Everything is pristine. Marble floors gleam, not a single stain in sight. New guards stand at their posts, silent, professional, faces I don't recognize. It feels surreal, like the violence was just a bad dream someone cleaned up while we were gone.
Gabe notices my hesitation and squeezes my hand. "It's handled," he assures me quietly. "You don't have to think about it tonight. And neither your Mom nor Esther is any the wiser. They never left the apartment."
I nod, but my legs feel shaky as we step inside. We've barely crossed the threshold when my mom's voice assaults us from the living area.
"Where have you been?" She hurries toward us, phone in hand, voice shrill. "I've been trying to call you for hours! You have no idea what I've been through—" She stops mid-step, eyes widening as she takes us in, the bruises, the stitches, the blood-stained clothes, the exhaustion carved into both our faces.
"What happened to you?"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don't know where to start. The bar. The gun. Gabe falling. The twins. The secret wedding. It's all too much.
Gabe steps in smoothly, as calm and controlled as ever. "We had a small car accident. Audra needs some rest."
"Oh my…" Mom is at my side in an instant, fussing over me with surprising gentleness. "You poor thing. I'd take care of you, but Mittens is missing. They both got out when?—"
"Found Mr. Fluffball, I think," Esther calls from one of the guest bedrooms, sounding slightly amused.
Gabe doesn't wait. He ushers me gently but firmly down the hallway toward the master bedroom, his arm slung around my waist possessively. The moment the door closes behind us, the weight of the day crashes down. I sway on my feet.
"Is it bad that I just want to take a shower and sleep?" I ask weakly.
Gabe shakes his head; his eyes are soft despite the exhaustion and bruises. "No. Not bad at all. Let me take care of you." He guides me to the bed. "Sit."
He walks to the bar area and comes back with a bottle of water. "I'll run you a bath and order food."
I take the water gratefully. Our hands brush, and a new concern overcomes me. "Gabe. You need rest, too. You've been shot."
"I will get rest, as soon as you're taken care of." He promises, and I'm too tired to argue.
He carries me into the bathroom, turning on the enormous bathtub, and adds a fresh, clean scent to it. His hands are gentle as he helps me out of the ruined clothes, careful around every cut and bruise. When I'm naked, he scoops me up and puts me down in the tub. "Now, what would you like to eat?"
I lean against the tub's wall and close my eyes, which are swimming with tears. I try to remember the last time somebody took care of me like this and come up empty. Of course, Pete would make me soup when I was sick, or bring me aspirin, but he wasn't a caretaker, and it showed in the impatience with which he completed every act. That's when I decide: No more Pete. That chapter of my life is closed.
I open my eyes and look at Gabe. This is going to be a new life. "I really want a hamburger, fries, and ice cream," I request softly.
He smiles, that rare, warm smile that he seems to reserve solely for me. "Hamburger, fries, and ice cream it is."
While the water laps gently around me, he steps out to make the call. I sink deeper into the warmth, letting the day finally slide off my skin. When he returns, he kneels beside the tub and carefully washes my hair, his fingers gentle on my scalp. I close my eyes again, and tears slip free for an entirely different reason.
This man.
This impossible, possessive, beautiful man just married me in secret, survived a bullet meant for his head, and is now washing my hair like it's the most important thing in the world.
When the bath is done, he wraps me in a thick towel, carries me back to bed, and helps me into one of his soft black t-shirts. The fabric smells like him. Safe. Home.
Balancing two trays of food, he slides in beside me.
"Eat," he orders. "You need to feed my kids."
I laugh. "You're so bossy." I take the first bite of hamburger. A deep moan escapes me. "Oh, this is good."
He stares at me with open hunger on his face.
"You need to eat too," I admonish when he keeps staring at me without moving to eat his food.
"I can't believe we're having twins," I say, just to bring him out of the fugue he seems to have slipped into. The mention of our kids brings him back.
He leans forward, and his lips brush my temple. "I can. You were always going to give me everything, Audra. I just had to wait for you to be ready."
