by Lena Black
As I’m looking about the room, I slowly realize how many scrutinizing eyes are cast on us. Guests seem to be whispering amongst themselves. I glimpse back at Damian, lost in banter, and try to shake off the uneasy feeling. I don’t want to interrupt him if I’m just overreacting. I have a tendency of doing that.
I’m being paranoid.
Thirty minutes later, the music begins, low enough that the boring conversations continue, but loud enough to stifle them a bit.
I watch people take to the dancefloor and feel a gentle stroke down my back. When I turn to Hunt, he’s smiling at me.
“Dance with me, angel.”
“I’d love to.”
That’s something I really love about Damian, he’s a wonderful dancer.
We rise and walk to the floor where he takes me in his arms and holds me close, leaning his mouth to my ear.
“Do you know why I enjoy dancing with you at these functions?” he asks, swaying us to the music.
“Why?”
“Even in a room filled with other people, I have you in my arms.” He places a finger under my chin, running his thumb over the plumpest part of my bottom lip. “I love touching you, Gabrielle.”
He kisses me softly, his strong lips loitering for a beat before removing his lips. Whether it’s a hand on my thigh, a simple kiss, or embracing me in his arms as we dance, he’s never been introverted about his affection for me around others. He’s just subtle in his displays. We move to the music, gazing at each other too long to be appropriate for public.
Suddenly, an older gentleman Damian does business with tilts close into him and hisses softly in his ear before dancing away with his wife. Halting us in place, Hunt stares at the man with a confused, almost offended leer. Without a word, he releases me, plucks his cell from the pocket inside his tux jacket, and punches send with his thumb, pressing the flat rectangular device to his ear. He walks away from me, making it difficult to decipher whatever he’s saying to who I assume is Banks.
Who else would he call during a crisis?
A nauseating feeling bubbles in the pit of my stomach, an intuition that this is related to whatever I noticed at dinner.
He ends the call and turns back to me with a tight-lipped expression afflicting his beautifully masculine face, a worried crinkle in his forehead.
“We should take our leave,” he suggests sternly and takes my hand, escorting me toward the exit.
“Damian, I left my clutch on the table.”
He keeps moving forward like a freight train, his long strides making it difficult to keep pace with him in my heels.
“Does it have anything important inside?”
Just some make-up.
“No, I suppose not.”
“Then I’ll buy you another.”
“Damian,” I plead.
“Don’t, Gabrielle. I need you to cooperate with me right now.”
We continue through the lobby and out the front doors where the Land Rover is sitting at the curb. Opening the rear passenger door, he assists me in and walks around to his side, climbing in beside me.
To say the car ride home was silent, would be a gross understatement. It was as if he weren’t even there. As soon as we made it home, he immersed himself in the current crisis at hand. Liam was already waiting for him in the main room when we arrived, his steely eyes revealing his distress. Hunt must’ve messaged him without me noticing.
“What’s going on, Banks?” Hunt inquires with a stiffness.
“I received news on the situation.”
Hunt turns to me to recite me the same old speech, but before he can say anything, I comment, “I’ll be fine.”
He hesitates making his retreat to his office, his mouth slightly slack, to explain everything he’s been keeping from me, to apologize for the distance the secrets have kept between us. Or maybe that’s what I’m hoping for. Instead, he says, “We shouldn’t be too long.” He kisses me modestly on my forehead. It isn’t sweet or tender. It’s cold.
He breaks away from me and walks across the living room and up the stairs to his office, speaking quietly with Liam the whole way. Every time he disappears up there, it twists my stomach in knots. Work is one thing. It’s these ‘emergencies’ that mess me up.
He keeps situations from me because he believes he’s protecting me from the big bad world, but I would be more understanding of the decisions he makes on my behalf if I knew the facts. For instance, I’m curious what that man said to make him react as he has. Just thinking about the argument we’d have if I asked makes me mentally exhausted.
