Page 33

gift wrapped in devotion

Ayla

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He must see it on my face, too, because he looks… I don’t know how he looks. Angry, or smug, or flat out resigned. I don’t have the energy to catalogue or register his feelings. It’s as if the house is spinning around me, making me dizzy.

I can’t keep up. Hell, I don’t know if I want to keep up.

Squatting, I slide down the wall, put my butt to my ankles, and rub those crescent moon imprints against my knees as if warming them will allow them to plump back up.

“Ayla?”

I shake my head back and forth, fighting the nausea and spinning. I want to see it all. I also want to block it all out.

It’s mine.Or ours.Who the hell knows?

I was pissed when I thought he was going into someone else’s house, but knowing it’s mine… Shit—I hate not knowing. But he brought another woman here. Here. Into my space, with my art. A place that’s obviously a retreat for me.

I rise too quickly, the dizziness coming back in full force. The room swirls like a Tilt-a-Whirl around me and the floor rises to meet my face.

Strong arms catch me before I black out. I love it and I hate it. I’m thankful I don’t have another bruise on my face or that I haven’t risked my hands and arms to brace for a fall. And I’m angry those hands are touching me within hours of another woman.

“Ayla.” The anger has left his voice, though his body hasn’t released it all yet. He pins me to his chest, bracketing me in his arms with my back to the wall.

“What?” It comes out as a snap. He doesn’t get to be all sweet and worried.

“ What is are you okay? What is why did your body give out? What is why is your skin so pale?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. My husband was with another woman this morning.” My voice rises. “Brought her into my home. House. Whatever. Decided he needed a side piece?—”

His lips crash down on mine in a hard kiss that’s more about shutting me up than passion. Or love. It sure as fuck isn’t tender. It’s bruising. It forces my head back into the wall, just as one hand comes up to knot in my hair.

“Fuck,” he growls, taking his lips down my neck. “You’re jealous. Oh, Princess, you should know better.”

That trips the part of my mind that realizes I don’t know better, that my brain refuses to work with me. Anger roils to the surface. “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t know, Christian Barone.”

Warm breath fans my neck before his face comes back to mine.

Dark eyes bore into me, holding me captive.

It lasts for longer than I’m comfortable with, but I hold my own and stare right back.

When his eyes flit to my lips, my core liquifies and I hate my traitorous body for not standing firm against his assault.

His mouth crushes mine again as his arms go to my ass and lift. I circle my legs around his hips, not trusting I won’t slip to the floor without them.

“Wife, I’m going to explain some things. And you’re going to listen. Then I’m going to fuck you against this wall until you know the truth.”

“And what truth is that?”

“That I’m desperately in love with you. That since the day I met you I haven’t wanted another woman.

” He presses his thickening cock into my core.

“Hell, I don’t think I’ve seen another woman.

There’s you—and there’s everyone else on the planet.

The world could burn down, and I’d never notice.

You’re mine.” Another press to my center makes me wish we weren’t so heavily clothed.

“That woman is our realtor. Last summer, you discussed putting this place on the market, but things got complicated.” He looks to my temple where my hair is growing in. “We were in town. My meeting was done. You were in your happy place.”

My eyes slice to his.

“I thought you were in your happy place. And she had time.”

“I don’t want to sell this place,” I whisper.“It’s… everything.”

He gives a single nod. “Let me finish.”

I drop my eyes to mere slits, before looking away. I’m pinned to the wall like a butterfly on a foam board, and he wants to finish…

“Look at me.”

When my eyes meet his, he continues. “I’m patient with a lot of shit, Ayla. But I won’t tolerate two things—the accusation of another woman or the assumption of us not being together. Am I clear?”

Is he clear? He doesn’t get to lay down the law and ask if I understand, even if the threats feel gift-wrapped in devotion.

“You’re patient with a lot of shit?” I unhook my legs and let gravity win the battle on my behalf. My feet hit the floor, and I shove at his chest. “And you won’t ‘tolerate’”—I use air quotes—“certain behaviors of mine. Did I understand that correctly?” I shove again.

My pushes barely move him as he stands rooted in the pale blue and white living room.

“Ayla.” His voice comes out as a warning.

