Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gigi
W ednesday evening, I walk through the door and hear Marcus on the phone in the kitchen. The house smells amazing, like spices and chicken. I drop my work bag and purse by the front door and see Ethel coming from the hallway to greet me. I drop down to pick her up, snuggling her close to me.
In the few weeks since the ‘incident’ with Lewis, I feel like I’ve gotten over the sadness and anger. It’s sad to say, but we really were just going through the motions. I began to realize that I was ready to move on from him a long time ago. I won’t admit it to anyone, but I’m almost thankful that I found him and Sabrina that night. Brunches with Audrey and Melonie have allowed me to talk through my feelings, and they have been pretty open about all the reasons Lewis and I just were not compatible. And believe me, they don’t hold back. Looking back on it, Melonie was right, I was settling.
I’ve started journaling again. Sometimes I write about my day or emotions that surface, but most of what I’ve been writing has been my wants in life and a relationship. What would my ideal man look like? How would he treat me? Would I want to work for the rest of my life or would it be fun to be a stay at home cat mom? It’s been cathartic to vent on the pages on the bad days and document my dreams on the good ones.
I walk into the kitchen, Ethel in my arms, and smile at the sight of Marcus, now done with his call, wiping down the counters.
“Hey, prince.”
“Hey, you got off work at a decent time.” He grins.
“I did. It smells so good in here. What are you cooking?”
“Chicken and mashed potatoes. Should be done in about fifteen minutes if you want to change out of your work clothes.”
“Awesome. Here, take Ethel.” I shove the twelve pound little beast in his direction.
“Oh, um, do I have to hold her?”
I bring her back to my chest. “You don’t want to?”
“It’s just that I’m cooking. Besides, I don’t think she likes me. She runs away from me, and yesterday morning, when I fed her, she hissed at me.”
I look down at her. “Ms. Ethel, where have your manners gone? You need to be nice to Marcus!”
“We don’t have to get along, G. As long as we stay out of each other’s way, that’s fine with me.”
“No, it’s not fine. We’re sort of going to be a little family for a while. I want you two to get along.”
Marcus turns to check the potatoes boiling on the stove. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“We’ll work on it.” I walk out of the room, Ethel still in my arms, purring. “I’m going to clean up for dinner.”
I walk down the hall to my room, setting Ethel down on the bed. I shuck off my shoes and grab some comfy shorts and a t-shirt. Moving to the bathroom, I wash off my makeup and wrangle my curls into a bun on the top of my head. Ethel sits in the doorway, meowing at me as I ask her about her day. She’s a talkative cat, so we have discussions sometimes. I love that about her.
I shut off the light, Ethel saunters to my bedroom, and I return to the kitchen to see two plates on the island, portions of chicken, potatoes, and carrots organized neatly.
“Points for presentation, prince.” His eyes rise to mine, and I smile.
“It’s nice to have a good meal every once in a while. Where do you want to eat?”
“Right here is fine with me.”
He nods and pushes the plates closer to the stools as I sit down. Before he takes his seat, he grabs two beers from the fridge.
I take a bite of the chicken and it’s delicious. “I’m excited that I’ll have a husband who can cook.” I shove his arm.
He pushes his chicken around his plate. “About that. We’re going to have dinner with my parents this weekend.”
“Like, to introduce me?”
“Yeah. Though my father does remember you from Jax and Audrey’s wedding.”
“How did the conversation go?”
He lifts a shoulder. “My dad was happy to meet for dinner.” He puts his fork down and picks up his beer. “He said he was proud of me for doing what I needed to do.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Like shit. He’s proud of me over a lie.”
I shift in my seat to face him. “Marcus, you are doing nothing wrong here. Like he said, you are doing what needs to be done. He said get married, he never said fall in love, right?”
“I guess. If you want to get technical.”
“Then screw it. You’re completing the task.”
He goes quiet and begins to eat again. We both make our way through our food in silence. I’ve never been comfortable with silence, but with him, I have to go out of my comfort zone. I know not to press the subject. When I finish, his plate is already empty. I rise from my chair and grab our dishes.
“I can get that, G.”
I shake my head, giving him a soft smile. “You cook, I clean.”
“Alright.”