Defeated by the evening, I retreat to our bedroom and slide out of my fancy uniform for the night. I take off my jewelry, purchased by Hunt, piece by piece and then unpin my hair.
Since I’ve become Hunt’s wife, this is a regular ritual for me. He’s always invited to some event, party, boating in the bay, charities. This is my life now. It would be harder to swallow if I weren’t accustomed to a lesser variation of this lifestyle since the day I was born. My parents were great givers of parties, which meant I was expected to represent the family by dressing well and putting my best face forward as a dutiful, loving daughter should. With Hunt, I enjoy being by his side, introduced to everyone as his wife, being there for him when he needs me, because he does the same for me.
I jump into the shower for a quick rinse, scrubbing my face clean of any makeup. When I’m finished, I wrap a towel about my trunk and stand in judgement of the foggy mirror. We haven’t been on good terms lately. Swiping the condensation away with a brush of my hand, my broken reflection peeks out from the streaked glass, a blue eye, a mouth, a damp shoulder spotted with pearly drops of water.
Dropping the towel at my feet, I retrieve a bottle of moisturizer from the drawer on my side of the counter and squeeze a quarter-sized amount into my palm. I rub my hands together to warm the cold cream and begin massaging it into my skin, spreading it over my face to my neck to my shoulders. I squirt another glob, working it into my collarbone and downward to my breasts, taking pleasure from their weight in my hands, the way the buds of my nipples harden beneath my touch. I shut my eyes as one hand deviates, slowly massaging my stomach, creeping down to my...
“Do you enjoy exploring yourself?”
My eyelids snap open, and I stare at Damian studying me from the doorway, his large body propped against the frame. He’s showing signs of wear, his tie drooping around his neck, the top two buttons of his collar unfastened.
“It’s a pale comparison to you.”
He manages a weak smile, pushing himself off the doorframe with his shoulder and walking over to me. His tall, broad build towers behind me, our eyes locking in the mirror.
Whatever’s happening, it’s chipping away at him piece by piece.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he apologizes. Hope blooms in my chest. “But I won’t involve you if there’s no reason, and this isn’t need to know.” And it shriveled and died. “It will only cause you stress.”
“How can I stand by and helplessly watch this affect you, us the way it has? I want to stand with you and fight this together.”
“You are,” he says, draping me in his arms and setting his lips against the crown of my head, “we are.” Our gaze disconnects when the lids of his sad green eyes hood them. “You’re also my number one concern. I want to keep you as far away from Dante and his bullshit as possible. Is that wrong of me?”
“No,” I answer, a faint pout dipping the corners of my mouth.
He leans in and whispers into my ear, “How can I make it up to you?”
Chapter Four
Surprise, Surprise
After a hectic day at the office, my body sags against the elevator wall with the weight of exhaustion. With View now in the hands of Eliza Prescott, we’re doing a revamp of the entire magazine. We’ve been busting our asses day and night for months to get everything ready for the New Year relaunch, and with less than a month left, it’s crunch time. I’ve pretty much take
n over Eliza’s role as second in command, so my time is sparse these days.
Since Hunt’s going to a business dinner tonight, I’m not expecting him to be home. I’m going to soak the chill of December out of my bones in a nice, hot bath, slip into my most worn-out concert tee, and slip into a deep coma, warm in our bed.
I’m daydreaming of sleep when the elevator doors part, and I’m greeted by a unison, “Hi!”
Jules and Sloan sit in the main room on the couch, welcoming smiles nearly splitting their faces. It isn’t uncommon to find them here these days, not since Hunt opened our home to friends and family. Plus, Jules moved in downstairs with Liam fulltime, and Sloan has had some difficulties with Shane, so they’re both over a lot. It’s actually really nice having them around so much, like we’re our own little family.
“Hello, ladies,” I mutter with a tired voice.
“You down for a girls’ night?” Jules asks, her face pinching with concern.
