The first week of my self-imposed celibacy is hell on earth.
Kingsley became moodier than snobbish royalty and has been asking Nate to box with him almost every day.
A fact that Gwen wasn’t happy about, because her father is stealing her husband’s time—which is limited already.
The second week, Nate put an end to Kingsley’s demands and told him, “I’m sorry, but I prefer my wife’s company.” To which Kingsley nearly punched him.
He started to work out more than should be healthy, almost picked up smoking again, and everyone at the firm avoids him like the plague.
Five employees nearly lost their job for simply talking to him when he was in a foul mood. Which is more often than not lately.
I try to keep his mind off things with work, simple discussions, or even promising to eat everything he’s cooked.
That’s what we’ve finished doing just now—eating. We’re sitting at the counter of my kitchen with a chair between us. It’s just insurance because he has no qualms whatsoever about forcing me to remove the “illegal ban,” as he likes to call it.
For the past couple of weeks, we’ve developed the habit of dining out. Partly because being indoors is stifling and partly because…I guess we’re dating. Or that’s what Gwen and Callie called it, gushing and throwing a hundred hearts in the group chat.
Kingsley never called it that, though. I didn’t either, so no clue where that leaves us.
Sex was all our relationship was about, and now that it’s out of the equation, it feels like we’re a couple who’ve been together for years. We get ready for work together, discuss cases over dinner, and have conversations that leave me breathless. Not only that, but lately, we’ve been spending more time together than before.
We went on a long ride yesterday in one of Kingsley’s convertibles, and even though I lost a scarf and had a horrible hair day, I felt so wild—outside of sex, of course. And yes, apparently Kingsley has a collection of sports cars. No surprise there. He’s a fast-paced man and loves the rush of speed, the fire of challenge, and the unpredictability of situations.
But he also thrives on control, so the fact that he has none on this particular turn of events has changed him into a grouchy creature.
I wipe my mouth after actually having finished my entire plate of pasta. Ever since I stopped drinking, my appetite has gradually returned. I still don’t really like food, but Kingsley doesn’t allow me to have an empty stomach. Gwen, either. I swear both father and daughter are ganging up on me.
“It’s delicious,” I tell him.
He grumbles as a response and glares at the space separating us. “And what is this chair between us trying to serve?”
“Safe distance.”
“More like useless distance. If I decide to pounce on you, no fucking chair will save you from me.”
“But you won’t,” I remind him, half fearful that he’ll actually crumble everything to the ground.
“Maybe I will.”
“You…have held on fine for two weeks.”
“It’s not fucking withdrawal from addiction, Aspen. It gets worse, not better with time.”
“So? What does that mean?” I sound unusually careful, scared almost.
“It means you’re a damn dictator. Maybe I should keep a negative words list like Gwen does and put your name on it.”
That rips a smile out of me, and I throw a napkin in his direction that he catches with a grin so charming that I’m the one who starts to rethink the decision behind the stupid ban.
I clear my throat. “She told me about that list and said it was something that helped her cope with her empathetic reaction to negative words, but she thought you didn’t know about it.”
“Of course I did. She’s shit at covering her tracks and even shittier at hiding stuff, which is why I was blindsided by her feelings for Nate.”
“She must’ve put extra effort into fooling you.”
“She wouldn’t have needed to if it weren’t for the daughter-stealer Nate.”
I roll my eyes and toss a grape into my mouth. “She would’ve gotten married eventually.”
“Eventually is not at twenty. I thought I had a few more years with her.”
“Nate was right. You and Gwen are codependent.”
“Nate is an asshole, so his opinion holds the importance of a used tissue. And it’s not codependence. My daughter and I are just close because we’ve been each other’s world for two decades…” he trails off when my shoulders drop. “Which is a time frame you’ll catch up to by being in her world for future decades.”
“Thank you.” I slide to the seat between us and place my hand over his. “And not only because you accepted me as her mother, but also because you told her about my past. She looks at me differently now, with more respect and…love. And I know you had something to do with her change of attitude.”
“If you really want to thank me, which I highly recommend, you could use a different currency than words.”
I hit his shoulder, smiling, and spring to my feet. “I’ll do the dishes. Go pick a show that is not Breaking Bad.”
“That’s the only superior show TV has ever produced. And is that a no on the sucking my cock part?”
