Chapter 7
Elowyn
The sound of thunder outside had my eyes slowly cracking open. Gods, I grabbed my head as it pounded. The rain was hitting the roof and making the most peaceful noise, but my hangover was not enjoying it. Lightning scattered across the sky, lighting up the house.
A movement from the side had me jumping. Abram was sitting in a chair, staring at me. How long had he been sitting there?
“Can I help you?” I asked with an attitude.
His lips pulled into a small smile.
“Do you have plans today?” he asked.
I winced at the sound of his voice.
“Sleeping off this hangover.” I groaned.
Abe chuckled softly.
“I want to spend the day with you, but I wasn’t sure if you had plans.”
I stilled—unsure if I had heard him correctly. Slowly, I glanced at him and realized he was not dressed like he normally was. He was in casual trousers and no shirt. He wanted to spend time with me.
“I went to the market this morning and got some food for us to make and retry last night's disaster.”
I sat up, and Abram’s eyes immediately fell to look over me before he seemed to catch himself. My head turned toward the kitchen and smiled when I saw that he had all the same things I made.
“Wait—what time of day is it?”
I looked out the window, but it was dark from the storm.
“Past lunch, closer to evening.”
“I slept most of the day?” I looked at Abe, who was smiling. “I’ve never slept this long in my life.”
“Maybe the drinks you had last night were all you needed to get some good rest.”
My cheeks immediately burned as bits and pieces of last night came back, but then I shifted uncomfortably as images of the dreams I was having about Abram last night came back to me. Maybe my mind wanted to sleep longer so we could keep kissing and touching him in our sleep.
“Why are you blushing?” he asked.
I tensed.
“Oh, just embarrassed,” I lied.
“Don’t worry, wife; you didn’t do anything embarrassing.”
For fuck’s sake, I liked hearing him call me that. I looked over at him, and he was staring at me like I was prey.
“You should probably wear something else today, or else I will be too distracted to help cook.” His voice was low—dark and seductive. What the hell was he doing to me? I looked down and nodded, then stood and slipped on a skirt.
“Better?” I asked, knowing that wasn't what he was referring to.
A slow smile tugged at his lips.
“Is this the game you want to play?” he asked.
I looked at him, his bare chest, before smirking innocently.
“Game? What game?”
He stood up and walked over to me. His finger came up and rested at the base of my throat and slowly traced it down. Then he moved, his hands grabbing a shirt from the floor and pulling it on.
“That’s less distracting.” He pulled me into him and hugged me.
I was convinced he could feel my heart pounding against his chest. As he pulled away, he kissed the top of my head. Maybe I was still dreaming. I glanced around the home, but it didn’t feel like I was sleeping.
“Let’s cook.”
I nodded as he grabbed my hand and brought me to the kitchen. My mind was blank as I stared at everything he brought home. He was standing directly behind me, his body barely touching me, and I could feel it everywhere.
“I don’t know how to cook, Elowyn, so you’ll have to lead.”
I nodded, but still didn’t move. After a moment, he turned to me so I was looking at him. His eyes swirled with red as he watched me. I took a step backward, and he followed. My back hit the edge of the counter, and Abe leaned forward, his mouth stopping an inch from mine.
“We need a knife first—right?” he asked, grabbing a knife from behind me, his lips ghosting against mine, but not touching them.
“Yes.”
He smiled as he nodded.
“Tell me what to do, Elowyn; you’re in charge.”
His words felt like they had a different meaning, and my cheeks heated.
“I’m not that good at this either,” I confessed.
“I’m sure you're very good at leading.”
His gaze met mine without flinching. Maybe I was still drunk, but I was sure he was flirting with me. My cheeks felt hot, and Abram’s eyes filled with amusement. Gods, heat rushed through me.
“Why are you blushing again?”
He was not flirting with me, and I needed to calm down.
“Um, here.” I shoved the vegetables at him, and his eyes shined with happiness at whatever he was seeing on my face. “I’ll handle the meat.”
He nodded but didn’t move back. I turned around and pretended not to notice the fire of his eyes on me.
After a moment, he moved next to me and began cutting the vegetables.
I tried to focus on the roast he got, but my eyes kept flickering over to where he was cutting vegetables like he knew exactly what to do.
