Page 51 of The Wrong Groom

Gabriel’s fingers continue their work in my hair. He’s almost finished with the braid. “Sure. Get the foundation in place, figure out what works, and then grow it from there. But seriously—I think this is a fantastic idea. You’ve got the vision, and you’ve definitely got the passion.”

I’m taken aback by his encouragement. It’s incredible, but at the same time, I don’t really know what to do with it, how to respond. I’m not exactly used to this sort of support.

“There. Done.” Gabriel drops my hair, satisfaction in his voice. I reach back to feel the braid, surprised at how smooth and neat it is.

I turn toward him, a feeling of warmth in my chest as I meet his gaze.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

He looks at me, his expression unreadable. “You’re more than welcome, Alexis.”

For a long moment, we just sit there, the silence stretching between us in a way that sends a flutter through my chest, both comforting and unsettling. His warmth is so close that I feel like I could simply lean forward, allow myself to be drawn to him. If I pressed my body into his, would he hold me? Would he want it?

Then Gabriel clears his throat, and the spell breaks. He stands, his movements deliberate, like he’s forcing himself up off the couch.

“I should get to bed,” he says.

I swallow, then nod. “Okay.”

“Feel free to stay up as late as you’d like. Don’t worry about waking me.”

“Okay.”

With that, he turns toward the stairs. For several minutes, I just sit there, my mind racing with thoughts I’m not ready to confront. Then I force myself to pick up my book and open it. I try to focus on the words, but the text blurs.

I glance toward the stairs, where Gabriel disappeared moments ago. The silence in the house feels oppressive now, too much space between us. Even though we’re both under the same roof, it feels like we’re on opposite sides of a vast chasm that I can’t cross.

That I shouldn’t try to cross. Not if I want to keep things simple, fulfill my role, and come out of this without permanent damage—both emotional and social.

It is what it is, I tell myself, reaching back to run my fingers over the curves of the braid Gabriel put in my hair. He won’t love you. You can’t expect him to. That was never the point.

Chapter 17

Gabriel

It’s a strange kind of torture, living in this house with Alexis.

As the weeks pass, she starts to settle in. She’s less nervous and jittery than she was when she first got here, comfortable enough to occupy space without looking guilty. Comfortable enough to read out in the open. Comfortable enough to stay in the room when I enter instead of going out of her way to avoid me.

I’m glad to see it. At the same time, though, it only makes this harder. The more comfortable she is, the more often I catch her smiling, just being herself. The more I see her in various states of undress, wandering around with nothing but a sports bra while she roots around in the kitchen for a snack. The more I see her, period.

And it’s driving me crazy.

Part of her comfort—and a large part of her allure—stems from the time she’s been spending on her passion project.

Since the day she told me about it, she’s thrown herself into the work. I’ve seen her doodling in a sketchbook, her brow furrowed in concentration as she draws. I’ve seen the sketches themselves too, lying on the coffee table.

She’s unbelievably talented. I don’t know why her family’s company doesn’t put her to work as a designer, rather than shelving her in some background corporate job. She has a grasp of anatomy that I didn’t even realize she had until I saw her sketches.

She understands the human form in a way that’s not just artistic. It’s technical. There’s a precision in the way she sketches clothing that feels natural, like she’s not just designing the garments, but shaping how they move, how they fit, how they breathe on the body. Any body, not just the stick-thin models Vérité puts on the runway.

The idea has grown from what it originally was, a line of accessible fashion that will benefit charity. Now, she plans to build a charity of her own, one that’s focused on expanding the reach of fashion. A workshop, she tells me, a place where people can learn to create as well as enjoy the things she makes. She wants to hire a team of designers. It’s ambitious. It’s a project with a huge scope.

And I’m beyond impressed.

Her passion, her talent, her enthusiasm, the way her face lights up as she tells me what she’s working on? All of it pulls me in. She’s magnetic.

It’s gotten to a point where I can’t deny it any longer. I’m deeply, deeply attracted to her. To her gorgeous blue eyes. To her silken, wavy hair. To the freckles that dot her face like constellations across the bridge of her nose. To her lithe, slender frame, her perfect body.