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Why do I have to push him away?
I know this all started out so messed up. Sowrong.But we’re here now. And is it really so bad for me to just hold on?
Can’t I claim this one goddamn thing for myself.
Can’t I just take it.
I purse my lips and force myself to exhale slowly.
This is my life. Whether I choose it or not, it’s my life now.
And he’s already given me his name.
With one step, and then another, I walk to my husband.
And it’s like he can sense me, because even though I’m approaching him from behind, he slides his hand out of his pocket, and holds his fingers spread at his side. Waiting for me to take his hand.
So I do.
And I keep standing there, at his side, introducing him as my husband, for the rest of the evening. And he’s still at my side as we watch Orlando put those little stickers next to each piece, designating them as sold. And when the final piece gets a sticker, when every last one has been marked, and when King bends down and presses a kiss to the top of my head, I admit to myself that this was the best night of my life.
CHAPTER71
King
Switchingmy phone so it’s on speaker, I drop onto the couch in my office and set it on the armrest.
I’ve been sitting in my desk chair for too fucking long and my back is starting to kill me.
While I listen to Nero and Abdul, our realtor, talk through a list of properties, I put my hands behind my head and stretch my spine.
We’ve been tracking the patterns of these trafficking deals and buying up strategic buildings that we can use for interception.
It sounds altruistic, and a part of it is. We don’t stand for that shit. But it’s not just the fact that selling people is fucking disgusting, it’s the fact that someone thinks they can do it on our turf and get away with it.
“King,” Nero snags my attention back to the phone. “I haven’t gone through that email you sent yesterday yet. What were your predictions for the next few quarters?”
I roll my eyes. “Want us to just wait while you read it?”
“No, that email was fucking long. I’d rather you just tell me.”
“You’re such a child,” I sigh. “Alright…”
I’ve only just started going through the list of exchanges I’m planning when my office door silently pushes open.
The door wasn’t shut all the way, since there’s no reason, but I wasn’t expecting a visitor.
Savannah steps into my office, and presses her lips together as she quietly shuts the door behind her.
I’m still talking, reciting facts I could share in my sleep, but my attention is all for my pretty little wife.
She’s back in those little jean shorts, one of those skimpy tank tops she wears while she’s painting, and… I narrow my eyes. Is that one of my button ups? It’s not buttoned, just tied at the waist, the deep V drawing my eyes down.
She pauses, looking like she’s second-guessing herself, but then she squares her shoulders and walks toward me.
I haven’t seen much of Savannah over the last few days.
The night of the show, we came home, and she curled up into my side before dropping straight into sleep. And since then, she’s been busying herself in her studio morning to night.
