Page 24 of The Wrong Groom

I know that Gabriel’s first wife passed away, leaving him to raise Peyton alone. Everyone whispers about it, the tragic past that had left a scar on him, a ghost in his gaze that seemed ever-present. And here I am, prying into it on our wedding night.

We fall into silence, the car’s hum filling the void. I stare out the window, wishing I could disappear into the blur of city lights streaking past.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we turn off the road in Brentwood, passing through a gate and heading up a long gravel driveway that curves behind a low wall and a screen of trees. When the house comes into view, it’s not the glamorous estate I was expecting. It’s huge, of course, and beautiful—but surprisingly modest too. Well, modest by our standards.

The car stops, and Gabriel gets out and comes around to open my door. I step out and just stand there for a second, feeling small as I look up at it. It’s two stories tall, clean and modern, with big windows and plants growing up around it. The lights are on inside, warm and yellow, and it actually looks kind of… cozy. Lived-in. Nothing like my old condo or my family’s place up in the hills.

Gabriel ascends the steps to his front door, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on. I just have to let Margaret get home, then I’ll give you the tour.”

When he opens the door and steps inside, he’s greeted by a slight, smiling woman who appears to be in her early fifties. She stands in the foyer, a bag over her shoulder, and leans forward to give him a hug as soon as he crosses the threshold. Then, to my surprise, she turns to me with equal warmth, offering me a hug, as well.

“It’s so good to meet you,” she says, withdrawing, her hazel eyes sparkling. “I’m Margaret—Peyton’s nanny.”

“This is Alexis,” Gabriel says unnecessarily, since it’s pretty clear she knows who I am. “How’s Peyton doing? Is she in bed?”

Margaret nods, smiling fondly. “She was out like a light almost as soon as we got home. It took a bit of effort to get her out of her dress and into bed. I guess all that dancing took it out of her.”

“Good.” I catch the fleeting look of love on Gabriel’s face. “I’ll be in to check on her in a little bit. Thanks, Margaret. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course. Have a good night,” she says, then bustles out into the night, leaving us alone in the foyer.

As soon as she leaves, the house feels quiet and foreboding. She was the last stranger who stood between us and this new reality. At the wedding, there were plenty of buffers, plenty of reasons to keep things formal and distant. Now, there’s only one reason. The simple fact that we’re not real newlyweds. We’re not people in love with each other.

I close my eyes for a brief instant, trying to imagine what it would’ve been like to come home after a true wedding. To finally be alone with the person I loved, no barriers between us. I’ve read that scene at least half a dozen times in my favorite romance novels.

Gabriel clears his throat, glancing around as if seeing his own home for the first time. “Well… this is it. The, uh, the kitchen is through here.”

He guides me through a hallway into a spacious kitchen with gleaming marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. There’s a bowl of fruit on the counter, and a window above the sink, the sill decorated with a row of plants.

“It’s nice,” I comment appreciatively. I can imagine how light and airy it will feel during the day, when sunlight can make its way through that window.

“Glad you like it. The dining room is through there.” He gestures to the adjoining room. As I step into the dining area, I take in the large, polished oak table at its center, surrounded by sleek chairs that match the functional minimalism of the kitchen. It doesn’t seem as though this room gets much use, though. I imagine that, with just Peyton and Gabriel in the house, most dinners take place at the kitchen island.

“And it’s this way to the living room,” Gabriel adds, steering me toward another doorway.

The hardwood floors give way to a carpet that’s plush beneath my feet, and I suddenly remember that I’m still wearing my heels. Surreptitiously, I lean down to yank them off. My feet sigh in relief as I free them from the constricting shoes, and I tuck the heels under my arm.

The living room has high ceilings and exposed brick walls that add a rustic charm to the otherwise modern decor. There’s a fireplace nestled along one wall, framed by an intricately carved wooden mantel lined with framed photographs. As I draw closer, I see that almost all of the pictures are of Peyton.

“There are a few more rooms on this floor,” Gabriel says. “Home gym, den, that sort of thing. There’s a theater in the basement, along with a wine cellar and game room. The pool’s out back, with a hot tub, if you ever feel like a swim. Are you ready to head upstairs?”

At the mention of upstairs, my heart climbs back into my throat. Upstairs. Where the bedroom is. We haven’t discussed sleeping arrangements yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s standard for wives to sleep in their husbands’ beds.

Oh, god. I’m somebody’s wife.

I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. “So… are we both… um…” My words trail off, and I feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

Gabriel grimaces, his hand rising to rake through his hair. “I think that’s part of the arrangement,” he says heavily. “But if you’d rather have your own space⁠—”

“No,” I say quickly. “It’s—it’s okay. We’re married now.”

I want to do this right. I would certainly feel more comfortable in my own room, my own bed, but I know what my family’s expectations are. I know what a good wife does.

Gabriel gives me a long, unreadable look. Then he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his gaze softening. “But if it ever becomes too much, just say the word. I don’t want you to feel… trapped.”

I swallow, nodding. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”