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Clementine and Tennyson are out once the plane takes off from the Denver Airport, and I get a little work done while they sleep, making sure everything for my empire is running smoothly. Then I read the email from Kurt letting me know the house in St. Thomas is fully stocked and the manifest has been changed so no one knows the plane even took off.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Perfect,” I reply back.
I don’t want Clementine to feel like she needs to look over her shoulder while we’re here on my very own tropical paradise.
After we arrive on the island of St. Thomas, we hop into a car to take us to my personal retreat. I can’t say I visit it here as much as I would like, but it does come in handy when I just want to escape the pressures of my everyday life.
It’s late by the time we roll in, and I give Clementine a quick tour of the house before we all head off to bed.
Tennyson and Clementine take the guest room, and I check on them before heading to my own room.
“Gabriel?” Clementine’s sweet voice whispers into the darkness of the night, when I open the door.
“Yes, it’s me. I was just checking on you.”
“Can you sit in here until I fall asleep?”
I open the bedroom door further, stepping across the tile to the queen-sized bed Tennyson and Clementine are occupying. I stand over her, staring down at her snuggled beneath the comforter with tiny palm trees on it. “You’re safe here. No one knows where we are.”
“Thank you for doing this, Gabriel.”
“Of course. You don’t have to thank me.” I try to smile at her, but she should know marriage or not, I’d do this for her. I didn’t do this because I expected anything in return.
I cross the room to sit in an oversized tufted chair by the large bay window, overlooking the ocean. Stars twinkle across the black sky, and the moon casts a soft glow over the crashing waves outside. It’s tranquil with the palm trees swaying in the salty breeze, making me relax even more.
Clementine snuggles closer to Tennyson. Her breathing evens out after a few more minutes, and I stand, moving over to her side of the bed.
I brush my hand over her forehead, pushing a few soft strands of hair from her face. “Sleep tight.”
I leave the door open just a crack, and flip on the hallway light just in case Tennyson wakes up in the middle of the night and doesn’t know where he is.
Is it strange I’m thinking about a kid? This is so out of the norm, but it feels more normal than anything I’ve ever felt before.
Chapter 29
Clementine
The next morning, I open my eyes and Tennyson isn’t by my side. I jolt upright in the canopy bed, my eyes racing around the room. I barely remember much last night as we got in so late. I can faintly hear the ocean as it laps quietly against the shore.
“Tennyson?” I call out.
My stomach is in my throat as I jump out of bed, and pad across the cool tile out into the hallway. Voices drift from the kitchen and I follow the sound. I’m shocked by what I see when I reach the arched opening—Gabriel, in shorts and t-shirt, cooking something in a skillet, with Tennyson sitting on the granite countertop next to him.
“What’s going on?” I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes to be sure I’m seeing this scene correctly.
“Good morning,” Gabriel says, turning a bit to smile my way. His eyes skim over my white tank and gray sleep shorts. “We’re making breakfast.”
“We’re making breakfast,” Tennyson echoes Gabriel’s words with a giant smile.
I walk further into the G-shaped kitchen complete with a granite countertop bar encasing the top-of-the-line appliances. “Is that so?” I wrap my arms around Tenny, picking him up to give him a big hug and kiss. “What are you making?” I set him back down.
“Eggs and toast,” Tenny says, swinging his feet back and forth against the cocoa-colored cabinets.
“Sounds delicious.” I give Tennyson another little squeeze.
My eyes do a sweep of the villa and I was so tired last night when we arrived, I didn’t fully take it all in and missed so much. From the kitchen, I can see into the spacious living room filled with a wrap-around beige sofa and a chair made from loud-indigo fabrics. The throw pillows appear like they’re made from burlap sacks, and the dining room table has what looks like… “Is that a real tree?” I ask, unable to stop staring at it.
“Sure is. It was salvaged from the beach and I had it made into the base for that table.”
