Chapter 15
The kitchen of the Reeves Estate was a marvel of modern architecture, gleaming with stainless steel, white marble, and appliances that looked like they belonged on a spaceship.
And I was currently fighting a losing battle against the toaster.
After Alexander had finished his coffee and briefly excused himself to take a secure phone call in the hallway, I had decided to do something nice.
He had slept on a sofa for me. He had unbuttoned my dress with a gentleness that still made my toes curl.
The least I could do as his new wife was make him breakfast before the rest of the family woke up.
The head chef, a lovely French man named Henri, had looked absolutely horrified when I asked to use the stove.
"Madam, please," Henri had pleaded, hovering anxiously a few feet away. "If the General finds out I allowed you to work, he will have me peeling potatoes in a tundra."
"He won't, Henri, I promise," I had assured him cheerfully, cracking an egg into a pan. "I just want to make him a simple breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and toast. Very easy."
I should have known better.
I was twenty-two, freshly graduated from nursing school, and used to a normal, two-slot toaster that popped up when it was done. The Reeves Estate toaster was an industrial-grade, four-tier German machine with twelve different buttons.
I pushed the lever down.
A minute passed. I flipped the bacon, feeling quite proud of myself.
Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
**Mia:** *Emergency. I am picking out a dress for a hospital interview next week and I need to know if I should go with 'professional nurse' or 'I will save your life but look hot doing it.'*
I laughed, quickly wiping my hands on my apron to type a reply.
**Grace:** *Professional, Mia. Definitely professional.*
**Mia:** *Boring. By the way, how is married life? Has the General ordered you to do push-ups yet?*
I smiled, typing back, but before I could hit send, a strange smell hit my nose.
A sharp, acrid smell.
I looked up.
Thick, black smoke was billowing out of the industrial toaster.
"Oh my God!" I shrieked, dropping my phone on the counter.
Henri ran into the kitchen and gasped, rushing forward with a kitchen towel, but I was closer. I frantically jabbed at the cancel button, but the machine just beeped aggressively at me. Finally, I grabbed a pair of wooden tongs and yanked the slices of bread out.
They were black.
Not dark brown. Not crispy.
Completely, entirely, charcoal black.
"You are burning the bread."
I froze.
Alexander was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
He had put on his crisp military jacket, though it remained unbuttoned, making his broad shoulders look impossibly wide. His sharp gray eyes took in the smoke, the frantic chef, and me, standing with wooden tongs holding two smoking pieces of charcoal.
My face instantly flooded with heat. I wanted the marble floor to open up and swallow me.
"I was making you breakfast," I squeaked, my natural shyness instantly paralyzing me. I quickly hid the tongs behind my back, looking down at my feet.
Alexander walked slowly into the room.
With a simple, silent flick of his fingers, he dismissed the kitchen staff. Henri and the maids practically sprinted out of the room, leaving us entirely alone.
Alexander stopped in front of the marble island, pulling out a stool and sitting down. His commanding presence somehow made the massive kitchen feel incredibly small.
"I ruined it," I admitted softly, my shoulders slumping in defeat. I walked over and placed the plate in front of him. The eggs were fine. The bacon was perfect. But the toast... the toast looked like it had been through a combat zone.
"I'll throw the bread away," I whispered, reaching out to take it off his plate. "I'm sorry. Your toaster is very complicated."
Alexander didn't say a word. He simply reached out and took the blackened toast from my hand.
Without breaking eye contact, he took a bite.
*Crunch.*
The sound was violently loud in the quiet kitchen.
I watched in absolute horror as the General of the Armed Forces chewed the burnt, bitter charcoal. Not a single muscle in his face twitched. He didn't reach for water.
He swallowed.
"It is edible," he stated bluntly.
"Alexander, it is literally carbon," I whispered, my face burning red.
"General?"
The kitchen doors swung open, and Ethan marched in, holding a sleek tablet. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Ethan's sharp, calculating eyes dropped to the plate in front of Alexander. He looked at the perfectly cooked eggs, the bacon, and then the piece of black charcoal currently in his commanding officer's hand.
Ethan blinked. Once. Twice.
"General," Ethan said slowly, his voice laced with profound, dry disbelief. "Are you... eating a briquette?"
Alexander took another bite. *Crunch.*
"My wife made breakfast," Alexander replied. He offered no further explanation.
Ethan looked at me, then back at Alexander.
"Sir, with respect," Ethan said, his face a mask of absolute seriousness, "eating that violates basic health protocols."
"Dismissed, Colonel," Alexander said flatly. "Wait by the car."
"Yes, General." Ethan bowed crisply. "Madam. Please spare his digestive tract next time."
"Ethan!" I gasped, mortified, as the colonel quickly exited the kitchen.
Before I could apologize to Alexander again, the heavy kitchen doors swung open for a third time.
"Good heavens, is something on fire?"
Grandmother Eleanor glided into the kitchen, looking as elegant as ever in a silk morning gown, tapping her cane lightly on the marble floor. Behind her walked Alexander's father, Richard, and my dad, Daniel, both dressed comfortably and looking wide awake.
"Good morning, everyone," I stammered, stepping back nervously and wiping my hands on my apron.
"Morning, Gracie," my dad smiled brightly. He looked incredibly energetic, though he was gripping his phone tightly in his hand. "Though it smells like a bonfire in here."
"Grace cooked," Alexander said simply, picking up his coffee.