I lean closer until I breathe his air, and I brush my fingers over his chin, making his nostrils flare, then whisper, “It’s a maybe. Try again in fourteen days.”
“You little cock-fucking-tease,” he mutters when I escape behind the counter, and he motions at his tenting pants. “Look what you’ve done.”
“You’re always in that state.”
“Around you. So you should solve the problem you caused.”
“In fourteen days.”
“You better take sick leave in fourteen days, because you’re going to lose the ability to walk.” His voice darkens and I choose to stare at the wall to keep from getting caught in the otherworldly energy he creates by merely existing.
And he really needs to stop being attractive when he’s in casual slacks and a polo shirt. It doesn’t make sense for him to be a walking sex god no matter what he wears. Or maybe I’m more affected by the ban than I care to admit.
“By the way.” I occupy myself with cleaning the counter to not look at him. “Congrats on your case win today.”
We do that now—get involved in each other’s cases—and it’s brought more harmony than I ever thought possible. I like his advice, and he surprisingly appreciates mine, too, even though we’re in different fields.
Kingsley scoops a green apple from the counter and crunches on it. “It was a matter of time before I won. The prosecutor barely had any case.”
“Are you being modest? It was a difficult case that had everything stacked up against you. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?” He leans against the counter, eating his apple, and tracking my movements as I tidy the counter.
“Win all the time.”
“Not all the time.”
“Ninety-six percent of the time.”
“My, sweetheart.” A shit-eating grin curves his lips. “Are you keeping track of my percentage? I didn’t know you cared about me this much.”
My face turns hotter than the room temperature. “I do not. I just know it because it’s one percent higher than mine. Which isn’t fair by the way. I’m more protocol-abiding than you and should have a higher winning rate.”
“And yet you don’t.”
“That will change.”
“You talk as if you’re my rival.” He pauses chewing when my fingers falter on a cup. “Hold on a second. You do consider me a rival, don’t you?”
“And you don’t?”
“No. You’re a senior partner at my firm. We’re supposed to be subordinates, not rivals.”
“Then why were you trying to sabotage my cases when you first found out I’m Gwen’s mother?”
“Pure spite.”
“Not rivalry?”
“No.”
I sigh. “I can’t believe I’ve been at this rivalry thing on my own all this time.”
“It’s adorable, though. Thinking about you trying to beat my percentage and getting worked up about it, is kind of a turn on. Want to fuck it out of our systems?”
“No, Kingsley.”
He lifts a shoulder and dunks the remains of the apple in the trash can. “Worth a try.”
I catch a glimpse of him disappearing into the living room and browsing through Netflix as I load the dishes in the dishwasher.
“Do you have any other pillows that don’t advocate Caroline’s Barbie personality?” he calls, kicking away the fluffy pillows.
I smile. “In the closet of the room down the hall.”
He throws one more fluffy pillow away with no other intention than pure malice before he heads to where I directed him. I grab some snacks and shove some popcorn in the microwave. It isn’t until the eerie silence of the apartment stabs me in the chest that I recall what else is in the closet of the room Kingsley just went to.
Damn it.
I practically jog down the hall and all breaths are knocked out of my lungs when I find a scene that’s straight out of my most dreaded situations.
The dim yellow light casts a soft glow on Kingsley as he stands in front of the open closet. The pillows he came for are scattered on the floor as his whole attention zeroes in on the box in his hand.
I slowly step to his side, my heart beating in my throat. “It’s…not what you think.”
His eyes turn into molten lava as they slide from the box to me. “Are you telling me these are not in fact the mask and scarf you had on the night I knocked you up?”
“They are, but…” I trail off, completely distracted by the way he glides his fingers over the flannel scarf as if it’s my body.
Damn it, me. This is about the worst time to get horny.
“But what?”
“They don’t mean anything.”
“Liar. You kept these things for twenty-one years, so they most definitely mean something. You liked me that much, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“No. You’re not going to hide this time. I thought you burned everything to do with me, but I guess this mask and scarf miraculously escaped the fire.”
“Can you pretend you didn’t see them?”
“No can do. Admit it, you were infatuated with me.”
I groan. “So what if I was? It was a stupid teenage crush.”
“Crush, huh?” He grins, and it’s so carefree that I’m caught off guard.
“Why have you omitted the ‘stupid’ and ‘teenage’ part?”
