Chapter 18 Like A Regency Romance Novel
Like A Regency Romance Novel
MARI
“I’m not dead, Anica. You can stop sending the search party. Though if I were dead, at least I wouldn’t have to listen to your nagging.”
I balanced my phone between my ear and shoulder while attempting to open a new pint of Ben a sleek laptop bag and what looked like a legal envelope.
“Can I come in?” he finally asked.
I stepped back wordlessly, letting him into my disaster zone of an apartment.
As he entered, I became acutely aware of the half-empty wine bottles on the counter, the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink, the general air of someone who’d given up on adult responsibilities in favor of a close personal relationship with fermented grapes.
“Sorry about the...” I gestured vaguely at everything. “I wasn’t expecting company. Or to ever see you again. Ever. What the fuck are you doing here, Gable?”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“You’re damn right.”
“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”
“Probably the last. What do you want?”
He remained standing, as if unsure whether he was allowed to sit. “I should have called first.”
“I wouldn’t have answered.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. “Probably not. But you let me in.”
“Yeah. I blame the alcohol.”
More silence.
“You look good,” I offered, which was both true and a complete lie. He looked good, yes, but also exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a weariness in his posture that made him seem older.
“You look beautiful,” he replied, and I actually snorted.
“Now I know you’re full of shit. I look like something that crawled out of a dumpster behind a frat house, took a nap in some leftover nachos, then rolled in a puddle of stale beer.”
His smile widened. “I’ve missed your particular way with words.”
The simple admission caught me off guard, piercing through the armor of indifference I’d been trying to maintain. I crossed my arms, suddenly feeling exposed despite being fully clothed.
“I saw the video,” I said abruptly. “From the press conference last week.”
“You did?”
“It’s kind of everywhere. Hard to miss when someone tells Arthur Gable to fuck his own family name on live internet feeds.” I forced a casual shrug. “Nice delivery, by the way. Very dramatic. The news outlets had to censor half of it.”
“It wasn’t my finest moment,” he admitted. “Or maybe it was. I’m still deciding.”
“Why are you here?”
He took a deep breath. “I came to give you something. Well, several things, actually.” He gestured to the couch. “Can we sit?”
“It might be radioactive.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
I shrugged, clearing more space on the couch while he carefully set his laptop bag on the coffee table.
We sat at opposite ends, as far apart as the furniture allowed.
I was too aware of him—his scent (different now, less expensive cologne, more.
.. him), his presence, the way he seemed to take up all the oxygen in the room without even trying.