I stare at him. He’s right. I am tired. I’m so incredibly tired of checking my bank account balance before I buy groceries. I’m tired of hustle culture. I’m tired of being the strong one.
"This is kidnapping," I whisper.
"This is coming home," he says.
Gabriel sees the fight drain out of me. He smirks—just a little.
He guides me back into the kitchen, grabbing something on the island I hadn't noticed before. He holds it out to me along with a glass of water.
It’s a pill.
"What is this?" I ask suspiciously, taking the glass but not the pill.
"A prenatal vitamin," he says.
I choke on my own spit. "I’m sorry, what?"
"Take it," he orders. "We’re fucking and not using protection. Best to start now to ensure you and the baby have everything you need."
I stare at him. "There’s no baby."
"If there isn’t already, there will be," he promises. "And we're going to fuck a lot. It's a matter of when, not if. Open your mouth, Blair."
He holds the pill out, his gray eyes locking onto mine. It’s a dare. It’s a test.
If I take it, I’m agreeing to this. I’m agreeing to the boxes in the living room. I’m agreeing to the madness. I’m agreeing to let him fill me up until there’s no room left for doubt.
I look at the pill. I look at him.
Then I open my mouth.
He places the pill on my tongue. His fingers linger against my lip for a second, before he pulls back and I lift the glass of water, swallowing it down. I stare him dead in the eye the entire time.
Gabriel’s eyes darken. He looks like he wants to drag me back upstairs right now.
"Good girl," he murmurs.
He leans down and kisses me, tasting the submission on my tongue. Tasting his victory. It’s a deep, searing kiss that seals the deal. When he pulls back, he looks smug.
"Finish your breakfast," he says, stepping back and picking up his coffee again. "Then you can unpack."
I turn back to my omelet, my heart racing. I feel trapped. I feel overwhelmed.
I feel... relieved.
I turn away, needing to put some distance between us before I spontaneously combust. I walk back toward the living room, looking around at the gray walls, the beige furniture, the complete lack of life.
"If I'm living here," I say, my voice steadying, "we’re going to have to do something about this place."
"What's wrong with it?" Gabriel asks, following me.
"It looks like a prison for billionaires," I say, gesturing to the empty mantel. "It’s December, Gabriel. Where’s the tree? Where are the lights? Where’s the joy?"
"I don't do Christmas," he says flatly.
"Well, I do," I counter, crossing my arms. "You kidnapped me—you get my traditions too. I want a tree. A big one. Real, not fake. And lights. Everywhere."
Gabriel sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks annoyed, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Fine. Whatever you want."
