Damn, this woman fucking slays me. I adore her and her resilient defiance. So much more than her tears. My gut drops for what feels like the millionth time this morning. Never one for hysterics, I know how much she's struggling for her to actually cry. Let alone in front of me.
Which I feel like fucking bawling myself when I realize what she endured. Without me. But I'll never let her see. Or know. I have to be strong. Be her rock when she feels weak. Solid as concrete when she doubts me or my commitment. I'll never falter. “Maybe not, but you’re getting them. Now eat your breakfast.”
Huffing out a huge sigh, she shakes her head. Luckily she doesn’t argue. Just sways her gorgeous hips back to the table and drops her sweet ass in her chair.
Fork tines jab toward me once I sit across from her again, that I’m sure she probably wishes were more menacing. “I'm only doing this because I’m hungry and in a hurry.”
She rolls her eyes at my smirk. She can pretend all she wants that I’m not in control. But we both know the truth.
I get the silent treatment while we eat. Never utters a single comment between sips of juice and bites of bacon. Not great but better than arguing I guess. Gives her time for all this thinking she claims she needs to do. Which is pointless since everything is settled between us. But I guess she wants to believe she actually has a choice in the matter or some fucked up mistaken idea like that.
For all her deep concern about not wasting food, she doesn't hesitate to dump her untouched omelet in the garbage on top of the fucked up toast she already frowned over. I hold back my chuckle lest I ignite her wrath again. The message conveyed and received that he gets nothing else from her. Ever. Not even a god damn fucking snack.
Sliding the plate out of her hand, I nod toward the bedroom. "Go ahead and get ready. I'll clean up."
Hesitation purses her delicious lips together. My offer feels like a bittersweet reminder of old times. Which I know she misses as much as me. Although my tongue lapping her sweet pussy is probably the only way I'd get her to admit it. Fuck, that thought makes my greedy cock stir again. I spin around and stride toward the dishwasher. Preventing any argument about my definitive tone or my obvious desire for her. Surprised this antique still runs, I load the trays and pour in detergent. The last cycle before she moves in with me.
Pipes above me knock from the hot water racing through them. More torture to my dick thinking about her in the tub. Wet. Naked. Alone. But, I've got to be smart about this. I need to slow my ass down and focus on getting her to love me as much as she loves my cock.
While she dresses, I call my guys. Making arrangements for later. Keeping myself occupied before I hop into the bath myself. Last time I have to suffer with her shitty low water pressure and cramped space. My huge shower holds both of us easily, which isn't always necessary when I have her trapped against the tile, fucking her beautiful body.
I yank the lever to cold, welcoming the icy torrent to cool my arousal and speed up my pace. I can't trust her not to take off on me. Although I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t enjoy the punishment I’d dole out if she does.
Instead, after I grab my jeans and polo from her closet and yank on my clothes, I find her in the living room. Sitting on the edge of the sofa. Staring down at the leather-bound book in her small hands. A French translated copy of the Iliad that I gave her. For no reason at all except I love her and the story behind the name her parents chose for her.
"When you surprised me with this, I knew you were the one. Or at least I thought you were." She tucks a damp strand of twirly hair behind her ear. "I guess I was wrong."
Her soft admission stings worse than Ricky's slice to my face so many years ago. The anger has dissipated. Replaced by apathy that's even more difficult to fight. Or win. "Why didn't you tell me that when I gave it to you?"
"Because girls are taught to play hard to get." A sad smile that holds no humor lifts her cheeks. "I was afraid I'd scare you off. Guess that silly advice failed."
The irony not lost on me when I kneel down in front of her. “You weren't wrong. Otherwise, I wouldn't have bought it. Or have this."
Her gaze follows my hand as I dig in my pocket. Pulling out my keys from between the coins and my blade. Stupid to carry around a two million dollar diamond, but I needed a reminder of what I lost and why I couldn't keep her.
I slip the jewelry onto the tip of my pinky and hold the ring out to her. This isn't a proposal. Not yet. She deserves so much more than us bickering, exhausted, and holed up in this shitty apartment.
A silky finger brushes mine when she strokes over the stone. "It's gorgeous."
"I was going to propose that night. Before everything went to hell."
She nods. Slow and thoughtful, before she finally looks up. The glistening in her eyes brighter than the facets of the princess cut gem catching the sunlight flooding through the broad windows. "I shouldn't tell you this, but I would have said yes."
Fuck me. Fuck this. I should slide her ring on her finger, lay her back and fuck her until she can't walk. But my gut tells me to wait. Too soon to go that far. "I shouldn't tell you this, but I know."