Eleanor approached the island, raising her silver eyebrows at the black remnants on the plate.
"Oh, my sweet girl," Eleanor chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You do not need to cook. But it is entirely fascinating that my stubborn grandson is actually eating it without a single complaint."
Richard laughed, a booming, warm sound.
Alexander ignored his father completely. He simply didn't care what they thought.
My dad, however, wasn't looking at the toast. His eyes were fixed on Alexander, filled with a sudden, profound emotion.
"Alexander," my dad said, his voice dropping its cheerful tone, becoming thick with gratitude.
The kitchen quieted down.
"I just checked my emails," Daniel continued, stepping forward. "The hospital administrators messaged me this morning. They said my medical records have been transferred to the military hospital's VIP Cardiology Wing. And... they said my medical bills, past and future, have been cleared."
My jaw dropped.
I stared at my dad, then slowly turned my head to look at my husband.
Alexander's expression remained completely unreadable. He set his coffee cup down and looked directly at my father.
"The civilian ward was inadequate," Alexander stated, his voice flat and blunt. "You require absolute peace for your blood pressure. The military facility is better equipped."
"But the bills, Alexander..." my dad started.
"You are my father-in-law," Alexander interrupted quietly, leaving no room for argument. "It is my responsibility. It is done."
Straightforward and absolute.
I stood frozen, my heart swelling so rapidly it physically ached.
"Alexander," I whispered, my voice trembling.
He looked at me, his sharp gray eyes locking onto mine.
A tear slipped free, rolling down my cheek before I could stop it. I was so overwhelmed, so incredibly touched, but my natural shyness kept my feet rooted to the floor. I couldn't tackle him in front of our parents, but I couldn't just stand there either.
I took two small, hesitant steps toward him.
With a trembling hand, I reached out and gently grasped the thick fabric of his uniform sleeve.
"Thank you," I whispered, looking down at his chest because I was too shy to meet his intense gaze. "You didn't have to."
Alexander looked down at my small hand clutching his sleeve.
He didn't smile, but the rigid tension in his broad shoulders softened just a fraction. He reached over, his large, warm hand covering mine, pressing my fingers gently against his arm.
"Stop crying, Grace," he said bluntly, though his deep voice was surprisingly gentle. "I provide for my family. There is no need for tears."
"Oh, my heart," Eleanor whispered softly in the background.
Alexander stood up, releasing my hand, immediately restoring his impenetrable aura.
"I have a diplomatic convoy to manage," he announced to the room, adjusting his cuffs. "I will return late this evening. Do not wait up for me."
"But you're on leave "I asked surprised that he is going for a meeting
"Something came up,I have to leave".
He looked at me one last time. "Have a good day, Grace."
"Be safe," I murmured shyly.
He gave a single nod, turned, and strode out of the kitchen, his heavy boots echoing down the marble hallway.
The rest of the day felt like a beautiful, surreal dream.
With Alexander gone, the heavy, intimidating atmosphere of the estate lightened. Eleanor took my dad and me on a grand tour. We walked through the massive library, the indoor greenhouse, and the gallery filled with Reeves family history.
"He has always been like that," Eleanor told me quietly that afternoon as we sat in the garden. "Blunt. Direct. He despises praise. If he cares for someone, he doesn't write them poetry. He simply removes every obstacle in their path."
I looked down at the diamond ring on my finger, my chest feeling tight.
By the time night fell, the estate had grown quiet. My dad had retired to his suite, and Eleanor had gone to bed.
I sat alone in the massive master suite, reading a textbook on the sofa, waiting.
He had said not to wait up. But I couldn't sleep.
At exactly 11:30 PM, the heavy oak door opened.
Alexander stepped inside.
He looked exhausted. His military jacket was gone, his black tie was undone, and the top three buttons of his shirt were open. There was a faint smudge of dirt on his collar, and he smelled like rain and cold engine exhaust. Real military life. Not the glamorous version shown on television.
He stopped when he saw me sitting on the sofa in my pajamas.
"I told you not to wait up," he said, his voice a low, tired rumble.
"I was just reading," I lied softly, my heart picking up its pace. I placed the book on the coffee table. "Are you okay? You look tired."
He walked further into the room, unstrapping his heavy watch and setting it on the dresser.
"It was a long extraction protocol," he answered bluntly. "There were complications."
He didn't elaborate.
He walked over to the adjoining study, but before he opened the doors to his makeshift bedroom, he paused.
He turned his head, his sharp, tired gray eyes pinning me to the sofa. The silence in the room was sudden, heavy, and completely suffocating. The tension between us was electric, pulling at the air.
He stared at me for a long, intense moment, as if he was trying to figure out a complex military strategy.
"Go to sleep, Grace," he finally ordered, his voice darker, rougher than before.
He walked into the study and shut the doors.
I sat there in the silence, my face burning, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
He was a fortress. Blunt. Direct. Completely closed off.
But as I lay down in the massive king-sized bed, surrounded by the faint scent of his cedar cologne, I knew one thing for sure.
I was going to find a way to break his walls down.
***
The General owning his actions! ???? No excuses, just "You are my family. It is done."
Who else needs a man like Alexander Reeves?! And that late-night tension?!
Drop a ?? if you loved this chapter! Do you think Grace will be brave enough to confront him soon? Let me know in the comments! And remember to vote
Mwaah!