“I didn’t hear anything aside from the word crush.” He slides the black mask over my eyes, letting the ribbons dangle on either side of my face.
All air is sucked from my lungs at the raw quality in his eyes. I might have been wrong before, because the storm in him won’t stop until it flips the sea in me over.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, scared of my own voice.
“Recalling memories.”
“Like…what?”
“Like how I’ll fuck you with this mask on when the illegal ban is over and you’ll scream my name like a little whore, not a femme fatale.”
“Stop it.” I push his hand away, mainly to control my reaction to his promises. “Let’s go watch something.”
“Not so fast.” He grabs me by the arm, his finger digging into it. “You never told me why you left that morning.”
“We were strangers, and you were kind of threatening. I saved my skin.”
“Bullshit. There’s something more to it.”
“It’s mainly because you were threatening and reminded me of my dad, but also…because I was scared of your reaction if you found out my actual age. I had to study for exams anyway, so….yeah, I thought the safest option was to leave.”
“Do I still remind you of your father?”
“No. You have antisocial tendencies, but you care. He’s a true psychopath who only values his own gain.” I pause. “What were you really planning to do that night?”
“Just some Devil Night’s arson.”
“Wow. I can’t believe a delinquent like you became a lawyer.”
“I only did that to use the law to my benefit. I’m innocent of any charges that would accuse me of upholding justice.”
I laugh. “You were the definition of a bad boy and a jock, huh?”
“Pretty much. Nate had to stop me from committing an actual crime since we were teens.”
“But he wasn’t a jock.”
“No. He thought it was a needless, self-serving type of violence.”
“Well, he isn’t wrong. Let me guess, the guy who wore the Joker’s costume that night was a jock, too.”
“You guessed correctly. He tried to have his parents report me for assault and battery after that night, but my father sewed their mouths shut with a few thousand bucks.”
“Fitting.”
“Not really. I could’ve sewn his mouth shut with my fist.”
“Brute.” I stare at where his thumb presses on my arm, unable to look him in the eye. “Did you keep anything from that night?”
“Aside from Gwen?”
I gaze up at him, my voice too low and vulnerable for my liking. “Aside from Gwen.”
“If you’re asking about the Anonymous mask, Susan threw it away since she had the habit of ruining my things out of contempt. I only found out about it days later.”
“Oh.”
“I threw her entire vintage clothes collection in the trash as payback, but that wasn’t enough. That bitch needs to go down.”
“You really won’t let the Susan thing go?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
“Do you remember my favorite quote?”
His expression softens and mischievousness lights up his dark eyes. “If you gaze into an abyss for long, the abyss gazes into you.”
“The whole version is. He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby becomes a monster. And if you gaze into an abyss for long, the abyss gazes into you.” I stroke his face. “Don’t become a monster, Kingsley.”
By day eighteen of the ban, Kingsley has turned into an utter pain who’s dripping with toxic, antagonistic masculinity. No one wants to deal with him at work.
No kidding. The other day, an associate lawyer saw him coming down the hall and immediately changed direction.
“Whatever you did, undo it,” Nate tells me, subtly pushing me in the direction of Kingsley’s office.
“And what makes you think I have something to do with any of this?”
“The fact that he looks at you like he wants to fuck you, then kill you. Or kill you, then fuck you. I’m not entirely sure about his hard limits and if they include necrophilia.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“And he’s being a major dick with a loose screw. Deny it all you want, but we both know it’s all because of you. Go inside before he kills Susan for real this time.”
I pause. “Susan’s here?”
“Yes. She’s performing her annoying show for the month.”
“I thought she was banned from Weaver & Shaw.”
“She got a court order that says since she’s suing for shares, she has the right to enter the building.”
“Shit.”
“Shit, indeed. With his current mood, even a damn ant isn’t safe from his wrath. Let alone a hyena.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I head toward his office, questioning my decision for the first time.
Actually, no. I started questioning it about two days in when I went through a stupid case of sex withdrawal. I like to think I’m surviving and that this is for the greater good.
Kingsley has been tempting me to have sex since day one. The fact that he doesn’t know why exactly I’m doing this is frustrating him more than the ban itself.
In contrast, we’ve been doing a lot of outdoorsy activities together, such as running and even hiking with Nate and Gwen last weekend.