A genuine grin lights up her stunning face this time. Welcoming my playfulness. The perfect antidote to the severity weighing us down.
"You're still so cocky."
"You're still so beautiful."
Almost an eye roll but at least the brightness of her expression doesn't fade. "I need to get going."
“Then let’s go.”
I stand and offer her my hand. Fuck me if I don’t love the feel of her delicate fingers curling over mine. But, just as fast, she pulls away when I try to keep hold of her while we walk. Pretending to busy herself with shelving the novel and gathering her coat and bag. Fine. For now.
Like always, I palm the small of her back. Protecting what's mine even if she doesn't accept the truth yet. Wishing I was clutching her smooth skin rather than the thick wool of her purple sweater.
To my pleasant surprise she doesn't give me the cold shoulder like at breakfast. Still tentative and uncomfortable. Yet much less animosity buzzes between us than the last time we rode in an elevator together. Actually stands next to me rather than cowering as far away from me as she can.
Another disapproving scowl mars her breathtaking face from my SUV sitting in the no parking zone in front of her building. I own this fucking town. Who the fuck is going to give me a ticket or tow my vehicle? Regardless of my stature in the city, she never approves of my arrogant impudence. If she only knew this transgression was the most minuscule of my numerous sins.
All I can do is shrug when she glares at me while I help her into the passenger seat. Her reproachful gaze burning through the windshield and into me while I stride to my door. Hotter than fuck with her librarian disdain she doesn't realize she imbues. If she ever shushes me, I'd probably fucking come in my pants like a god damn teenager.
Light traffic scatters up and down her wide bricked street, lined with trees twinkling with tiny white lights. Interspersed with red and gold ribbons wrapped around the narrow trunks. A rare fucking pussy ass giddiness rushes through me at the thought of celebrating the holidays with her.
Maybe we can have her parents over on Christmas Day. Roast the decadent prime rib her father loves to wolf down and her mother loves to fuss over him from disregarding his commitment to watch his cholesterol. At least I can win points with him. Not that I need their permission to marry their daughter, but their approval sure as hell makes her happy. If she wants to please them, I'll do what needs to be done to make that happen.
I also need to get security back on them. Sheena too. As much as that girl hates me, Books loves her so I have to protect her too.
"Right here is fine."
She nods toward the bustling entrance. Kids in festive pajamas race up the steps. Toting in pillows and sleeping bags. Innocent jubilance electrifying the chilly air with their laughter and huge smiles. Her hand reaches for the handle as if she's going to jump out before I can come to a full stop. As if she's getting away from me. No worries. That infraction only leads to my pleasure as well as hers. "Go ahead and run Books. Just remember what I told you."
A sudden shiver rolls through her. Visible even under her heavy coat, and I know once again I've reached her. Pink blooms on her pale cheeks in an enchanting flush and her gaze drops to her seat belt. Fumbling with the clasp.
"I'm not running. I just don't want to be late."
Another shudder ripples down her body from my wink when she glances at me. Both of us well aware what we'll be doing later whether she runs or not. I park in the loading zone, earning another condemnatory head shake. But she doesn't protest. Only slides out from the seat and waits for me to come around. Adorable from her little act of defiance refusing to let me open her door for her. But she's also too obedient to walk away without me. I kiss her temple. My naughty angel.
We follow a woman and her two daughters up the steps. The children swinging their arms as they hold hands with their mother. Happy and carefree. Just like we will be soon.
Once we step through the double glass doors, an elderly woman shuffles toward us. Jingling from the little gold bell dangling off the tip of an elf’s hat on her red sweatshirt when she engulfs my girl.
"Chryseis! You made it!"
"Hi Dodie! I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm ready to help."
"I'm just glad you're here honey." Once Dodie steps back from their embrace, her gaze darts from Chryseis to me. A mischievous grin lighting up her deeply lined face as she pulls her glasses to the tip of her nose with an exaggerated inspection.
"And, who's this?"
I extend my hand. No need for Chryseis to answer and cause any undue confusion. "I'm her fiancé."
Her frail fingers squeeze mine with an unexpected strength. "Oh, you must be the handsome Leighton I've been hearing about!"
God damn it. A sucker punch to the gut from her innocent mistake. Now my beautiful Books revels in her smirk at me. Highly amused to witness me being cock blocked by a little old lady. Who's sweet enough to literally smell like sugar. Dusted with a hint of white powder clinging to the edges of her long sleeves.
