10. Alexis
Alexis
As the three of us eat breakfast together, I can’t help feeling completely awkward.
So far, this morning has gone about as poorly as I feared it would. I had it in my head that I would spring out of bed at the crack of dawn and cheerfully whip up breakfast for my husband. He would be impressed and grateful, and I would be the picture of the perfect wife.
Instead, I made a huge mess of everything.
I’m relieved that he didn’t seem upset, but I can’t stop mentally kicking myself as I take small bites of the waffles Gabriel made.
They’re delicious, which makes me feel even worse.
I get to eat fluffy waffles with fresh strawberries while my husband gets slightly-burned eggs. I’m not exactly doing my part.
When he walked into the kitchen, I was certain he was going to tell me off for going through his cupboards without permission. That fear almost stopped me from trying to cook. The fear of expectation was stronger.
But he seemed completely unfazed by the mess I made, and by my terrible attempt at cooking.
Evidently, the idea of his wife being a bad cook doesn’t bother him, which is a relief and a surprise.
I expected him to be critical or at least disappointed, but he just rolls with it, like it’s no big deal.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him pick at the ill-formed omelet, looking for the most edible parts.
He seems so much less intimidating like this, wearing a thin t-shirt and sweats, his hair rumpled from sleep, his daughter perched on a stool beside him with a plate full of waffles and whipped cream.
At the same time, though, he’s about ten times as attractive, which doesn’t help my nerves.
Dressed-down Gabriel might be softer than Thorne Enterprises Gabriel, but I still feel the same rush of awareness whenever he’s near.
There’s something magnetic about him, an energy that pulls me in even when I try to keep my distance.
Peyton, for her part, is a bit quiet. She was so sweet to me when she first came into the kitchen, but she hasn’t said much since then. She keeps casting sideways glances at me, and the way she’s clutching her stuffed cat tells me that she’s feeling a bit uncertain.
I can understand why. This is all new for her too. There’s a stranger in her house, and that’s… weird.
“Are you excited to go to school today?” Gabriel asks her.
She shrugs one shoulder, biting her lip, and picks at her waffles. “I don’t know.”
“Your friends must be looking forward to seeing you,” he coaxes.
It’s touching to watch him interact with his daughter.
He clearly adores her, and I realize with a start that unlike most parents in our social circles, he doesn’t have a live-in nanny.
He’s doing most of the legwork of parenting on his own, even though he could certainly afford an au pair or other full-time help.
“Maybe,” Peyton says, her eyes downcast. “But I don’t think so.”
“Trust me,” Gabriel says. “By the time summer rolls around, you’re not going to want to leave school. You’ll have so many friends that you’ll be too busy to even think about summer vacation.”
Peyton’s eyes widen. “Really?”
Gabriel nods. “You just have to be yourself, okay, Bug?”
She leans in closer, as if considering his words seriously. “Okay.”
The sound of the doorbell interrupts their moment, and Peyton jumps up from her stool, her eyes flashing with excitement. “That’s Margaret!” she shouts, rushing off toward the foyer.
Gabriel turns to me. “Margaret comes in the mornings on weekdays,” he explains.
“Helps me get Peyton ready for school, and does a few things around the house here and there, just to keep things running. She’s not usually here on weekends or late at night, unless I have some kind of engagement, in which case, she looks after Peyton. ”
“Got it,” I reply.
Peyton comes rushing back into the kitchen, Margaret in tow. I can tell by the way Peyton positions herself—slightly behind Margaret, peeking out from her side—that she’s still feeling shy about having me here.
“Good morning, Alexis,” Margaret says, offering me a warm smile. “I hope you managed to get some sleep last night.”
“You too,” I say awkwardly. “It was a long day.”
She chuckles, a lilting sound. “For you, dear. Not so much for me. I wasn’t wearing heels and a twenty-pound dress.”
I can’t help but smile. This woman has such a lightness to her. She’s easy to talk to, and her presence seems to brighten the room. “It was actually only ten pounds.”
She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “That’s still a workout, if you ask me.”
“I have a favor to ask you, Margaret,” says Gabriel. “Before you take Peyton to school, would you mind cleaning up in here a little bit?” He gestures over to the disaster zone on his stovetop, and I wish I could evaporate into the air.
“Please, I can do it,” I insist, my cheeks flaming. “I… I said I would.”
He gives me a long, level look. “You don’t need to.”
I don’t push the issue, but the heat in my face doesn’t die down. Margaret, sensing my discomfort, smiles at me. “It’s no problem, hon. It’s my job.”
Gabriel puts a hand on Peyton’s head, ruffling her hair until she squeaks and wriggles away from him. “Let’s go on upstairs,” he says. “You need to get ready for school.”
On the second-floor landing, Peyton rushes off to her bedroom to get dressed and pack her knapsack. Gabriel and I head back into the master bedroom to prepare for our own days.
Neither of us is used to sharing our space, and it’s awkward to navigate the bedroom, a delicate dance of avoidance.
I unpack a few more of my clothes and manage to find my hairbrush.
As I move toward the bathroom, I almost collide with Gabriel, who’s coming out at the same time.
We both pause, the air charged with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.
“Sorry,” I murmur, stepping back to give him space.
“No, you first,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.
I nod gratefully and slip into the bathroom, taking a moment to compose myself. I run the brush through my hair, wincing as it catches on tangles.
After splashing some water on my face, I take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom.
Gabriel is now standing by the window, looking out at the morning light spilling into the room.
The sun casts a warm glow around him as he buttons up his shirt.
The collar stands on end, giving him a slightly disheveled look that only adds to his charm. For a moment, I find myself captivated.
Then I notice that he’s staring at me, and I drop my gaze to the floor, my heart hammering in my chest.
He steps closer to me. “I didn’t know you had freckles,” he says.
Internally, I wince. I meant to put on makeup before he saw me again. Just another thing I fucked up this morning.
“I usually cover them up,” I admit.
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he says, his voice low, “You shouldn’t.”
I suck in a short breath, startled.
“They suit you,” he adds.
I have no idea what to make of that, but the way he’s looking at me makes my heart race.
“Th-thank you,” I stammer.
He turns away, his fingers working at the buttons close to his throat. I watch the sinew of his forearms as he moves, the muscles shifting under his skin. I can’t tear my gaze away from him.
Before I can stop myself, before I can think logically about what I’m doing, I blurt out, “I don’t want you to sleep with other women.”
He freezes like a deer caught in headlights, his expression shifting from relaxed to tense in an instant.
“I mean—” I start, scrambling to recover. “That came out wrong. What I meant was… while we’re married, I…”
I pause, trying to collect my thoughts, but I can’t. They’re scattered all over the place, a jumbled mess all over the thick, white carpet.
“I know what you said last night, but just because you’re not sleeping with me, even if this isn’t real, I-I don’t want you being with other women.”
He stares at me, his expression completely unreadable, and I take a deep, shuddering breath. I can’t believe I just said that. I don’t even know where it came from.
“I won’t sleep with anyone else as long as we’re married,” he says slowly. “I give you my word.”
Something in my chest relaxes. “Okay. Th-thank you.” I turn away, trying to hide the relief flooding through me.
“The same goes for you,” he says, his voice stopping me in my tracks.
I glance back at him. “What?”
His gaze is intense, focused. “I don’t want my wife sleeping with other men, either. As long as we’re married, no matter how unconventional it is, I want you to be mine.”
I nod, my heart in my throat. The idea had never even occurred to me, but he seems so serious, so determined.
“I—I won’t sleep with other men,” I assure him. “I promise.”
As if there’s any chance of that, anyway.