8. Alexis
Alexis
By the end of the night, I feel dead on my feet.
My cheeks hurt from smiling. I’ve shaken at least a hundred hands, greeted a hundred people I barely even know. Heard the words congratulations and best wishes so many times that those phrases have lost all meaning.
As the band plays the final song, I find myself back on that bench beside the maple tree—a refuge in the chaos.
I’m sitting down, resting my sore feet. I would have ripped those heels off twenty minutes into the reception if it had been up to me, but I know better than to do something like that. I have an image to maintain.
My mother makes her way across the dance floor, dodging the stragglers who are still trying to dance. Her eyes are on me, and for a moment, my chest clenches painfully. I rise to my feet, anticipation humming through my body, one last burst of adrenaline to carry me through this interaction.
But when she reaches me, my mother pulls me into a hug.
Something inside of me unwinds, the tightness in my ribcage releasing its hold. I breathe out as my mother’s hand rests on my upper back.
“You did so well,” she tells me quietly.
There’s a lump in my throat, and for the first time today, my eyes prick with tears. “I—thank you,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
She pulls back slightly, her hands lingering on my shoulders, searching my eyes. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.” She glances over at my father, who’s off to the side, speaking to Gabriel and one of his brothers. “We both are.”
I watch as my father shakes Gabriel’s hand enthusiastically, beaming from ear to ear. I can hear snatches of their conversation—business talk. Something about Gabriel joining the board of Vérité, which I hadn’t known was in the works, but doesn’t surprise me.
They move toward me and my mother, still conversing, although my father seems to be doing most of the talking.
“We’re very excited for what’s to come,” he says, voice booming.
“Thank you, Mr. Beaumont,” Gabriel replies, his tone low by comparison. “I’m looking forward to contributing however I can.”
“Please, call me Jonathan,” my father says. “We’re family now, after all.”
“Do you two have a car arranged?” my mother puts in, her hands clasped together. “If not, we can—”
“That’s alright,” Gabriel says, holding up a hand to dismiss the offer. “I’ve already called a driver. He’ll be picking us up outside in fifteen minutes.”
“What about your daughter?” she asks. My heart squeezes at the reminder of Peyton—a child I don’t know, whose home I will now be sharing.
“Her nanny took her home a few hours ago,” Gabriel says, offering a tight-lipped smile. “This is well past her bedtime.”
My parents chuckle good-naturedly, and my mother says, “Of course.”
The idea of sharing a car back to Gabriel’s house—just the two of us—is nerve-wracking, but at this point, I’m desperate to get out of these shoes and drop this smile.
I glance down at my feet, trying to subtly shift my weight to ease the ache.
Gabriel catches the movement and gives me a sympathetic look.
“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. The words sound unexpectedly intimate, and my stomach twists with a mix of relief and nerves.
As we say our final goodbyes to my parents, my mother pulls me into a warm hug, and my father gives me a pat on the shoulder. It’s the most outward affection I can remember from either of them in a long time, and it catches me off guard.
As Gabriel and I step outside, the cool night air is a welcome change from the heat of the party. At the curb out front of the building, there’s a black Mercedes waiting. Gabriel opens the car door for me, a small gesture that feels strangely comforting.
Then Gabriel climbs into the back seat beside me and closes the door.
The driver puts up the plastic partition between us and the front, giving us a sense of privacy.
As we settle in, the hum of the engine fills the silence, and the city lights flash past the windows, casting a fleeting glow across Gabriel’s face.
My mother already arranged for my belongings to be moved to Gabriel’s house, but I’ve never been there myself. The idea of walking in and trying to make myself feel at home is terrifying. I find myself gritting my teeth just thinking about it.
But it’s not like I have an option. For the next three years, I’ll be living in that house. It’s the closest thing I have to a home now, and I’ve never even been there.
I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable, but it’s impossible.
Now that we’re alone, sealed off from the rest of the world, I’m painfully aware of him once again—his presence, the smell of his aftershave.
I have a fleeting, ridiculous thought. What would it be like to lean into him?
