell him. My cheeks are suddenly feeling warm. Exactly how much of that wine have I had?
"I'll try to control them."
"Don't be a smart-ass." The words slip right past my lips.
He cocks his head toward me and smirks. "I wasn't trying to be. This is challenging." He goes back to eating, and I do the same. His words are bouncing around inside my head. "Do you want more?" he asks when my plate is cleared.
"Food? No. Wine, yes." He takes both of our plates over to the sink.
"Are you sure you want more wine?"
"Are you going to be my daddy now too?" He sucks in an audible breath. "You want to shake your head at me, don't you?" I can't fight a smile.
"But I didn't." He grabs the bottle of wine and pours me another glass before going to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water to sit next to it. "Truly, I'll be a good husband to you if you let me."
Even sitting in one of the high-top chairs at the kitchen island, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"Do you think you've been a good husband thus far?" He glances away from me and then back, seeming to contemplate my words. I swear if he says he has, I might lose it.
"I thought I was doing what was right."
His words surprise me. "Is it what you wanted to do?"
"Personally?" I nod. "No." Right. Of course he hadn't wanted to get married to me. He was forced into it.
"I wanted to be your wife," I tell him. "But you knew that, didn't you? I always had a crush on you." I lick my lips, and his eyes drop there. "Back then," I add for my own pride.
"But you no longer have a crush on me?" I shake my head no. What I have is far past a crush. He reaches over and grips my chin, moving in closer to me.
"I'm your wife. We have passed crushes and me being a silly girl."
A whisper of a smile appears. "I enjoyed when you were silly, always full of light."
"And you were always cold."
"To you?"
"I suppose not back then. When I was younger."
"I promise you, Truly, that when it comes to you, I'm far from cold." This I believe. He'd been pissed today in his office.
“You’re angry when it comes to me.”
“Yes, I am angry about how things have played out. It’s not ideal.”
“Ideal.” I roll my eyes. His hold on my chin tightens.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he tells me. I’m sure my eyes widen in surprise at that.
“Why?” I ask because this has taken a sudden turn that I was not expecting.
“Because I’ve been dying to know what you taste like.” He’s slow as he leans down, giving me the chance to pull away, but I don’t.
I want him to kiss me, and tomorrow I’ll blame it on the wine. This sounds like a perfectly good plan.
A groan leaves him the second his mouth meets mine. I let my eyes fall closed, wanting to feel every part of this kiss. How long have I craved to know what it would be like the first time he kissed me? My imagination couldn’t even have dreamt up what it feels like in reality.
I part my lips when his tongue slides along the seam of them. Blake hungrily takes the opening, deepening the kiss. His hand tangles into my hair, and he gives a small tug to tilt my head back farther so he can deepen the kiss even more.
I moan into his mouth as he devours mine like a man that has been dying to do so. I want more, my body starting to throb. I’ve waited so long for this.
“Blake,” I whisper. He pulls back, pressing his forehead to mine, both of us breathing heavily. Then he brushes his lips to mine gently one last time before stepping back.
“The bed is yours,” he tells me. I watch as he heads toward the door.
“You’re leaving?”
“And you better stay put” is his response. I don’t get a chance to throw out one of my own. He’s already out the door.
So much for me not being a prisoner. Which might not be so bad if he were actually here.