Page 7 of On the Rocks
But retreating into my head means - meant - survival. Shrinking into my quiet world. Easy to fall back into old habits. Because I've been told too many times before that it was permanent. Lied to that it was forever. I was wanted. I was loved. Until I wasn't. Then I was gone.
I suck in my trembling lip. I refuse to cry. Not because of what I’ve lost, but because of what I’ve found. Unwilling to succumb to the fear threatening to swallow me. That our forever is only temporary. That his love is only an infatuation. Until he’s over me. Then I'll be gone again.
With just a copy of our marriage certificate to prove our relationship ever even existed. I rub across the square bulging through my thick gloves. And his ring. The biggest diamond I've ever seen. Even bigger than Trish's, which made us both cry when she showed me her engagement ring for the first time. A motley blend of shock, happiness, and hope engulfing us as we celebrated.
In spite of my aching stomach, a smile sneaks out. Except her courtship followed the traditional route of dating, proposal, wedding, marriage. Whereas with me, Drake didn't propose. He demanded. And, regardless of how strong I believe myself to be, desire beat out reason in every battle I waged with myself. On the dance floor. In his bed. At the altar. I could never tell him no.
So now I guess in our jumbled timeline, we're in the dating stage, and he's discovering my nerdy hobbies. Developed from years spent by myself. For some reason, gardening and cooking don't feel lonely, even when you’re alone.
Until you cut flowers no one else enjoys. Bake cookies no one ever eats.
Except for Drake.
Because he never tells me no either. Puts the peonies in a vase on his desk. Stuffs himself with snickerdoodles until his belly hurts. Then makes love to me like I’m beautiful instead of broken. Wanted instead of in the way. And for that whisper of breath between lust and love, I belong somewhere. To someone. Who seems to want to belong to me too.
Sudden darkness engulfs me, and I fall back on my heels and slide off my sunglasses. My eyes straining to adjust in the vast shadow cast across me as I kneel amidst the gray flecked granite.
Butcher.
Embarrassment heats me hotter than the sun blazing on my back. So caught up in my digging, I didn’t know he was there until he stepped forward. Another flat of tomato plants in his huge hands.
Fumbling around him once again, I jump up and attempt to take the tray from him. But he shakes his head.
"Where do you want them?"
He never complains, but I still don’t like irritating him. Try not to burden him any more than I already do. “On the table please.” I gesture toward the glass top covered by an oversized teal umbrella. “Thank you.”
I can’t overcome the urge to traipse after him. Because then I don’t feel like I’m treating him like a servant. We’re working together. Almost friends. I pat the black plastic encasing the burgeoning sprouts. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much.”
Beads of sweat bubble on his forehead, his normally pale face flushed as his head bobs. His spiky blond hair drooping in the mid-day heat. But I don’t suggest he take off his jacket to cool down. I won’t make that mistake again.
“It’s almost lunch time.”
Now it’s my turn to nod, at his gruff voice and reminder, and I hurry back to collect my tools. I need to take a quick shower. As goofy as it sounds, and I know it’s probably just the honeymoon stage, to be so anxious to see Drake after being apart for only a few hours. But, I really do miss him.
The ride down as silent as always. I busy myself pulling out my pony tail and finger combing my unruly hair. Not a lot of witty conversation I can muster with three stoic men who carry guns bigger than my arm. Which, despite the danger inherent in Drake’s world, seems excessive. But after the incident with the helicopter, Joey and Nalin accompany me everywhere I go now too. Thankful that at least I can still come up here. Drake gives me so much and asks only this one request. I can’t say no.
Just like the curtains he had draped over our bedroom windows after I moved in. Ruining his expansive view of the city from that part of the loft. Yet he was insistent when I told him they were unnecessary.
“No one ever gets to watch me fuck my gorgeous wife.”
His growl in my ear as he slid down the zipper of my skirt and trailed his finger over the string on my thong. Pushing aside the silky fabric and plunging inside me. Another deep rumble of approval to find me already wet for him.
My body lights from the memory and I dip my head, focusing on the rhinestones sprinkled across the straps of my pink flip flops. Embarrassed to be thinking about making love to my husband surrounded by virtual strangers.
As soon as we glide to a stop, I bolt to the door and look back, giving them a small wave. “Thank you!”
Of course, none of them respond. Grateful to be back inside and alone again, I strip while I race to the bathroom. Anxious to be free of their menacing demeanors and the thick coconut scent of my sunscreen floating on my skin. I lather instead with Drake’s favorite orange blossom body wash and pick his favorite yellow sheath. Rolling my eyes at myself. Still unable to believe I’ve turned into one ofthosegirls. Especially since I never thought I’d ever have anyone to dress up for.
My heels click on the hardwood, echoing in the empty air, as I run to the kitchen. Glad I packed everything before I went upstairs. In the foyer, the door swings open before I touch the handle. Almost like Butcher has a sixth sense that I’m there or something. “Hi!”
“Are you ready, Mrs. Deveraux?”
“Yes, please.”
He pulls the bags out of my grip. Carrying both large totes with one hand while pushing the button to take us down to Drake’s office with the other. He does everything, and I do nothing. I’ll never get used to that. “I made a barbeque wrap for you too, if you want it.”
Drake wouldn’t approve of me offering. Always reminding me the bodyguards are his - our - staff not our friends. But I don’t know why they can’t be both.