“No ma’am. I’m Giovanni Trivoli. Leighton bailed like the moth–“
“Come on Dodie. The kids are waiting.” Chryseis links arms with the wide-eyed librarian and guides her toward the community room engulfed with Elvis’s husky tenor rendition of Here Comes Santa Claus. None of the kids seeming to care about the retro music. Already squealing and fingering the bottles of sprinkles and fat tubes of icing spread out on the cookie decorating table.
Both ladies beeline straight for two girls squabbling over a container overflowing with a rainbow of gum drops while I slide down into one of the chairs by the door. Joining the waiting section of parents, splitting their attention between their kids and their phone screens.
While I laser focus on her. So fucking gorgeous with the huge smile glowing on her stunning face while she squats down to help one of the preschoolers sprinkle sparkly snowflakes across gaudy green frosting. His little forehead scrunched in deep concentration while his stubby fingers clump the candy in thick globs on the reindeer’s belly.
I know I’m a dick for swearing in front of her friend, but god damn I hate fucking hearing that bastard’s name. Especially with the assumption he’s her fucking fiancé. And I’m nothing but a fucking fool for severing our connection so completely and not monitoring her better. Thinking I needed absolutely zero contact, including ending the surveillance from my guys to not tip off Savage or any other motherfucker who might be watching. Additional punishment to add to my own self-disgust to let their relationship get that far. That anyone, including Chryseis herself, would ever fucking think she’d actually be his wife.
Trying to calm my furious ass down, I blow out a deep breath and twist in my chair to release some of the fury gripping the taut muscles in my back. Motherfucker. The punk ass, three seats over, watches Chryseis too. Ogling a taken woman with his own fucking wedding ring circling his finger. I know she’s fucking hot in her tight jeans and sexy thigh high boots, but at least have some fucking dignity. Another reminder of what I have and almost fucking lost.
Her cheerful giggle draws my gaze away from the idiot and back to her. Laughter parting her sweet lips as she spreads her arms. Making room for as many kids as possible to cuddle on her lap and around her instead of inside their rolled out sleeping bags while Dodie reads about a bear trying to stay awake during preparations for Christmas Eve. The children follow along as if hypnotized. Occasionally yelling out some of the words before the librarian reads them. Annoying but kind of cute I guess.
When Dodie announces it’s time for the sharing circle, they jump up, wiggling and twisting to get next to Books. Jockeying to stand closest to her as they form a circle. Each child taking a turn to proclaim what they want for Christmas. Puppy, Barbie dream house, and Lego Batman are some of the requests I can understand. Their words jumbled practically into mush with their enthusiasm.
I guess this is what regular kids with normal childhoods do. Believe. Wish. Receive. Because all I ever knew was that Santa Claus doesn’t visit bastard kids with no dad and no money. No matter how good I tried to be. I never made the nice list.
I hope she’s pregnant.
The random thought bursts into my head like a motherfucking atomic bomb. Despite how stupid and twisted and ludicrous the idea is, I fucking hope I fucked my baby into her belly again. It was wrong to fuck her last night. Wrong to expect her to give herself to me. Wrong to fuck her without a condom. But I don’t give a damn about any of those failures. I know we’re both clean. Because I haven’t fucked anyone since her, and she doesn’t lie. If she said she didn’t fuck him, then she didn’t.
None of that matters now though. I want this. With her. Right fucking now. Kids with sticky fingers and joyous faces and contented hearts. With no greater concern than singing the right words and picking their favorite colors to decorate their stockings and waking up before the sun rises to find their dreams have come true.
I don’t know jack shit about families and celebrations and memories. But Chryseis does. She knows all of this stuff. And she’ll show me. Just as surely as she glues cotton balls on fucking cheap ass red felt we’ll have a family and do the things parents are supposed to do to keep their kids safe and happy.
I have to force myself to keep my ass planted on the cheap plastic. Because I’ve never been so certain of anything until now. I don’t like fucking sitting around. I’m an impatient bastard who’s survived this long by driving and dictating. And I'm just as damn sure as she patiently fluffs that fake snow I will fuck this up. Hopefully not so bad that she won’t forgive me and let me keep trying to be better. To be more than I am. To be what she deserves.
My phone finally buzzes with the message I’ve been waiting for.
All done boss.
Perfect timing as cleanup efforts begin. Chryseis hands off bedrolls and knapsacks to parents while the kids gingerly grasp their crafts and cookies tighter than their most prized possessions. A few snuggling in for brief hugs with my girl before running past me and into the hallway. Marring her with crumbs and glitter but never dampening her simple beauty or her joyous expression. Which I hope my surprise makes her even more ecstatic.