Chapter 48
MELODY
Cleo was sprawled across my bed, huge Gilmore-Girls lettering on her sweatshirt today, while I tried to decide between a dress or a cute pair of jeans and blouse for my return trip home.
It probably didn’t matter, but just in case I was photographed leaving Austin’s hotel tomorrow, I wanted to look good.
“Dress or jeans?” I asked.
She looked at both options. “Jeans. Go for casual.”
I nodded and put them into the vintage Gucci bag I picked up at a secondhand store. “Maybe I shouldn’t pack a bag,” I said. “That might be presumptuous.”
“Please.” She took a loud slurp of Diet Coke that sounded like a judgment. “Girl, the entire internet is invested in your boyfriend. Everyone has an opinion on who it might be. And it’s funny, because no one is guessing Austin. You guys played that off well.”
I laughed and added a pair of socks, a bra, and panties. “Good,” I said. “Keep them guessing.”
“Yesterday somebody swore you were with Chris Evans on a long con. I almost snorted Coke out my nose. I’ve heard everything, from some guy that apparently works at a coffee shop who is telling everyone you two are dating, to some politician.”
I laughed, zipping the bag with effort. “We said we’d let them wonder a little longer.”
Cleo rolled onto her stomach, rings flashing.
“Which means you’re hoarding him like one of your limited-edition sneakers.
I get it. I really do. Hot billionaires who look like the love child of Henry Cavill and trouble are rare.
But the thirst is real. I’m fielding DMs from tabloids offering me Caribbean cruises if I confirm his identity. If they only knew I’m the bouncer.”
“Tell them to keep their cruises.” I pulled a pair of white cropped sneakers from the line-up inside my closet.
My stomach fluttered somewhere between excitement and stage fright.
I was afraid the bubble we created in Tahiti had officially burst. We had been texting and had talked a few times, but I hit the ground running as soon as we got back. We had not spent the night together.
And I missed him.
“Okay, real talk. When are you planning to let the world know that Voldemort’s nephew is your man? The speculation is cute, but it’s starting to look like you’re ashamed of him.”
I stopped what I was doing. “I’m not ashamed.
It’s just… everything I touch lately turns into a headline I can’t control.
Those pictures were the first time in months people saw me genuinely happy instead of calculating angles.
I want to stay in that bubble a minute longer, where it’s still ours, not the internet’s. ”
Cleo’s expression melted into proud big-sister approval. “I love that,” she said, sitting up now. “You’re protecting something precious. Austin gets it, right?”
“He does. He’s the one who suggested we keep it quiet for a while. Let people speculate.” I sat down on the edge of the bed. “I like that there are no cameras. Just us.”
Cleo’s eyes lit up. “And now you’re going to surprise him. Men love that shit. Especially men who are used to getting everything they want. Give him something unexpected.”
My heart started racing at the thought. “What if he’s busy? What if I’m interrupting something important?”
“Then he’ll make time. Trust me, that man is not going to turn you away at the door.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Especially if you’re wearing that little black thing I saw you tuck into the side pocket of that bag.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
I buried my face in my hands, laughing. “Okay, fine. Maybe I packed something nice. Just in case.”
“Just in case of what? In case you spontaneously combust from sexual tension? Girl, please. You know exactly what you’re doing.” She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it. “I’m only a little jealous.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay. I need to get going. I still have to get to the grocery store.”
“I love the domesticated Melody,” she teased.
“Ha ha. I want to show him what a girlfriend can do. Treat him right with a home cooked meal and all of that.”
She climbed off the bed and gave me a quick hug. “I’m happy for you. I like that he’s making you happy.”
“He is,” I said.
We left together, with me already going through the grocery list in my head. I was definitely paying for a cab. I wasn’t going to be dragging bags of groceries onto the subway.
Two hours later, I stood in the lobby of the hotel where Austin was currently living.
I had two bags of groceries that were just a little heavy.
I was staring down the clerk at the front desk who was eyeing me skeptically.
We were in a standoff. One I intended to win.
I was on the verge of flashing my boobs to get what I wanted.
“I really can’t just let you up without Mr. Bancroft’s permission,” he said.
“I understand. But it’s a surprise. I’m his girlfriend.
” I pulled out my phone, showing him one of the photos from Tahiti.
“See? That’s us. Together. I’m making him dinner.
Trust me, if you don’t let me up and we have to call him, he’s not going to be happy.
And I know he’s a good tipper. What do you think will happen to those tips when he finds out you wouldn’t let his girlfriend up? ”
He squinted at the photo, then at me, then back at the photo. “I don’t know…”
“Please? I’ve been planning this all day. I have all the groceries. I promise I’m not a crazy stalker or anything.” I gave him my best smile, the one I used in Instagram stories. “I’ll even give you my full name and ID. You can write it down. If anything happens, you’ll know exactly who to blame.”
He wavered. I could see it. I was close to pushing him over the edge.
“And,” I added, “I’m sure Mr. Bancroft would appreciate that you helped me surprise him. He’s been having a rough couple of days. I promise you I will leave him in a much better mood.”
That did it. He sighed and pulled out a logbook. “Fine. But I’m documenting everything. Full name, ID, time of entry, all of it.”
“Thank you so much! You’re the best.”
I gave him all my information, signed where he indicated, and practically skipped to the elevator with my bags of groceries.
The penthouse was exactly as I remembered. All sleek, modern, and somehow impersonal despite being Austin’s home for the past few months. It was a hotel suite after all. He was such a big personality. How could his surroundings look so dull?
