Chapter 14
The private dinner at the Reeves Estate was beautiful, intimate, and exhausting.
By the time the clock struck eleven, my father had been escorted to a luxurious guest suite on the ground floor, Ethan had driven Mia home, and
Grandmother Eleanor had dramatically announced that she was retiring for the evening.
"Goodnight, my beautiful children," Eleanor had said, kissing my cheek before giving Alexander a pointed, entirely unsubtle look. "Do not let me see either of you before nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
My face had instantly burned.
Alexander had simply nodded, his expression completely blank. "Goodnight, Grandmother."
And now, here I was. Standing in the absolute center of the General's private master suite in the East Wing.
The room was larger than my entire childhood home.
It was decorated in deep charcoals, crisp whites, and dark mahogany wood.
It smelled faintly of cedar and his expensive, masculine cologne.
It was meticulously clean, highly organized, and completely terrifying.
Because right in the middle of it was a massive, king-sized bed.
I stood near the foot of it, clutching my small bridal purse, feeling incredibly out of place in my heavy lace wedding gown.
The heavy oak door clicked shut.
I jumped slightly, turning to see Alexander leaning against the closed door.
He had taken off his tuxedo jacket and unfastened the top two buttons of his black shirt, loosening his tie.
He looked tired, but his dominating presence still took up every inch of the room.
"You look like you are preparing for a court-martial," he said, his deep voice slicing through the heavy silence.
"I don't know what to do," I admitted honestly, my voice small. "The contract said separate bedrooms, but your grandmother..."
"My grandmother will notice if you sleep down the hall," Alexander finished smoothly, pushing off the door and walking toward me. "She has eyes everywhere in this house."
Panic seized my chest.
"So we have to...?" I looked at the bed. Alexander followed my gaze, and for the second time that day, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"Relax, Grace. You are perfectly safe." He walked past me and pushed open a set of double doors to our left. "This suite has an adjoining private study. The sofa in there is large enough. I will sleep there until Grandmother returns to her countryside estate next week."
A wave of relief-mixed with a tiny, incredibly annoying drop of disappointment-washed over me.
"Are you sure? I can take the sofa," I offered, trying to be polite. "You're a General, you need proper rest." He stopped and turned to look down at me.
"I have slept in trenches, in deserts, and on cargo planes, Mrs. Reeves. A luxury sofa will not break my back." His gray eyes softened just a fraction.
"The bed is yours." Mrs. Reeves.
My stomach did a violent flip. Every time he said it, my brain short-circuited.
"Okay," I whispered. "Thank you."
"The master bathroom is through that door. Your luggage has already been unpacked in the dressing room." He paused, looking at my dress. "Can you manage that on your own?"
I blinked, suddenly remembering the thirty tiny pearl buttons running down my spine.
Mia had fastened them for me hours ago.
I reached around, my fingers fumbling blindly against the delicate lace. I managed to undo the top one, but my arms ached almost instantly.
"I... I think so," I lied, struggling with the second button. Alexander let out a quiet, deep sigh.
"Turn around." I froze.
"What?"
"Turn around, Grace," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. It wasn't an angry command; it was just how he spoke.
Authoritative. Absolute.
I slowly turned my back to him, my heart hammering against my ribs so loudly I was terrified he could hear it.
I heard his quiet footsteps step closer.
The warmth of his body radiated against my back.
He was so close I could feel the slight brush of his shirt against my lace veil.
"Hold your hair up," he murmured.
With trembling hands, I gathered the loose curls that had fallen from my bun and lifted them off my neck.
Alexander's large, calloused fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of my upper spine.
I gasped softly, my shoulders pulling up to my ears.
"Breathe, Grace," he commanded softly, his deep voice vibrating right into my bones.
I tried to exhale as his fingers began working the tiny, frustrating buttons.
He was a man who handled weapons, who commanded thousands of soldiers, yet his touch was incredibly precise.
Gentle.
.
With every button he undid, the lace loosened, exposing more of my bare back to the cool air of the room-and to his intense gaze.
I was trembling.
I couldn't stop it.
The sheer dominance radiating from him, combined with this intensely intimate act, was short-circuiting my twenty-two-year-old brain.
After what felt like an eternity, he reached the final button at my lower back.
His knuckles brushed lightly against my skin as he pulled the fabric free.
"Done." He didn't step back immediately.
For a single, terrifying, thrilling second, he stayed right behind me.
I felt his chest rise and fall with a slow breath. Then, he stepped away.
"Goodnight, Grace."
"G-Goodnight," I managed to squeak out, clutching the front of my dress so it wouldn't fall.
He walked into the adjoining study and closed the double doors with a soft click.
I stood there for a full minute, staring at the closed doors, before burying my burning face in my hands.
Wedding night. Survived. Barely.
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of absolute silence.
I rolled over, sinking into the absurdly soft mattress.
I checked the clock on the bedside table.
*6:30 AM.* I sat up, stretching my arms.
The study doors were slightly ajar, but Alexander was not inside.
The sofa was perfectly made, not a single blanket out of place.
I climbed out of bed, wrapped a silk robe over my pajamas, and walked toward the large glass windows of the bedroom.
I pulled the heavy curtains back slightly and looked out over the sprawling estate grounds.
My breath caught.