I move to the sink and turn on the water. The sound of it fills the quiet room. As I begin washing, he rises from his chair and grabs a towel from the drawer. After I rinse a plate, he silently extends his hand to take it from me, drying it carefully before placing it in the cabinet. There’s something surprisingly peaceful about how domestic this moment feels, how easy it is to fall into a rhythm, even with something as simple as doing dishes together.
He takes the last fork from my hands just as I let the water drain from the sink. Handing me the towel to dry my hands, our fingers brush against each other briefly. His immediate reaction of pulling his hand back makes me pause. It reminds me of how stiff and careful he can be, especially when it comes to physical contact. He always seems to notice when I touch him, and he hardly ever makes the first move to touch me. I can’t help but think about how we’ll act around his parents at dinner. This stiffness won’t work. We’ll have to be more natural, or his father will see right through our plan.
“We should practice a couple things before this weekend.”
He looks up, obviously confused. “What do we need to practice? We know our story.”
“We need to practice touching each other.”
“I’ve touched you before.”
I huff out a breath. “You’ve touched me in friendly ways before. We have to portray a couple in the early stages of dating. You know, when you sort of can’t keep your hands off each other.”
“I’ve never been in a relationship like that,” he says flatly.
“Well, I have. It’s one of the best parts of dating.”
He lays his phone down. “I don’t know if that’s really me, though.”
“So, are we going to just walk in there and not touch each other at all?”
Marcus runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, G. I never really thought about this.”
“Well, you better start thinking, we need to make this believable, prince.”
He looks at me. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m more worried about you being uncomfortable.”
“You’re one of the only people I’m comfortable with touching me.”
Pride and warmth rise up in my chest. Shit, does he know what those words do to me?
“So let’s practice a couple ‘more-than-friendly touches.” I jump up to sit on the island, feet swinging. “Come here.”
He looks up at the ceiling, pausing. I’m afraid he’s about to bolt out of the room. He hesitates slightly before walking to me. He stops about a foot away from my knees, so I shuffle my ass closer to the edge of the countertop.
He scratches the back of his neck. “G, this isn’t a good idea.”
“Yes, it is. We need to get through this awkwardness. Put your hands on my knees.”
I sit waiting until he finally moves his hands to basically hover over my legs.
“Okayyyy. Good. But you’re barely touching me.”
“You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?” I nod, and he allows his hands to firmly rest on my skin.
“Better.” I watch his chest rise with a deep inhale. “Can you look at me?”
His eyes slowly move from his hands to meet mine. “Looking.”
His dark brown eyes pierce through me. It’s as if his eyes are saying one thing, but his hands and the line between his brows are telling me something completely different. He’s uncomfortable, conflicted, if I’m reading him right. “Maybe this would work better where we’re side by side and not facing each other.” I look around, grabbing his wrists and removing his hands from me. “Let’s go to the living room.”
“Do we really need to do this?”
“Yes, prince. We need to get comfortable with each other.”
He backs away, and I jump off the counter, walking to the living room, him following. We both take our usual places and he huffs out a breath. “Okay, we’re on the couch.”
“Now close your eyes.” I tip my chin up, closing my eyes. “Imagine we’re at the restaurant. Smell the food, hear the dishes and the clink of glasses.” I peek out of the side of one eye to see Marcus staring at me like I’m from another planet. “You don’t have your eyes closed!”
“This is ridiculous.”
Marcus sits rigidly on the couch, his back pressed against the cushions as if he wishes he could disappear into them.
“Alright, Mr. Grumpy,” I tease, nudging his knee with mine. “We need to look like a real couple, and that means getting comfortable touching each other.”
Marcus’ jaw tightens, his eyes flicking to mine before darting away. “This is a waste of time. We can just tell him we’re not into PDA.”
I rolled my eyes, scooting closer so my thigh rests against his. “Your dad’s not going to buy that. We need to be convincing, Marcus. A couple that’s been dating for a few weeks, after pining for each other for a couple years, would at least hold hands, and look relaxed doing it.”
I see his throat work as he swallows hard. I cautiously move my hand through the space between us to link my fingers with his.
“You’re too tense,” I soften my tone as I gently squeeze his hand. “Just… relax. It’s just me, Marcus.”