His hands were large and made the carrots look miniature. But I couldn’t stop staring at the veins in his hands. My gaze moved from his hands, to his arms, to his bare chest, and landed on his face. He was already staring at me.
“Did I do this correctly?” He showed me his carrots and potatoes, but the look in his eyes made my stomach twist.
“Yes, you did very well.”
“Hmm, I like when you tell me I do a good job,” he said, voice low, gaze steady on mine.
I didn’t trust myself not to say something stupid, so I shoved the pot toward him.
A roast would be good on this cold day, but it wouldn’t be ready for a while.
Focus on the food and not on Abram. He put his food in the pot, then moved back behind me.
He was watching what I was doing over my shoulder.
“Will you get me the dried herbs from up there?” I nodded toward the cupboard.
He leaned forward, his hand resting on my hip as he leaned into me to reach it. I froze to my spot as he acted like we had done this our entire lives. He set the herbs down next to me but didn’t move his hand from my hip.
“This will take a while to cook, at least a few hours.” I told him.
“We’ll have to find something to do while we wait,” he whispered close to my ear.
I was panicking, so I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.
“I’m going to nap.”
I heard his soft laugh.
“You just woke up.”
“Yeah, but I feel exhausted.” I wasn’t completely lying.
I turned so I was facing him. His hand ran across my back and settled on my other hip. He cocked his head to the side, waiting for me to say something.
“Um,” I whispered. “So, what do you think you’ll be doing?”
He shrugged before scooping me up and taking me to the couch. What was happening? He laid me down, and I stared at him as he sat at the end of the couch with my feet in his lap. He grabbed a book off the table and started reading quietly, his hand resting on my ankle.
He glanced at me when he felt me staring.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” I whispered.
Maybe I had died and gone to the heavens.
He nodded like we did this every day before turning back to his book. He began reading aloud, and my eyes grew heavy listening to the calm hum of his voice.
Fuck, I was hot. My skin prickled beneath the blanket as if the air itself were too heavy.
I shifted on the couch, but I couldn’t move.
My eyes fluttered open, and I stilled. Abram was lying next to me on his back, and my face was resting on his chest. His arm had me in a death grip.
The smell of our dinner filled the space, but all I could focus on was the feel of Abram’s body against mine.
The slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of him seeping into every part of me.
His other hand rested on my hip and ass. My leg was slung over him. My heart was out of control. This felt nice… right. Maybe it was because I had never felt the touch of a man like this, or maybe it was because it was Abram. My chest ached just thinking of his name.
I didn’t move because I didn’t want this moment to stop. I wanted to stay here, memorizing how it felt to be held by him, even if it meant pretending.
But then I realized he had to have laid down next to me intentionally.
My hand on his chest twitched against his warm skin.
Then I lifted it and touched his face gently.
My fingers curled into the short, dark stubble on his jaw.
My movement startled Abram, his fingers dug into my hip.
He sucked in a sharp breath, like he was steadying himself.
He glanced down as I looked up at him. Our faces were a few inches apart.
My heart hammered as he stared at me. For a brief moment, he looked at me like this was a nice surprise.
Then he blinked at me and seemed to wake up fully.
I saw it—the exact second his expression shifted.
He registered that it was me and he was instantly pushing away.
The loss of his warmth was instant and cruel.
Abram stood up and turned his back to me for a moment.
The distance between us felt unbearable.
He turned to me and stared at me, his eyes flaring red. He was angry. My stomach dropped.
“Are you alright?” I asked. My voice trembled despite my effort to keep it steady.
“I told you this was not a real marriage,” he snapped.
The words hit harder than they should have.
I flinched back at his tone. My hands gripped the blanket and moved it over me like it would shield me from his words.
“I didn’t do anything.” The defense came out small, fragile.
“You should have gotten up as soon as you woke up, not laid there pretending like this is what we do. You're my fake wife," he said tightly. "You don't get to touch me like that."
Each word cut deeper than the last. Guilt made my throat tight. He looked conflicted as we stared at each other.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I looked away from him when he just stared at me like he was appalled. Shame burned hot beneath my skin. After a moment, he went to his bedroom and slammed the door. The sound cracked through the silence like a punishment.