Down in the massive courtyard, bathed in the early morning sunlight, was my husband.
He was wearing black military training pants and a tight, sweat-soaked black t-shirt that clung to every single muscle in his broad chest and arms.
He was heavily engaged in hand-to-hand combat sparring with Ethan and two other very large security guards.
Alexander moved with terrifying, fluid speed.
He dodged a punch from Ethan, swept the leg of another guard, and pinned him to the grass in less than three seconds.
He wasn't just a General who sat behind a desk. He was a warrior.
I watched him, entirely mesmerized, as he wiped the little sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, smiling at something Ethan said. My heart squeezed. He looked so incredibly handsome.
*Stop staring, Grace,* I scolded myself, quickly shutting the curtains. *You are going to embarrass yourself.*
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
**Mia (6:35 AM):***DETAILS. NOW. I know you're awake, Nurse reeves. Or should I say Mrs. Reeves.*
I rolled my eyes and typed back quickly.
**Grace:** *Nothing happened! He slept in the study.*
**Mia:** *Boring. But also gentlemanly. Did he take off his shirt in front of you at least?*
**Grace:** *Goodbye, Mia.*
I put the phone down, my face warm. I needed a distraction.
I needed coffee. Or tea.
I quickly took a shower in the stunning marble bathroom, brushed my hair, and put on a comfortable pair of beige trousers and a soft white sweater.
I slipped on some flat shoes. "Just find the kitchen," I muttered to myself.
"How hard can it be?"
Very hard, it turned out.
The Reeves Estate was not a house. It was a labyrinth.
I walked out of the master suite, turned right down a long hallway lined with historical oil paintings, and descended a grand staircase.
I turned left, expecting to find the dining room we had used last night. Instead, I found myself in a hallway completely devoid of windows.
The floor was dark slate, and the doors looked like heavy steel.
"This doesn't look like a kitchen," I whispered, my voice echoing slightly.
I turned back, went up a different set of stairs, walked through a massive library that smelled like old paper and leather, and pushed through a heavy wooden door.
I was back in the windowless hallway. "You have got to be kidding me."
I had been wandering for twenty minutes.
I was hopelessly, ridiculously lost in my own home.
"Are you attempting to breach the secure communications wing, Mrs. Reeves?" I spun around with a gasp.
Alexander stood at the end of the hall.
He had obviously finished his workout and showered.
He was dressed in his formal military trousers and a crisp white shirt, though the collar was unbuttoned and he hadn't put on his jacket or tie yet.
His dark hair was still slightly damp.
He looked at me, an amused glint in his sharp gray eyes.
"Good morning "
"I was looking for the kitchen," I confessed, my shoulders dropping in defeat. "I think I walked in a circle."
"You walked in three circles," Alexander corrected smoothly, walking toward me. "I watched you on the security cameras." My jaw dropped.
"You were watching me?"
"You are in a high-security military residence, Grace. The cameras track unauthorized movement in secure zones."
He stopped right in front of me, his tall frame completely towering over my smaller one.
"And you, currently, do not have the clearance for the communications wing."
"I just wanted chamomile tea," I mumbled, feeling incredibly foolish.
Alexander looked down at me for a long moment. Slowly, the strict, commanding line of his mouth softened.
He reached out, his large hand gently settling flat against the small of my back.
The heat of his palm seeped right through my sweater.
"Come along," he said quietly.
He guided me back the way I came.
He didn't make a big deal out of it.
He just walked beside me in comfortable silence, his hand never leaving my lower back, steering me through the maze of the estate.
Every time we turned a corner, my body brushed slightly against his side.
The sheer size of him, the steady, dominant rhythm of his steps, made me feel incredibly protected.
Within two minutes, he pushed open a set of swinging doors, and we were in a massive, sunlit kitchen.
Several staff members were bustling around, but the moment Alexander walked in, they all stopped and stood at attention.
"General. Madam," the head chef greeted, bowing slightly.
"At ease," Alexander said, his voice instantly slipping back into its authoritative tone.
"My wife would like some chamomile tea." He pulled out a stool at the large marble island and waited until I sat down before he took the seat beside me.
"You didn't have to escort me," I said softly, as a maid quickly brought over a steaming cup of tea and a plate of fresh pastries.
"You must have important things to do." Alexander picked up a black coffee the chef placed in front of him.
"I am on leave for three days," he replied, taking a sip. I blinked in surprise.
"You took time off?"
"It is protocol for a newlywed officer," he stated factually.
Then, his gray eyes met mine over the rim of his cup, intense and completely unreadable.
"And Grandmother would have my head if I abandoned you on our first day." I smiled into my teacup.
"She is terrifying."
"She is," he agreed, setting his coffee down.
"But she likes you. My father likes you. And Ethan is currently terrified of your best friend." I laughed out loud.
The sound echoed in the large kitchen.
Alexander didn't laugh, but his eyes tracked the movement of my smile, lingering on my face for a second longer than necessary.
"Drink your tea, Grace," he murmured softly. "And you need a tour. So I don't have to rescue you from the security guards again."
I ducked my head to hide my blushing cheeks. This man was intimidating. He was dominating. He was a literal weapon of the state.
But as I sat next to him in the quiet kitchen, drinking the tea he had ordered for me, I realized something. He was also quickly becoming my favorite person in the world.