Page 111 of The Billionaires' Gamble

He turns his back to the window. “I think so. It’s early yet. Did you know that the phrase ‘have your head examined’ came about in the nineteenth century, and they literally studied the shape of your skull?”

I shake my head. “I did not.”

Is he stalling? I can’t tell.

His gaze flicks past me, and then he’s on the move. “Want a beer? Destiny stocked the bar down here.” He opens the small, glass-fronted refrigerator and reaches inside.

If he wants a little liquid courage, so be it. I could use a little myself. “Sure.”

Then I settle on the sectional and watch as he moves, already more at ease. He and Kingston have trouble being still. They always need something to do with their hands.

After popping the tops and throwing away the caps, he hands me a bottle and perches on the edge of the massive stone coffee table. I miss the giant ottomans from the set we have at home and how they turn the space into a large, cozy bed.

He looks around, expression thoughtful. “I’m thinking about buying this place.”

“Really?” I accept the change of topic even though I feel like we’re hardly settled in our apartment. “Trying to get away from me?”

He grins and shakes his head. “No. I just think King would appreciate not having to use an elevator all the time.”

My jaw goes slack, and I stare at him for a long beat. It feels like my brain screeches to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “I know it’s not as convenient for work, but?—”

“That’s very… thoughtful.” It’s damn sweet, if I’m honest. “And who knows how long it’ll take to get back into our building.”

I debate mentioning the detective’s visit but decide that news can wait.

“That’s what I was thinking. I heard that old guy on the fifth floor is suing, as if that’s going to speed things along.”

“So you’re thinking of buying this place and seeing a therapist. Busy week.” Why does it feel like he’s leaving me behind?

I stretch an arm out along the back of the couch, trying to look unperturbed in the hope that I’ll feel less… agitated. But I don’t know if that’s going to happen.

I guess because I grew up in a McMansion, housing has always felt like an afterthought. But to Gabe, each apartment had to be nicer than the last. Better view. Bigger space. More refined. A hip location.

The beach house was to be his solace away from the city. A pet project where he could be involved and enjoy the fruits of his labor.

I’ve literally just been along for the ride for years now, so why does this bother me? No, bother’s not the right word, but I don’t know what word is.

He huffs a laugh and then takes a long swig from his bottle. “Yeah. A busy few weeks. Years, really.”

“You’re not wrong.”

After a long moment of staring at the label, he scratches at it with his thumbnail. “Is this how you saw things going?”

The question holds a wealth of meanings and options. “Things?”

“Life? Business? I sort of thought you’d have settled down by now.”

That’s news to me. “I like my life. Our life.”

He sneaks a glance at me and then back at the bottle in his hands.

“What about you?” I ask because I can’t help but feel the question has more to do with him and his thoughts on his future. “Are you where you thought you’d be?”

This therapy thing must really be working because I’m not sure the last time I’ve seen him reflect this much.

“No.”