Chapter 18
Clarabella
"I need a drink." My voice comes out shaky, and I reach for the bottle and take another sip. Maybe if I drink enough, I can forget everything.
"What did you eat today?" he asks, and I want to tell him it's not his concern.
"Breakfast," I answer him in one word.
"I'll make you food, and then I'll go," he says, and the lump in my throat fills up. I have to get away from him.
I grab the bottle and get down from the stool, then make sure my ass isn't showing when I walk toward the couch. “I don't think." I hear Luke's voice before I sit on the couch and sink into it. It's almost like quicksand.
"What the fuck?" I blurt, holding the bottle in the air to ensure I don’t spill any of it.
"Shit," he says, rushing over to me, and it looks like he's going to grab me, and right now, after that talk, the last thing I want him to do is to touch me.
"Grab the bottle and turn around,” I warn, and he grabs the bottle and just looks at me. “Fine, don't turn around," I say, moving to get out of the sunken hole. “But I'm not wearing your boxers under this shirt, and all these panties can be described as are string."
He glares at me, turning and walking away from me. I huff and puff, trying to get out, and finally, I roll out of the hole and end up on my knees. "What in the?" I say, getting up now and feeling like I just ran a marathon.
"The raccoons made the base of the couch their home," he explains with his back still to me.
"Why in the hell would you not throw it out?" I brush myself off. “Can I get rabies from sitting on the couch?" He laughs. “It's all fun and games until I have to get a rabies shot from an infested couch." I look at his back and then to the couch. “I swear, I feel things crawling in me."
He looks over his shoulder, laughing. “Sit down and let me make you food," he suggests, turning when he sees that I'm covered.
"Whatever." I roll my eyes, walking over to the stool and sitting again while he goes to the sink and washes his hands before coming back and grabbing the bag of food he brought in before.
I watch as he takes out the ingredients and then turns to grab a pan. “You have state-of-the-art cookware," I observe, grabbing the bottle of scotch. “But a couch that is rabies infested."
He just shakes his head. “I come here to get my inspiration."
"Did you cook the raccoons?" I ask with my hand halfway to my mouth, and he just glares at me.
"I like to come up here when a lot is going on and just find my peace," he explains as he takes the chicken out and pats it dry. “I come here and create dishes and then see if they are good or not."
"So, you come up here in the middle of nowhere." I cross my legs. “And cook for yourself and then eat the food." I want to puff out and tell him please spare me, but I don't.
"Pretty much," he says as he turns the stove on, and I just watch him cook. I don't know what to say. When I walked out of the room, the last thing I thought we would discuss would be him leaving. At least I told myself I wasn't ever going to bring it up and make him see how much it bothered me. But push comes to shove, and you get enough liquid courage in you, and all bets are off. Sitting in front of him, I’m trying to be snarky about it, but then my heart fell when he said that it was the best night of his life. I couldn't even look at him to see if he was telling the truth. Instead, I had to look to the side and fight through the need to let the tears come. I felt his eyes on me the whole time as I blinked my eyes furiously to make the tears go away.
"Can I use the bathroom?" I finally say, knowing that I should wash my face. "I'm assuming that you don't have makeup remover?" I ask as he looks up at me.
"Yes, it's next to the facial scrubs that is next to the hammam spa." I can't help but snort out at his comment.
"Where can I sign up for that service?" I ask over my shoulder and walk to the bathroom. I'm about to go in when I think about him not checking in there. "Is there a window in there?"
"No," he says, and I just nod my head. “Should be all clear."
"Great, just what you love to hear," I mumble, turning the door handle and stepping in to close the door behind me. The bathroom has one sink, a toilet, and a shower. It looks like it was updated at the same time as the kitchen. I walk over to the pedestal and turn on the water, looking into the mirror. Well, there are no black streaks down my face, so that's a plus. “They were not joking when they said waterproof." I take a second to wet my hands and then put them on my cheeks before walking out, and the smell just hits me and my stomach growls. “It smells amazing," I say, walking over to the kitchen as he whisks something in the cast-iron pan. “What are you making?"
"Chicken Alfredo," he answers, without looking at me and I just stare at him. My heart is beating so hard in my chest I have to walk away from him in case he can hear it.
But then I stop and look over at him. “You were going to come up here on my wedding day, get trashed, and eat my favorite meal.”
“I guess I’m a glutton for punishment,” he says as he grabs two plates and puts food on them.
My mouth waters when I sit on the stool, and he walks over and puts a plate in front of me. “I know it wasn’t on your menu for the wedding,” he says, walking around me to sit down on the stool beside me. “Hope it passes your standards.”
“Well, it looks like shit.” I keep my face straight as I look at him and all he does is stare at me. “Kidding,” I say, laughing, and he flips me the bird. This, this right here is what we do. We can hate each other one minute, and then it’s back to normal. It’s always been like that with him.
“Bon appétit,” he says, grabbing his fork and twirling the pasta around it. I watch him take the first bite, and he nods his head. “Not too bad if I say so myself.”