To rest my head against his shoulder, climb onto his lap…
Gabriel breaks the silence, jarring me from my inappropriate thoughts. He clears his throat and says, “I apologize, I’ll have to return to work in a few days’ time. Things don’t slow down at Thorne Enterprises, not even for a wedding.”
“That’s okay,” I say reflexively. “I wasn’t expecting a honeymoon.”
He gives me a look that I can’t parse, but there’s a hint of something in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Frustration. As if he wishes I’d said anything else.
“It really isn’t,” he says.
“Isn’t what?”
“Isn’t okay.” His eyes remain fixed on the plastic partition, his jaw tight. “You should have been expecting a honeymoon. You should be off to the Maldives or Tuscany… somewhere beautiful.”
I’m taken aback, unsure how to respond. “That’s… that’s for other people,” I stammer. “You know…”
“None of this is how your wedding should’ve been,” Gabriel continues, his eyes hard. “It should’ve been the happiest day of your life.”
I glance at him. The hurt in his voice is palpable. He looks haunted. I suddenly think, not for the first time, of his first wife. Of the woman who, presumably, he loved.
Her absence hangs between us, unspoken but heavy. I know very little about her, only bits and pieces that I’ve heard from other people. Gabriel has never even mentioned her in my presence, but I can tell that she hasn’t been far from his mind throughout this entire shit fest.
The words slip out before I can stop them. “Was your first marriage the happiest day of your life?”
He inhales sharply, as if my question has stung him. His body goes tense, and a mask falls over his face.
Shit. You’ve done it now, I think to myself miserably. You’ve been married for less than a day, and you’ve already stepped in it. Great job, Alexis.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stumbling over my words. “I… I d-didn’t mean to, um. T-to overstep. I—”
He sighs, cutting me off. For a moment, I think he’s about to snap at me, but instead he relaxes, leaning back heavily in his seat. The coldness fades from his face, leaving him looking weary.
“I don’t tend to talk about that,” he tells me, the words a bit stilted.
I nod, my heart sinking into my horribly uncomfortable shoes. I’m happy to let the subject drop, but I still can’t help but berate myself mentally. Come on, Alexis, what the hell are you thinking? How could you ask him that?
I know that Gabriel’s first wife passed away, leaving him to raise Peyton alone. Everyone whispers about it, the tragic past that had left a scar on him, a ghost in his gaze that seemed ever-present. And here I am, prying into it on our wedding night.
We fall into silence, the car’s hum filling the void. I stare out the window, wishing I could disappear into the blur of city lights streaking past.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we turn off the road in Brentwood, passing through a gate and heading up a long gravel driveway that curves behind a low wall and a screen of trees.
When the house comes into view, it’s not the glamorous estate I was expecting.
It’s huge, of course, and beautiful—but surprisingly modest too. Well, modest by our standards.
The car stops, and Gabriel gets out and comes around to open my door.
I step out and just stand there for a second, feeling small as I look up at it.
It’s two stories tall, clean and modern, with big windows and plants growing up around it.
The lights are on inside, warm and yellow, and it actually looks kind of…
cozy. Lived-in. Nothing like my old condo or my family’s place up in the hills.
Gabriel ascends the steps to his front door, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on. I just have to let Margaret get home, then I’ll give you the tour.”
When he opens the door and steps inside, he’s greeted by a slight, smiling woman who appears to be in her early fifties.
She stands in the foyer, a bag over her shoulder, and leans forward to give him a hug as soon as he crosses the threshold.
Then, to my surprise, she turns to me with equal warmth, offering me a hug, as well.
“It’s so good to meet you,” she says, withdrawing, her hazel eyes sparkling. “I’m Margaret—Peyton’s nanny.”
“This is Alexis,” Gabriel says unnecessarily, since it’s pretty clear she knows who I am. “How’s Peyton doing? Is she in bed?”
Margaret nods, smiling fondly. “She was out like a light almost as soon as we got home. It took a bit of effort to get her out of her dress and into bed. I guess all that dancing took it out of her.”
“Good.” I catch the fleeting look of love on Gabriel’s face. “I’ll be in to check on her in a little bit. Thanks, Margaret. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Of course. Have a good night,” she says, then bustles out into the night, leaving us alone in the foyer.