Page 38 of The Wrong Groom

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. “I… I understand. No worries.”

I hear the patter of socked feet on the wood floor. Peyton comes running back into the room, bursting the tension between us. Gabriel’s serious expression is instantly replaced with a warm smile.

“Did Daddy say I could have a kitty?” Peyton asks eagerly, her eyes wide with hope as she looks at me.

I force myself to smile. Peyton is adorable, which helps with that. “Not yet,” I tell her. Then, with a flicker of some feeling I can’t place, I lean toward her and drop my voice to a conspiratorial, carrying whisper. “But we’ll keep working on it.”

I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know what came over me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Gabriel’s face stiffen, and that sends a jolt of panic through me. I’m fucking this up. I’m supposed to be a good wife. If he doesn’t want me to bond with his child, then I should just let it go.

But when Peyton beams at me, I can’t quite bring myself to regret it.

Just this once, I think, sitting back in my chair. Just this one little thing.

Chapter 13

Gabriel

After putting Peyton to bed, I head into my home office and close the door behind me.

I do have some work to do, so it’s not entirely for no reason. I tell myself that as I trudge down the hallway and seal myself in, feeling the quiet settle around me.

The truth is, I’m not quite sure why I’m retreating here. The evening was… nice. Surprisingly nice, even with that awkward moment between me and Alexis toward the end.

Still, I know what’s happening here. I’m avoiding her. I don’t really think I can face going to bed with her right now. Not after watching the spark in her eyes dim when I shut her down.

I head for the drink cart in the corner of the room and pour myself a rocks glass of whiskey. For a few seconds, I just hold the glass, staring into the amber liquid as it catches the light from my desk lamp.

I should be used to this, to being alone with my thoughts. I’ve had years of practice since Melanie died. But something about tonight feels different, more weighted. Maybe it’s because, for a few hours, it almost felt like a real family dinner.

I take a sip, feeling the burn as the whiskey goes down. Then I head back to my desk and settle in, opening my laptop. There are a few market reports I need to look at, some stuff Tristan forwarded to me at the end of the workday.

I loosen my tie, taking another sip of the whiskey, then unbutton my cuffs, rolling my sleeves up. I don’t feel the same pressure to look put together when I’m working from home. At the office, everyone has a certain expectation of how the Thorne brothers will conduct themselves, how we’ll look and dress and act. But here, there’s no one watching. I can do what I please.

Well… for a few minutes, there’s no one watching.

Awareness prickles through me, along with a faint sense that I’m not alone. I glance up, and sure enough, there’s a quiet knock on the door a second later, barely a whisper against the wood.

“Come in,” I say, not entirely sure if I sound welcoming or resigned. The door creaks open, and Alexis steps in, looking uncertain. She’s changed into sleepwear, sweats and an oversized, green t-shirt that nearly swallows her whole.

“Sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her, closing the laptop. “What’s up?”

She swallows as if she’s nervous, and I feel a pang of guilt. Just when she was starting to warm up, I had to go and put that wall back up. She lingers near the door, like she’s preparing to make a quick exit. Fuck.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m headed to bed,” she says. Then she turns to leave.

I have to do something. To say something before she walks away again, before this distance between us calcifies further.

I clear my throat and say, “Alexis.”

She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. Her hand hovers by the doorframe.

“Do you want a drink?” I indicate my glass of whiskey.

For a moment, she just stares at me, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. Then, shyly, she steps farther into the room. “Um, sure.”

I get up to grab the decanter of whiskey, pouring another glass, and hand it to her. She lifts it to her nose, her face scrunching up as she catches a whiff of it.