I grab my own fork, and the minute the pasta hits my tongue, I moan. “It’s orgasmic,” I say, and he just shakes his head. The creamy, buttery sauce just hits all the boxes as comfort food. “Was there anyone in New York?” The words leave my lips before I can kick myself. Why would you ask him this? For what reason? My head screams at me. I don’t even look at him. Instead, I focus on the pasta in front of me.
“No one that I wanted to marry,” he says, and I don’t even know why it matters. I was going to get married. It’s not like I waited for him. The rest of the meal is quiet, neither of us saying anything.
I look over at him as he finishes his last bite. “Why don’t you just stay the night and leave tomorrow?” He just looks at me, and all I can do is stare into his eyes. They look as if there is a battle going on. “It’s already late, and you look tired.”
“There is only one bed,” he reminds me, and I repeat the words so they can sink in my head.
“There is only one bed.” I grab some pasta to keep my mouth busy from saying something that I shouldn’t say.
“I would say, sleep on the sofa.” I try to joke with him, but the nerves in my stomach make it feel like a fish flops when it gets out of the water.
“I’ll sleep in the truck,” he says, and I roll my eyes.
“That’s stupid. We can sleep in the same bed,” I respond and then grab the scotch, taking a gulp. “I can sleep under the covers, and you can sleep on top, and we can put some cushions in the middle of us.”
“Like the wall of China?” he jokes, and I look at him.
“Yes, with a barbwire fence.” I fake a smile as I take another sip. “Like shark-infested waters right out of Alcatraz.”
He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh. “I am going to clean up since you cooked.”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” he says, leaning over and taking a long pull of the scotch.
“I’m assuming that means you’re staying?” I ask, getting up and walking over to the sink to see that he was cleaning as he went, and the only things left to clean are the two plates and the pan.
“Who is going to save you from the raccoons if I go?” He leans back, smirking at me, and the only thing I do is stick my tongue out at him, making him laugh even more. My head spins as I start to wash the dishes.
“I’m going to go shower,” he shares, getting up from the stool and grabbing the bottle of scotch. I don’t say anything to him. Instead, I finish cleaning up. My head spins even more now, and I laugh as I pull off the covers to the bed and climb under them. As soon as I lay my head on the pillow, the bathroom door opens, and he walks out just wearing his jeans. He looks around twice and then spots me in the bed. “Building the wall?” he asks, and I just laugh.
“I didn’t turn off the lights.” I close my eyes, taking in the spinning of the room. I open them up again, watching him walk to the wall and flip the switch. He steps into the room, and I see that his jeans button is undone. His feet are bare, and I can see his shadow coming to the bed.
“Permission to lie down on the covers,” he jokes, and I can hear him chuckling before he lies down on his side of the bed.
“I didn’t build the wall,” I note. “My head was spinning.” My eyes get used to the light, and the soft light from the moon comes into the window. “It’s peaceful,” I say, and he turns his head on the pillow and looks at me. “Did you mean what you said?”
“Which part?” he asks, his voice soft as he turns over on his side to look at me.
“The part about our night together?” I ask, knowing that I shouldn’t even care and there are other things to worry about. “Forget it,” I say just as fast, getting ready to turn over and give him my back. I make a mental note to never ever drink scotch again.
His hand comes out, grabbing my hip before I turn around. “Clarabella.” He says my name exactly like he did that night. “I’m a lot of things,” he says, his voice coming out so clear. “I may be a coward for the morning after, but I’m not a liar.”
I swallow, and I don’t know why, but I feel like he’s closer to me. “I never said you were a liar.” The words come out, and my mouth is suddenly as dry as the desert. “I’ve drunk too much.” I pretend as if I’m drunker than I really am.
“You didn’t even drink that much.” He calls me out on my lie. “You took sips the whole night.”
“What do you want from me?” I wish the lights were on so I could see his face. So I could stare into his eyes and see what he’s thinking.
The air feels so thick in the room. It feels like time is standing still. It feels like both of us know what is going to happen, but neither of us is sure it should happen. My heart starts to beat so hard I feel like it’s literally going to come out of my chest. My tongue feels like it’s getting heavy, and my hands are shaking with anticipation. My brain is finally catching up to what is happening in my heart when he says the words.
“I want this,” he says, his voice almost growling. His hand on my hip reaches up into the side of my hair, and in the blink of an eye, my hands are reaching for his face as his lips crash down on mine. The minute our tongues invade each other’s mouth, we both moan. His tongue slides into mine, and I can taste the scotch on him. It’s a moment that will forever stay with me, a moment that I guess was bound to happen. A moment that feels like it was always supposed to be like this. I move my head to the side so I can deepen the kiss, his tongue fighting with mine. We both want to win the battle as he pushes me onto my back. My leg moves up, but it’s stuck under the cover.
“Wait.” I move my head away from his, and he stops and doesn’t move.
“I shouldn’t have.” He moves off me enough for me to throw the cover off me and then reach for him.
“This is better.” I pull him back down on me, and my leg cocks up over his hip, my finger coming up and tracing his bottom lip. “Kiss me, Luke.”