Oftentimes, I wake up with his huge erection nuzzled against my ass or stomach. He’ll groan, call me a sex terrorist, and go take care of business in the bathroom.
“Thanks for the trip back in time. Now, I’m a pubescent loser who jerks off in the shower again,” is what he told me the first time he caved and masturbated. A week after the ban.
His toxic sarcasm has gone up a notch and he’s always saying things that made me chuckle like…
My dick is suing you for bodily harm, so you better be ready for compensation.
You realize I’m going to break the fuck out of your pussy and ass the moment the ban is lifted, right? Are you sure you don’t want to lessen the blow?
The religions called, and they said that even this is blasphemy in their holy scripts.
Maybe I should become a monk or something. At least the ban will make sense then.
To say I’m completely immune would be a lie. Not only do I crave his touch, but it’s also becoming harder and harder to ignore it or brush it off.
Which is why I try to plan our week so that it’s mostly spent outside, with Gwen and Nate or even with Callie and Mateo.
It’s a fruitless attempt to keep our minds off the frustration that’s building in the background. Or in the forefront for Kingsley.
The fact that he has to deal with Susan on top of everything else isn’t something I’ll allow, though.
I knock on the door and step inside before he can even say anything.
Kingsley leans against a chair by the large window that overlooks a gloomy version of New York. He appears relaxed with his arms and legs crossed. Not to mention confident and sexy as the devil in his tailored black suit and tie that I put on him this morning.
I barely go back to my apartment lately and half his closet is full of my clothes.
Which is why we kind of smell like each other now. The domestication is a bit weird, but in moments like these, I feel as if I’m facing a partner. The man who I want with me every step of the way.
The man, who, when I think about his disappearance, drives me down a depressive path.
Susan’s head flips in my direction. She’s sitting on the sofa, her loud pink dress standing out like a sore thumb.
Her lips twist in a smile. “Aspen Leblanc, nice to finally meet Gwyneth’s mother.”
Kingsley, who appeared bored not two seconds ago, raises to his full height and marches to my side. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Even without words, he’s letting Susan know that we’re together and she shouldn’t mess with me.
Not that she’ll be able to.
I dealt with my aunt, who was a worse, more violent version of Susan. I can deal with a snobbish, gold-digging stepmother.
“Though this isn’t the first time.” She taps her pointy chin. “There was that time in the hospital, right?”
I stiffen, and Kingsley asks slowly, “What are you talking about?”
“Twenty-one years ago, I was visited by a married couple who claimed you impregnated their foster daughter. They wanted money, as all poor folks did. I gave it to them, but only if things went according to my plan. I’m the one who suggested the stillborn idea and was there to make sure it was well executed. I’m the one who brought back Gwyneth with me and typed that note before abandoning her in front of the house. You thought you could make my life hell, but you’re decades overdue, Kingsley. I already made you a single father at seventeen and had a front-row seat of watching you lose your mind searching for the mother of your child when I knew exactly who she was. You thought you were tormenting me, but guess who had the upper hand all along?”
One moment, Susan is sitting, and the next, Kingsley lifts her up by the extravagant lapels of her dress until her feet leave the ground.
I snap out of my haze at the load of information she just admitted to.
I run to his side and slowly touch his arm, forcing calm into my voice. “Let her go, King.”
“She killed my mother, separated you from Gwen, made my daughter live without a mother, and took you away from me. This is the final nail in her coffin.” He’s speaking in a clipped tone that’s filled with enough tension to crumble a mountain.
I have no doubt that he’ll snap her neck in the next minute if I don’t stop him.
“There’s no one in this room who wants her dead as much as I do.” I pull his arm. “But she’ll get what she’s wanted all along, King. She’ll break you, separate you from Gwen, and take you away from me. Don’t let her get into your head. The bitch doesn’t deserve that.”
“Do it, you devil. Kill me.” She smiles. “Everyone you know dies anyway. Your own mother didn’t stay around for your sake. She saw the monster in you early on and decided to leave. Your father also knew how much of an ugly monster you are.”
“You’re not a monster.” I stroke his harsh face. “You’re the best father to ever exist and you care about those who deserve it.” You’re the love of my life, I want to say, then stop at the last second.
“Let her go.” I soften my voice. “Please, King. Let yourself go.”
Because it’s not Susan he’s been holding in a chokehold since his mother committed suicide. It’s himself.
