15. Gabriel #3
The vendor, holding back his laughter with pursed lips, scoops some cookie dough ice cream into a cup.
He hands it to Peyton, who has to stand on her tiptoes to reach the counter.
I pass the vendor a couple of bills, making sure to tip generously, and then we’re on our way, heading toward the beach.
As Peyton skips ahead of us, I lean down to speak to Alexis in a low voice. “Was that true? About your stutter?”
She nods. “Yeah. When I was six, I could barely talk. She’s doing much better than I was, honestly.”
“I didn’t know that.” I feel like I’ve said that about Alexis every single day since we were married.
“I used to be really self-conscious about it,” she confesses. “I mean, imagine being eight years old and unable to get a sentence out. Kids can be mean, especially when you don’t have the confidence to defend yourself.”
Up ahead, Peyton turns around. Her nose is already smeared with ice cream. “Look, Daddy! A pelican!” she calls out, pointing toward a big bird perched on the railing.
“You better watch out,” I tell her with a chuckle. “He might steal your ice cream.”
She lets out a screech and holds the cup close to her chest, getting ice cream on her sundress as she protects her prize from the large—and wholly disinterested—bird. I don’t bother to stop her. She’s having fun, and the ocean will wash the stickiness from her hands soon.
We’re descending the boardwalk steps onto the sand when Alexis suddenly stops dead, her gaze fixed on something in the distance.
I follow her line of sight. There’s a man approaching us across the beach, his shirt unbuttoned and toned abs gleaming with sunscreen.
He’s blond, his features chiseled, a hint of aristocratic arrogance in his confident smile.
“T-Travis,” Alexis stammers.
I feel a wave of irritation wash over me at the sight of him. Travis Whitaker. The man who was supposed to marry her before my father’s proposal.
“Alexis,” Travis says. His voice is warm as he raises a hand in greeting. “Hey! Didn’t expect to run into you here. It’s been too long.”
Alexis is flustered, awkward as she tries to introduce us. “Travis, this is Gabriel… my husband. Gabriel, this is…”
“I know who he is,” I say coolly. I keep my spine straight, my gaze fixed on Travis’s.
Travis smiles easily at me, as if he’s not the least bit intimidated by my presence. “Gabriel, of course. I’ve heard a lot about you. Congratulations on the marriage.”
“Thanks,” I say shortly.
Travis turns his gaze to Alexis, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes that raises my hackles. “I saw your photos on social media,” he tells her. “I knew you’d make a beautiful bride.”
Between the words, I hear his true meaning: you should have been my beautiful bride. I clench my jaw, hating this man more with each passing second.
Alexis smiles, her gaze dropping to the sand as a flush creeps across her freckled cheeks. “Th-thank you,” she says shyly.
Travis’s smile widens. He’s quite a bit younger than me, I realize.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s in his late twenties.
Much closer to Alexis’s age. I don’t like the way she smiles at his words, and I don’t like the way he seems to be pouring on the charm.
There’s no way he talks to all of his acquaintances this way.
I feel a possessive instinct surge within me. I reach out to wrap an arm around Alexis, my hand resting on her waist. I pull her closer to me, and she steps toward me without resistance.
“Great to meet you. If you’ll excuse us,” I say, ice in my tone, “I’d like to spend some time with my daughter and my wife.”
To emphasize the point, I lean down and plant a kiss on Alexis’s temple, long and slow. I keep my eyes fixed on Travis, like I’m watching a predator, tracking its movements.
Travis’s smile falters for an instant, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. It’s a small victory, but it feels good nonetheless.
He composes himself quickly enough that Alexis doesn’t see the look in his eyes, but I caught it: the moment when he realized that I wasn’t just an obstacle in his way, but a man fiercely protective of what’s his.
“Of course,” he says smoothly, his tone laced with a false cordiality that grates on my nerves. “Enjoy your day.”
With that, he brushes past me, his shoulder barely missing mine.
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to respond, not to step in his path or get in his face.
My fists curl instinctively at my sides, but I force myself to let it go—for Alexis’s sake, and for Peyton, who doesn’t need to see her father start a fight on the beach.
As we walk away, though, I glance over my shoulder and meet his gaze as he looks back in our direction. Slowly, deliberately, I lay my hand on Alexis’s back.
Now that she can’t see him, he’s less careful about schooling his expression. His eyes darken, and I can see the resentment stewing within him.
Resent it all you want, I think. The wave of possessiveness that rushes through me is sudden and fierce. She’s mine.