“Um.” My eyes drop to my work clothes. They don’t have that crisp, put-together appearance anymore, drooping and wrinkled. I can only imagine what I must look like. “Yeah, let me change, and I’ll be right back.”
I ‘run’ upstairs to change into a sweater and pajama bottoms. There’s no way in hell I’m hanging out in these stinky clothes while we shoot the shit. As I stroll the second floor hallway past Hunt’s office, his angry voice erupts from behind the door.
Hm.
His dinner must’ve been cancelled.
I can’t make out what he’s yelling, only that he isn’t having whatever bullshit he’s listening to. He pauses every now and then, but when there’s no response from a second voice I realize he must be on the phone.
Dread grows in the pit of my gut at the desperation in his tone, like a cornered animal lashing out. I keep moving toward our bedroom, a quickness in my step, desperately trying to outrun the sensation of impending doom headed straight for us.
We’re sitting in the living room, Jules and I sipping on red wine while Sloan licks her chops.
“God, I miss that,” she remarks with a longing sigh.
“Oh, how stupid of us,” Jules says about to take my glass from me to dispose of them.
“No, it’s fine.” Sloan waves her hand to stop her. “I’ll just be happy when I can join you guys again. I feel like an outcast, not being able to let loose, all fat and pregnant.” She hovers her hands over her domed tummy to emphasize its size. “I’m disgusting.”
“Sweetie,” I murmur, placing my hand over hers, now resting on her belly, “you’re stunning no matter what size you are. In fact, you’ve never looked more radiant, honestly. You’re glowing.”
“Exactly,” Jules agrees, “there’s nothing more breathtaking than a woman creating life.”
She rolls her eyes. “Really? Is morning sickness stunning? How about the uncontrollable gas and hemorrhoids? Is that breathtaking? Oh, and the glow, that’s sweat.”
Jules and I glance at one another, bursting into a fit of laughter. Jules practically falls off the couch.
“Okay, okay,” I sputter out as I try to gain control over myself again, wiping a rogue tear from my cheek. “You win. You’re a hot mess. Feel better?”
“No,” she pouts.
“God,” Jules says with mock annoyance, “pregnant chicks are so moody.”
Sloan cracks a smile, joining us as we laugh hysterically, falling into each other.
“How are things with you and Banks?” I inquire once we’ve calmed down.
“Amazing,” she says, taking a sip of wine. “I really love him.”
Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say that about a man, not even Chase.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s great.” I give her a quick hug.
“It really is,” Sloan concurs.
Even though Jules is over Chase, I’m still hesitant to tell her what happened earlier at brunch. I know she’ll find out sooner rather than later so I may as well be the one to break the news.
“So, Hunt and I had brunch with Maya and Chase yesterday.”
“Yeah?” Jules says as she finishes the last sip of her wine. “How goes that?”
“They, um…They eloped,” I mutter out with a cringe, hoping the quicker I get it out, the better she’d take it, like ripping off an emotional bandage.
I glimpse over at her, and though there is a slight sadness in her violet eyes, she doesn’t seem overly so. She tucks her raven hair behind her ear and smiles softly. “That’s good news. I’m happy for them.” She seems to truly mean it.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think so,” I comment, sinking back into the couch.
“What do you mean?” Sloan asks with a questioning look.
“I kinda, sorta…freaked out on them. And in the process, pissed Hunt off.”
“Oh God, what did you say, Ellie?” Jules takes over their line of questioning.
“I may have said, ‘Who goes off and marries someone they’ve only been with for a short time?’.”
“You didn’t,” Jules breathes out, shutting her eyes and setting her hand over her mouth.
I blush with humiliation.
“Oh my god, she did.” Sloan shakes her head with disapproval.
“It just kinda slipped out.” I tilt my head to the side. “I didn’t mean it. I was just in such shock from the initial blow.”
“How did Damian react?” Jules asks, her face wrenched with nervous anticipation. She knows how Hunt can be. He seems so strong on the outside, but on the inside, he’s just as sensitive as anyone else.