My younger version was naïve.
His was soulless because he never forgave himself.
He slowly starts to release her, then shoves her against the nearest wall.
She straightens with a crackle that fills the whole office. “You’re done for, Kingsley. I’m going to sue you for assault.”
I stand in front of him, partly shielding his view from her. His nostrils are flaring and the last thing I want is for him to actually kill her this time.
“He’s going to sue you for every dime to your name,” I say with a calm I don’t feel. “You just admitted to breaching the prenup you signed with Benjamin Shaw that states you’re to lose everything you owned after marriage if you harm the Shaw family or its members physically, emotionally, or mentally. Separating Gwyneth from me is the personification of emotional and mental harm. By doing this, you relinquished any rights to the community property, so you no longer have any claim to any of your late husband’s money. Prepare to live in the streets for the rest of your miserable life.”
Her laughter disappears and she pales, realizing that she’s dug her own grave. She could’ve kept that information to herself, but her need for grandiose narcissism pushed her over the edge.
“You also breached the restraining order. Being allowed in the building doesn’t give you the right to approach Kingsley. Now, get out and be afraid, Susan. Be very afraid, because I will make you pay for the helplessness and loss I felt in that hospital. We will make you pay for all the damage you’ve done to the three of us until you wish you never existed.”
She stumbles, her beady eyes watching Kingsley’s raging ones as she steps out the door.
As soon as she’s gone, I turn around and look at him. His shoulders are tense, his face so tight, I’m scared he’ll have a stroke.
I palm his cheek, caressing it slowly, as if he’s an injured animal. “It’s okay. She’s not important.”
“She knew.” His tone is clipped. “She fucking knew about you and kept it from me.”
“We still found each other anyway.”
“After twenty-one years, during which Gwen suffered being motherless.”
“I know, but that’s okay, I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.”
His head drops onto my shoulder and I breathe heavily, sliding my fingers through his hair, listening to his harsh breaths.
I can tell he’s holding it in, and that under different circumstances, Susan’s body would be on the floor of his office.
We remain like that for a long time, until his breathing is a bit more controlled, and he pulls back. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not looking hard enough.”
“Me, too.” I sniffle, fighting the tears that have gathered in my eyes. “Now, we just need to prove she breached that prenup.”
“I recorded her just now.”
I step back to stare at him. “You did?”
“I always record her in case I can use her words against her.”
I release a breath, refusing to think about what that woman has cost us. Years of separation. Decades of missing my daughter. Time when I could’ve been with both Gwen and Kingsley. I should’ve been with my baby all along, and there’s no justifying the time that I’ve missed with her.
But maybe neither Kingsley nor I were ready for one another then. Maybe we needed the time to reach this version of ourselves. A version that’s a little bit broken, a little bit dark, but still fits the other anyway.
A version in which we’re each other’s worlds. Or at least, he’s mine. I’m not sure where I fit in his equation.
I know he cares about me, I do, but Kingsley is a closed-off man in the feelings department. And the thought of being emotionally vulnerable in front of him just to be rejected scares the shit out of me.
“Let’s have lunch together,” he says.
“Gwen beat you to it.”
“The three of us can eat together.”
“No, I promised to go shopping with her afterward, then we’ll make dinner together. You and Nate can meet us then. Can you promise not to fire or kill anyone in the meantime?”
He grunts, obviously remembering the ban. “And what do I get in return?”
I go up on my tiptoes and brush my lips against his. “Let’s leave that as a surprise.”
His hand shoots for my waist, but I escape before he can trap me, laughing even after I step out the door.
I force myself to stop before I traumatize a poor employee for seeing me laugh for the first time.
Gwen agreed to pick me up from the firm and I have a wild guess that it’s because she wants to see Nate during work hours.
It always makes me smile whenever Kingsley acts butthurt because she didn’t come for him first.
I call her on my way to the parking garage and frown when she doesn’t pick up two times in a row.
So I dial Nate. “Hey, is Gwen with you?”
“No, she didn’t come to see me.”
My phone beeps with an incoming call and I unlock my car. “It’s her. I’ll call you back.”
I hit End and accept her call. “I’m in the parking garage. Where are you?”
There’s a rustle from the other end before a muffled scream comes. I go still, my heart nearly beating out of my chest. “Gwen?”
“Hello there, my red dahlia.”