But I understood why. Kind of. Austin had been running from his family, and responsibility.
He’d been running from commitment. Of course, his place would reflect that transience.
He didn’t know how to put down roots. Or he didn’t want to.
I got it. I really did, which was why I was going to make it feel like home for him.
I wanted him to see it was possible to settle down and put down roots. Real roots.
I set the groceries on the massive kitchen island and looked around. The kitchen was state of the art, all gleaming stainless steel and expensive appliances. Now I just had to figure out how to use it all.
I found the sound system first, a tablet mounted on the wall that controlled everything.
After a few minutes of poking around, I managed to connect my Spotify and put on my cooking playlist. Music filled the space, and I felt myself relax into the familiar rhythm of meal prep.
I loved cooking. It was my love language.
The chicken was first. I bought a good one from the butcher, already seasoned and ready to roast. Into the oven it went.
Then the potatoes. I found a pot after opening approximately seven cabinets and got them boiling.
The kitchen was absurdly well equipped for someone who probably never cooked.
I couldn’t imagine Austin ever trying to do something as basic as boiling water. It just wasn’t his thing.
Which was why I was going to show him what it could be like to have someone like me around. He took me to Tahiti and on a yacht. I couldn’t give him that level of joy, but I could definitely show him the perks of having a girlfriend.
As I worked, I started to find my rhythm. Vegetables chopped and seasoned. Gravy ingredients prepped and ready. The expensive wine I brought opened to breathe.
I had dressed for this too. My sash dress was casual enough for cooking but sexy enough for after. And underneath? The lingerie I had bought specifically for tonight. Black lace that made me feel powerful and beautiful and ready for whatever came next.
The chicken was roasting, the potatoes were boiling, and the vegetables were in the oven. The gravy was simmering when I heard the ding of the elevator.
The door opened, and Austin stepped inside, his jacket slung over one arm, his tie loosened. He looked tired. Stressed. Then he saw me. “Melody?”
I grinned, swaying my hips to the music. “Surprise.”
He dropped his jacket on the nearest chair, crossed the space between us in three strides, and pulled me into his arms, kissing me like he’d been starving for it.
I melted into him, my hands finding his chest, his finding my waist.
“What are you doing here?” he murmured against my lips.
“Making you dinner. I missed you.”
“Missed you too.” He pulled back, looking around at the chaos of the kitchen. “How did you get in? Did the front desk let you up?”
“I was very convincing.”
His eyes narrowed. “What did you do? Pay him off?”
I tried to keep a straight face. “I flashed him.”
Austin’s eyes went wide. “You what?”
I burst out laughing. “I’m kidding! I was just very nice. Showed him our pictures from Tahiti. Signed my life away in his logbook. He let me up. But I did think about flashing him. If he didn’t let me up after begging, I was absolutely going to show him my boobs.”
Austin grunted, pulling me close again. “I’m going to have to go back down and fire him. If he saw even a hint of nipple, I will make sure he never gets another job in the city.”
“You will not. He was sweet. And very thorough about documenting my identity in case I turned out to be an axe murderer. And he didn’t see any nipples. At least, not mine.”
“Still. Can’t have random beautiful women talking their way into my penthouse.”
“I’m not random. I’m your girlfriend.”
“My girlfriend who breaks into my home.”
I kissed him quickly. “Now sit. Dinner’s almost ready.”
We ate at his dining table, one I suspected had never actually been used for dining before tonight. In fact, I didn’t want to think what past residents of the penthouse suite had used the table for.
Gross.
The chicken was perfectly roasted, the potatoes were creamy and garlicky, the vegetables were caramelized, and the gravy was rich and perfect.
“This is incredible,” Austin said, going back for seconds. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“My mom. Sunday dinners were a big thing in our house growing up. She taught me that food is love.” I smiled, watching him enjoy the meal I’d made. “I don’t cook much anymore. Too busy. But I wanted to do this for you.”
“I’m glad you did.” He reached across the table to take my hand. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then Austin set down his fork, looking at me with that intense expression that meant he was thinking about something serious.
I wasn’t sure if that scared me or made me happy.
Was he going to break up with me? We’d been official less than a week.
Maybe he realized he wasn’t cut out to be a boyfriend.
I kept my cool. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Can I ask you some questions?”
“Of course.”
“About the future. Your future. What you want out of life.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “Okay. Like what?”
“Like, do you see yourself getting married?”
“Yes.” The answer came easily. I didn’t even have to think about it. “I’ve always wanted to get married. I think—in the next five years? That feels right.”
“And kids?”
My heart started beating faster. These weren’t casual questions. I felt like I was being interviewed. “Yes. Definitely. Two or three would be amazing. I’ve always wanted a family.”
“How do you see yourself balancing work and motherhood?”
I thought about that. Really thought about it.
“I think I want to be an involved mother. Stay home. Put work on the backburner for a while.” I paused.
“I know that’s not very feminist of me or whatever.
But I built my career myself. It’ll still be there.
And I think I could find ways to incorporate fashion into postpartum and motherhood.
It would be a whole new adventure. Still authentically me, just in a different phase. ”
Austin was quiet, absorbing this. “You’ve really thought about this.”
“I have. I know what I want.” I studied his face. “Why are you asking? Where is this coming from?”
“I guess I just want to know as much as I can about you. About what you want. About who you are.”
“Okay. But now I get to ask you the same questions.”
He suddenly looked like he wanted to vomit.
That couldn’t be good.