“Not good. He was really wounded. It was just a big old mess.”
“As he should be, Ellie.” J gently slaps me on my knee. “That must have been painful to hear.”
“I apologized and we made up.”
“That’s good,” Sloan says with a sympathetic smile. “Do you think that you moved too fast, Ellie, with Damian?”
“Yes, in some ways I do, but I wouldn’t change anything. We move fast. It’s what we’ve always done.”
“A part of me always believed you were meant to be,” Jules confesses, “always so close to meeting, always within reach of each other, but always just out of grasp, so when you finally did cross paths, you didn’t want to waste any more time without.”
“That’s really sweet, Jules.” I wrap my arm about her shoulder, pasting a kiss on her cheek.
“Eh.” She shrugs with a coy smirk, obviously embarrassed by the mushy attention.
“It really was, J,” Sloan assures. “And on that note, I have to pee or I may explode.”
She struggles to get up, so I give her butt a light shove. She waddles down the hall toward the bathroom.
There’s a part of me that’s anxious to be alone with Julie. I know I will have to tell her about my past with Nicholas and his murder. She has a right to know his life was not taken by his own hand. With every passing day, the situation with Dante bears down on us, making it harder and harder to keep secrets from everyone around us. There’s a part of me that wonders if we’ll ever catch him. And if we do, at what cost? How many other lives will be ruined before we do?
“So, how was Thanksgiving with the family?” J asks, trying to take the focus off her.
“Ugh, don’t ask.” I tilt my head onto the couch backing.
“Why? What happened?”
“Well, I guess since we were on the subject of too fast, this is kinda fitting…Keira decided to ask me, in front of the whole family, if I was preggers.”
“You’re kidding!” she exclaims with a stunned look. “Are you?”
“God, no! I’m not ready for kids yet. I mean, I want time to simply be a wife before I take on the role of mother too.”
“I get it…That must have been fucking awkward.”
“You have no idea,” I sigh out. “I was mortified.”
“Why did they think you were pregnant?” she inquires.
“I think it’s because I’ve put on a few pounds recently.” I pat my stoma
ch. “Or maybe it was just them putting their hopes on me. I’m really not sure, but whatever it was, I wasn’t happy about it. You should have seen the looks on their faces when I said no. It was like they wanted me to be.”
“What about Hunt? What did he think about all of it?”
“To be totally honest, I’m not sure. We’ve talked about it. I know he wants kids one day, but the way he talks about it, it’s as if he would be happy if it happened now.”
“Well, he is thirty-one. It’s not like he’s a child. He’s at that age where men start to consider the idea of starting a family and leaving a legacy, especially when they’re successful like Damian. He’ll want a child to pass his name onto. Plus, you’re twenty-six. It wouldn’t be totally out of the ordinary if you were to get pregnant.”
I sit and think for a moment, sipping on my wine while I stare out into nothingness. She’s right. It’s not out of the ordinary for people our age to have children. But I know we aren’t ready for that. Beyond wanting time alone with him, we still have so much to accomplish in our relationship first.
We’ve come far from where we were in the beginning, making great strides with both our issues and commitment to one another. But we still had a ways to go before we are truly ready to consider bringing another life into the mix. I mean, god forbid we screw the kid up with our own idiosyncrasies.
For example, just last month, I’d planned Hunt’s Birthday, wanting to do something amazing for him, but it couldn’t have gone worse if I’d planned it…
I had woken him with breakfast in bed, but when his eyes opened, I could see he wasn’t in a good mood. He choked down his breakfast almost reluctantly, as if he were only doing it for my sake. I knew something was really wrong then. He loved my cooking, devoured every bite as if it was his first and last meal.
I shook it off. I was hell-bent on making it a wonderful day for him, to change it from a day of mourning his parents’ deaths to a day of celebrating his life.
While we were in the shower, I gave him his first birthday present, my hungry mouth wrapped about his cock. Though he enjoyed it, he seemed distant.