Page 152 of Boss of Me
Chapter Thirty-Five
marlowe
Idon’t see much of gunnerover the next several days.
He leaves early in the morning and comes home very late. I know he’s under a lot of pressure at work, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s also avoiding me.
When he crawls into bed at night, he doesn’t pull me into his arms like he used to. He doesn’t spoon me, nestling his face in my hair and protectively curling his arm around my waist. He stays on his side of the bed, leaving an ocean of space between us. I can practically hear his mind churning in the darkness before he eventually falls asleep.
During the few waking times we’re together, an uneasy tension hangs between us. He’s quiet, distant. When he speaks, his voice is measured. When he smiles, he smiles with his mouth but not his eyes.
Laurene’s warning keeps playing on a cruel loop in my head.When he gets bored with you—and he will—he’s going to send you packing.
Was she right after all? Has Gunner already grown bored with me? Or has he simply decided I’m not worth the trouble anymore?
I don’t have any answers. The only thing I’m certain of is that something has broken between us, and I don’t know how to put the jagged pieces back together again.
On Friday night, I sleep in my own room for the first time in weeks. The large bed feels foreign and empty after so many nights spent in Gunner’s bed. It takes me a while to get reacclimated.
After tossing and turning for hours, I’ve just drifted off to sleep when the mattress dips behind me.
I feel his heat as he slides under the covers. Then he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back until I’m firmly tucked against his front and my head is cradled on his other arm.
It feels like heaven, so exquisitely wonderful that I have to swallow back a grateful sob.
Gently he begins stroking my hair. His touch is a salve to my soul after four days of painful alienation.
He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. We just lay there in the dark, listening to each other breathe. Eventually his hand drifts from my hair to rest over my hip, a warmly comforting weight.
Staring out the window at the half moon, I whisper softly, “Promise me we’re going to be okay.”
He doesn’t answer.
I tell myself it’s because he’s fallen asleep.
But somehow I know better.
on sunday evening we attend anart opening at a major gallery in the Hyde Park Historic District. The featured artist is the daughter of one of Pantheon’s early investors.
When Gunner introduces us to each other, I can’t help feeling a prickle of envy. Gianna is absolutely stunning with aqua blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones and sleekly bobbed black hair. Her skin is golden from a summer spent in Italy and her makeup is flawless. She’s wearing a clingy yellow chiffon dress with knee-high stiletto boots. Tall, lithe, with legs that go on for days, she looks more like a supermodel than a burgeoning artist.
“Nice to meet you, Gianna,” I say as we shake hands. “Congratulations on your exhibit.”
“Isn’t it amazing?” she gushes breathlessly. “I’m so stoked.”
“You should be. It’s your big night.” Gunner takes in the guests milling around eating canapés and appraising the art on the walls. “Good turnout.”
“Thanks toyou,” Gianna practically squeals. “Even my publicist admitted that most of these people wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t invited them. No wonder Daddy’s always singing your praises.”
Gunner smiles. “Is he here yet?”
“He’s on his way.” She leans close to Gunner and whispers excitedly, “Sebastian Locke is here. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he walked through the door. I mean, he only happens to be one of the most famous art critics in the country. What’s he doing atmylittle exhibit?”
Gunner looks indulgently amused. “Have you met him?”
“Yes, but I was so nervous I probably didn’t make the best impression.” She links her arm through Gunner’s and simpers up at him, lashes batting like butterfly wings. “Can you reintroduce us? Help convince him I’m the next Georgia O’Keeffe andnota tongue-tied airhead?”
Gunner chuckles. “I’ll do my best.” He winks at me and I smile back.
