Chapter 8
“Get down.” His voice was almost frantic, like an order teetering on the edge of chaos.
I blinked in surprise. “Seriously, you-”
“Don’t speak,” he cut me off coldly, covering my eyes with his hand. “And don’t look.”
Darkness enveloped me as my lashes brushed against his warm palm. Who knew the words “I love you” could pack such a punch? It threw him off balance.
I couldn’t help but grin. “I love you. I love you…” The playful tease was like a feather, tickling his heart until a wildfire spread.
Pressing my hands against his chest, I felt his heartbeat accelerating beneath my palm. So, I softened my tone, “Rowan, I love you-”
Before I could finish, his lips were on mine, silencing me. He was more assertive than ever, trapping me in the corner so I couldn’t escape his love.
His hands moved tenderly, like caressing a treasure, skimming over my cheek and down to my neck, gently holding me there, completely enamored.
“Such a naughty girl…” he sighed. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Starving…” I clung to him like a koala, slipping my hand under his shirt. “Let’s eat…”
When he stayed unmoved, I threw caution to the wind. “Hey, have you thought of a name for the baby?”
Rowan’s eyes darkened as he carried me past the dining table and straight into the bedroom. The aroma of roasted chicken wafted by, catching my attention.
I craned my neck to peek at the table, my eyes lighting up. “Wait, Lara saved me a drumstick.”
“Forget about it.” Rowan refused me with surprising firmness. “There’s only one chance. And now, it’s my call.” I had to admit Rowan had a knack for negotiation. More than a little–he was practically a cunning merchant. His whispers in the dark were like waves carrying me away. His kisses traced my fingers, finally resting in my heart. “I’m yours.”
I was entranced, letting out a soft hum as I pinned him down. “Mine, all mine…”
Later, after a shower, my eyelids felt heavy and sticky. Taking advantage of hugging Rowan, my hands wandered freely, indulging in mischief. He was like a gentle giant, seemingly never losing his temper.
“Sonia.”
“Hmm?” I was so sleepy that my voice was a slurry mess.
“Remember when we first got married? You promised to go to the movies with me, but then you canceled because of a stomach ache and went to the hospital. Was it to see him?”
To me, it felt like something from ages ago. I tried hard to think but couldn’t link it to Miles.
The truth was that Rowan had sent me a little cake the day before, and I ended up with a stomach bug after eating it and some spicy wings.
I went to the hospital for an IV drip, got my meds, and came home to rest. But there was something off in Rowan’s tone. My sleepiness vanished, and I sat up.
Momentarily caught off guard, Rowan apologized. “I’m sorry”
“Don’t apologize yet. I’m not mad.” I sat cross–legged. “I’m curious. Why would you think I went to see Miles?”
He could easily track my whereabouts with his skills and would have known I was barely alive in a hospital. But
Chapter 8
he hadn’t checked.
After a brief silence, Rowan admitted, “I can see Miles‘ posts.”
“Doesn’t he rarely post?” Our eyes met, both filled with confusion.
Rowan pulled out his phone and handed it to me. I eagerly clicked on Miles‘ profile, and my mind went blank as I read his posts.
“August 9th, Sonia said she’d celebrate my birthday today. Thank you, my love.”
“August 1st, I tasted Sonia’s homemade dishes. Just like old times.”
I scrolled frantically until six months ago.
“The movie’s out, waiting for Sonia…”
That was the day I had the stomach bug. But on my phone, Miles‘ posts were empty. Those posts were visible only to Rowan. Since I had married Rowan, my interactions with Miles had been minimal, limited to hospital calls or adjustments in his treatment plan.
I treated him as an old friend, but he repeatedly hurt my loved one behind my back. My head throbbed with anger. “And you believed it?”
There wasn’t even a photo of me.
Rowan lowered his gaze, staring at the empty posts on my phone, something slowly dawning in his eyes.
“Sonia, I had no choice.” He repeatedly opened and closed the app, as if he was confirming something or maybe it was just a reflex upon discovering the truth. “I was scared to check and find out you were with him. If it were true, I’d rather stay in the dark.”
I felt torn between anger and sympathy. “You could have asked me-”
I stopped mid–sentence. Of course, he didn’t dare ask. Back then, I’d lash out at him for the slightest thing. Even if he had asked, my answer might not have been better than his fears.
“It was my fault.” I buried myself in Rowan’s arms, my eyes stinging with tears. “I’m sorry. I’ll never lose my temper with you again.”
He chuckled softly, kissing my ear. “It’s okay. I like it when you’re fiery. It’s cute.”
“Just… don’t ever say you don’t want me again.”
That night, the last of our barriers vanished. I suspected Rowan had a bit of a masochistic streak. A day without a scolding seemed to leave him restless.
One autumn morning, I flared up again. “Rowan, are you trying to work yourself to death so I can award you a medal for dedication?”
On the phone, his deep voice had that gravelly texture of a cold, with a hint of nasal sound. “I can manage.* He’d had a fever late last night, burning up. I called the family doctor, who prescribed some meds. Half coaxing. half forcing, I got him to take them and used a small basin to wipe him down.
By dawn, the fever had broken. I left a note for Lara with a light meal plan for when Rowan woke up, then snuggled back into his arms and drifted off to sleep.
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