“Don’t Ayla me. How the hell could I have known she was our realtor, if she actually is.

” I add the last part under my breath. “And if I can’t remember my gallery, what makes you think I’d remember discussing selling this house?

You blew me off when I said I don’t want to sell it, and I haven’t even seen it yet.

At this point, I would consider it to never have to feel what I felt when I saw you walk in the door with her. ”

“Baby.” He extends a hand.

I look between it and him, desperate for it to pull me from my swirling thoughts, but terrified that giving up on my anger will leave only room for hurt.

I reach out, just as he drops his hand to his side.

I lift it to my mouth and kiss. “I’m sorry.

And I’m not.” I pause and look in his eyes.

“I’m not sorry I was angry when I thought there was another woman.

And I hate the word “tolerate” in reference to me.

I can’t apologize for not knowing.” I use one hand to point at my head.

“But I am sorry we fought and for the insinuation you were cheating.”

His other hand reaches up to cup my jaw and he dips his face to mine, stopping just as he hovers above my lips.

“Baby, I have you. No other woman compares. And I don’t hate the jealousy.

I wouldn’t be okay if another man were near you, much less coming into our home with you. I love that you feel the same.”

His lips crash down on mine and his arms slide around me, pulling me deep into his body.

“Now, we could have that angry wall sex we were so close to or we could tour the house. Which would you prefer?”

“I’m not exactly angry anymore.”

His eyes lift above my head like he’s praying for patience. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Show me the house?”

After a long exhale, he asks, “What do you want to see first?”

Our evening is far more relaxing than the morning and the tense afternoon. And by the next morning, I feel the tendrils of my connection with Christian getting deeper. Learning to rely on him, trusting him.

It’s as terrifying as it is liberating.

We’re going out tonight, and I have a sneaking suspicion my husband is recreating our first date.

I don’t know why I feel this way, except for the location, which I’m sure we’ve been to more than once.

Regardless, I found a gunmetal gray cocktail dress in the closet that fits my mood.

It’s short and tight from the waist to where it stops at mid-thigh.

The rest is soft and flowy with a plunging neckline and a barely there back that lets everyone know there’s nothing underneath.

Jessi managed to get me in for a stunning twisted ’do that, when paired with my bold, smokey eye makeup and pale pink lip color, gives off a vibe.

The look is chic and I feel great in it. After yesterday’s emotional blowout, I’m more mellow and grounded in who we are as a couple, even if I don’t remember laying the foundation.

I walk out of the closet, red heels in one hand, a clutch in the other, and nearly into the man himself.

His eyes round and his lips part in obvious appraisal and… approval. “Wow.” The one word is quiet but weighty and lodges straight in my throat. He leans down and kisses me under my ear. His whispered lips mirror whispered words. “Princess, you are stunning.”

One hand slides down my arm, grasping my own. He lifts it to brush a gentle kiss above my knuckles. “Half of me doesn’t want to share you. Half wants to show you off.”

“It would be a shame to go through all this effort and not at least get a glass of wine.” I reach up to smooth his charcoal tie.

“Who am I to argue with wine?” He gives my ass a squeeze as he moves out of the bedroom and down the hall, leaving me to get my shoes on.

By the time we’re sitting at a table along the wall, I’m halfway through my glass of red. It’s rich and bold and makes my belly warm and my mind soft.

“Is this where we had our first date?”

Christian’s head whips up. “No. What makes you say that?”

I hold the disappointment aside, not knowing why it gnaws in my gut.

It’s not like I remember it to want it recreated or that I need my husband to do something that…

I don’t know, cheesy. But for some reason my mind was so stuck on the concept, that I’m at a loss.

“I don’t know. Would it be weird to say it feels familiar even if I don’t know why? ”

His hand reaches out to clasp mine and he rubs his thumb over the top of my knuckles above my wedding ring.

“Familiar isn’t bad, baby.”

“Familiar isn’t good when you can’t figure out why.”

“We own this place. Same for the wine bar next door. We stood this one up in the last fourteen months. You were here for the grand opening and a few times since. You and Halley have been next door more times than I want to count. And if security footage is anything to go by, you wouldn’t remember your time there anyway. ”