THREE YEARS LATER
Something’s wrong.
I can tell because Gwyneth has been avoiding me.
She never avoids me.
Not even when she says I’m being a jerk and drive her mad sometimes. Instead of turning her back to me or sulking, she jumps onto my lap and makes me teach her how to behave.
But now, she’s been avoiding me.
For two days.
She’s also been staring at her negative words list before bed, which she rarely does. These past three years, she’s been working more on herself and has a better grasp on her emotions. She even has a positive words list that makes her smile and laugh and puts her in a bright mood.
However, the list she’s been looking at is the negative one. And she’s done it two nights in a row.
“My angel finally realized that being with you is a mistake,” King said when I asked him if she’d told him anything. “Now, she can divorce you and come back to me.”
“Fuck you, King.”
“Hey, is that any way to speak to your father-in-law, motherfucker?”
Needless to say, he’s of no help. Even though he’s not as opposing to our relationship as when we first got together, he has this way of getting on my fucking nerves, which, of course, I pay him back for in full.
So I asked Aspen if Gwyneth had mentioned anything, but she wasn’t of much help either.
I’m even contemplating calling Sebastian, but fuck that little rascal, all he does is tease me whenever he gets the chance.
My nephew and I are mostly out of my parents’ influence now, no matter how much they try to lure us back into the Weaver clan.
When news of my marriage to Gwyneth first broke out, the media was all over it, but King, Aspen, and I had a plan. The moment King announced that he was all for it, the story became boring and they moved on to the next hot thing.
I’m glad Gwyneth wasn’t brought into the middle of it, because my fucking crazy wife would’ve stood there and told them, “Yeah, I love him. Why the fuck is that any of your business?”
She told me so herself around that time. That she’ll give the middle finger to anyone who judges us.
We still get looks sometimes, but it doesn’t really matter to us since we’ve always lived in a world that’s secluded from the rest.
We spend weekends hiking or pissing King off. We rarely work together, because she’s focusing on family law, but we talk cases all the time. She’s passionate, my Gwyneth, and I could spend the rest of my life listening to her talk about the subjects that interest her, which are usually law, me, and fucking.
She never gets enough and my dick loves her for it. I’ve never been so sexually compatible with anyone as I am with my beautiful wife. It’s not even about the act itself, it’s about the feelings that come with it. It’s about the fucking belonging that I’m a lucky bastard to have found.
Every day, I try to make her feel that. I try to prove in action instead of words how much her presence means to me.
And since we’re each other’s world, it fucks me up all day when she avoids me.
So when I get home, the one we bought together after we had an actual wedding ceremony three years ago, I’m ready to get to the bottom of this.
I place my briefcase on the island. “Gwyneth? Where are you, baby girl?”
“Surprise!” She jumps in front of me, her eyes glimmering with all the colors, and a wide smile paints her face in a glow.
My gaze follows her every movement, from how her dress stretches over her breasts and falls to her knees and to how her white sneakers are a bit undone.
“What’s the surprise?”
She jumps me, her arms going around my neck and her legs circling around my waist. I stagger backward before I plant my feet on the ground and wrap an arm around her back.
“Me. I’m the surprise.”
“Hmm. Does that mean you’ll tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”
“I wasn’t avoiding you, I was planning your birthday party, and yes, I know you don’t like your birthdays, but you made me love my birthdays again and I plan to do the same. I’m going to do something good during your birthday so that you don’t remember that your parents didn’t want you, and instead, you’ll remember me. Just like I remember that kiss from when I was eighteen.”
This fucking woman will be the death of me. “Then why were you staring at your list?”
“Because of the word anxiety. I was so sure you’d figure me out.”
“I didn’t, but you kind of just told me everything.”
“That’s because you get me as your early birthday present.”
“I do, huh?”
“Yup, I’ll be your good and bad girl tonight.”
“What if I tell you to behave?”
“Too late.” She bites her lower lip and murmurs, “I’m wearing nothing beneath this, husband.”
I groan, wrapping my arms tighter around her. “I’m going to fuck you like you deserve, wife.”
“Yes, please.”
And then my lips are on hers as I carry her to the bedroom, and when I put her down, she stares at me with those colorful eyes that see straight into my soul.
I always thought I loved the look in her eyes, but it turns out, I love how these mesmerizing eyes only look at me.
