8. Alexis #2
As soon as she leaves, the house feels quiet and foreboding.
She was the last stranger who stood between us and this new reality.
At the wedding, there were plenty of buffers, plenty of reasons to keep things formal and distant.
Now, there’s only one reason. The simple fact that we’re not real newlyweds.
We’re not people in love with each other.
I close my eyes for a brief instant, trying to imagine what it would’ve been like to come home after a true wedding. To finally be alone with the person I loved, no barriers between us. I’ve read that scene at least half a dozen times in my favorite romance novels.
Gabriel clears his throat, glancing around as if seeing his own home for the first time. “Well… this is it. The, uh, the kitchen is through here.”
He guides me through a hallway into a spacious kitchen with gleaming marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. There’s a bowl of fruit on the counter, and a window above the sink, the sill decorated with a row of plants.
“It’s nice,” I comment appreciatively. I can imagine how light and airy it will feel during the day, when sunlight can make its way through that window.
“Glad you like it. The dining room is through there.” He gestures to the adjoining room.
As I step into the dining area, I take in the large, polished oak table at its center, surrounded by sleek chairs that match the functional minimalism of the kitchen.
It doesn’t seem as though this room gets much use, though.
I imagine that, with just Peyton and Gabriel in the house, most dinners take place at the kitchen island.
“And it’s this way to the living room,” Gabriel adds, steering me toward another doorway.
The hardwood floors give way to a carpet that’s plush beneath my feet, and I suddenly remember that I’m still wearing my heels. Surreptitiously, I lean down to yank them off. My feet sigh in relief as I free them from the constricting shoes, and I tuck the heels under my arm.
The living room has high ceilings and exposed brick walls that add a rustic charm to the otherwise modern decor.
There’s a fireplace nestled along one wall, framed by an intricately carved wooden mantel lined with framed photographs.
As I draw closer, I see that almost all of the pictures are of Peyton.
“There are a few more rooms on this floor,” Gabriel says. “Home gym, den, that sort of thing. There’s a theater in the basement, along with a wine cellar and game room. The pool’s out back, with a hot tub, if you ever feel like a swim. Are you ready to head upstairs?”
At the mention of upstairs, my heart climbs back into my throat. Upstairs. Where the bedroom is. We haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s standard for wives to sleep in their husbands’ beds.
Oh, god. I’m somebody’s wife.
I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. “So… are we both… um…” My words trail off, and I feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
Gabriel grimaces, his hand rising to rake through his hair. “I think that’s part of the arrangement,” he says heavily. “But if you’d rather have your own space—”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s—it’s okay. We’re married now.”
I want to do this right. I would certainly feel more comfortable in my own room, my own bed, but I know what my family’s expectations are. I know what a good wife does.
Gabriel gives me a long, unreadable look. Then he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Alright,” he says quietly, his gaze softening. “But if it ever becomes too much, just say the word. I don’t want you to feel… trapped.”
I swallow, nodding. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
An awkward silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken things. Then Gabriel clears his throat, gesturing toward the hallway. “So, shall we?”
I fall in behind him, following him to the stairs. The faint scent of cedar and something faintly smoky—his cologne, I think—lingers in his wake.
As we reach the top, Gabriel pauses and gestures down the hallway.
“Stairs at the end there go up to the roof,” he says, his voice just above a whisper.
“There’s a deck up top—nice place to sit, good view.
You’re welcome to use it whenever.” He turns and points in the opposite direction.
“Peyton’s bedroom is that way. And…” He faces the door nearest to us. “This is us.”
Gabriel pushes the door open, revealing a spacious room with a massive bed at its center, draped in crisp, cream-colored sheets.
A cozy sitting area occupies one corner, with a low coffee table and two armchairs angled toward each other.
There are large windows along one wall, framed by gauzy curtains drawn closed to block out the streetlights.
There are several boxes and suitcases along one wall. My stuff.
For a moment, we both just stand there in the doorway, caught in the strangeness of the moment. Then, clearing his throat slightly, Gabriel steps aside, letting me enter first.
Without discussion, we both start to get ready for bed.
I go to one of the suitcases that I know contains clothes and drag it over to the foot of the bed, unzipping it and sifting through my things until I find something comfortable: an oversized t-shirt that feels like a lifeline right now.
Gabriel, on the other side of the room, moves quietly, slipping out of his suit jacket and folding it over one of the armchairs.
Then he starts to unbutton his shirt. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I do my best to stare down into the open suitcase, but I can’t resist a quick glance up at him. Muscles ripple in his arms as he shrugs the shirt off, and…
Holy shit. He’s unreal. Defined shoulders, lean lines down to his waist… it’s hard not to stare. After a moment, he shrugs on a cotton t-shirt, and it’s all I can do not to sigh in relief—and, okay, maybe a little bit of disappointment.