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He really agreed.
I hug the phone to my chest, the giddiness inside me so similar to the old version of me.
The Aspen who had one tragedy after another but still held on to the black mask she wore that night.
29
ASPEN
The first week of my self-imposed celibacy is hell on earth.
Kingsley became moodier than snobbish royalty and has been asking Nate to box with him almost every day.
A fact that Gwen wasn’t happy about, because her father is stealing her husband’s time—which is limited already.
The second week, Nate put an end to Kingsley’s demands and told him, “I’m sorry, but I prefer my wife’s company.” To which Kingsley nearly punched him.
He started to work out more than should be healthy, almost picked up smoking again, and everyone at the firm avoids him like the plague.
Five employees nearly lost their job for simply talking to him when he was in a foul mood. Which is more often than not lately.
I try to keep his mind off things with work, simple discussions, or even promising to eat everything he’s cooked.
That’s what we’ve finished doing just now—eating. We’re sitting at the counter of my kitchen with a chair between us. It’s just insurance because he has no qualms whatsoever about forcing me to remove the “illegal ban,” as he likes to call it.
For the past couple of weeks, we’ve developed the habit of dining out. Partly because being indoors is stifling and partly because…I guess we’re dating. Or that’s what Gwen and Callie called it, gushing and throwing a hundred hearts in the group chat.
Kingsley never called it that, though. I didn’t either, so no clue where that leaves us.
Sex was all our relationship was about, and now that it’s out of the equation, it feels like we’re a couple who’ve been together for years. We get ready for work together, discuss cases over dinner, and have conversations that leave me breathless. Not only that, but lately, we’ve been spending more time together than before.
We went on a long ride yesterday in one of Kingsley’s convertibles, and even though I lost a scarf and had a horrible hair day, I felt so wild—outside of sex, of course. And yes, apparently Kingsley has a collection of sports cars. No surprise there. He’s a fast-paced man and loves the rush of speed, the fire of challenge, and the unpredictability of situations.
But he also thrives on control, so the fact that he has none on this particular turn of events has changed him into a grouchy creature.
I wipe my mouth after actually having finished my entire plate of pasta. Ever since I stopped drinking, my appetite has gradually returned. I still don’t really like food, but Kingsley doesn’t allow me to have an empty stomach. Gwen, either. I swear both father and daughter are ganging up on me.
“It’s delicious,” I tell him.
He grumbles as a response and glares at the space separating us. “And what is this chair between us trying to serve?”
“Safe distance.”
“More like useless distance. If I decide to pounce on you, no fucking chair will save you from me.”
“But you won’t,” I remind him, half fearful that he’ll actually crumble everything to the ground.
“Maybe I will.”
“You…have held on fine for two weeks.”
“It’s not fucking withdrawal from addiction, Aspen. It gets worse, not better with time.”
“So? What does that mean?” I sound unusually careful, scared almost.
“It means you’re a damn dictator. Maybe I should keep a negative words list like Gwen does and put your name on it.”
That rips a smile out of me, and I throw a napkin in his direction that he catches with a grin so charming that I’m the one who starts to rethink the decision behind the stupid ban.
