Mr Reluctant Billionaire || BWWM

Forty

The bed is empty when I wake, panic grips me, I clutch the sheets hard enough to break a nail and my fingers scream in protest. Is he gone? My heart slows to a torturous beat and my hand stretches to touch Brandon’s side of the bed. It is still warm. I close my eyes and release my breath. He is here. He didn’t leave me again. But what if he has?

Streaks of sunlight filter into the room from the cracks in the curtain, casting a soft glow on the floor. I sit up slowly, the duvet rolls to my waist and a hand goes over my mouth to stifle my yawn. My eyes scan the room for him, hoping for his return or any sign he is still at home. Is he mad at me for last night stunt? He can’t be. I should be the one upset.

Shyness creeps up on me when I notice the full state of my undress, I pick my gown that had been folded at the foot of the bed. Embarrassment rattles my insides at the sight of my underwear which falls out of the pile, I don’t put them on as I amble to the bathroom to brush my teeth. No, I am not looking for Brandon. Maybe I am. Maybe not. Whatever.

Disappointed to meet the bathroom empty, I finish up my business and hurry back into the room and scream. We need to talk. About a lot of things, starting from his haircut.

Tears rush to my eyes, I swipe at them. I love his brown hair as much as he loves my curls, he had no right to cut them off without seeking my opinion. I will never cut my hair knowing how much he enjoys weaving his fingers through them. Stupid me, I am always thinking about how to make him happy and he turns around to shave his head.

Brandon saunters in through the open door, fumbling with the tie of his dark green suit and my breath seizes. Physically, he is perfect. His height, physique, everything I can ask for in a man. God took time to create him but forgot to give him a heart. His steps falter when he senses my presence, our eyes meet and I turn away to take deep, calming breaths.

I hate his new look, it reminds me of soldiers on buzz cut returning from a deadly mission. In a way, Brandon is like them, he is a different man from the one who walked out on me. He has returned from his mission, a changed man. But is the change good?

The subtle air of cruelty always hovering above him has been tamed. By who? Did things end well for him in Paris? Curiosity has my lips parting, I clear my throat and grimace when he lifts a brow in question. His face is still set in a perpetual mask of indifference but the new haircut creates an illusion of kindness that might fool outsiders, not me.

He abandons his tie and straightens up, I lick my lips. Without much effort, he steals the show, the same way he stole my poor heart. His plump lips curve into an unsure smile when my gaze returns to his face, breaking me from my trance and I cover the distance between us. He is still my husband, the best I can do is treat him with familiarity.

Awkwardness befriends us as I stand before him, wringing my fingers without a clue on how to start a discussion. Yes, I have a lot to say but I can’t seem to find the words now I need them. I look at him, his hot, masculine scent draws me in, I missed it so bad I find myself subconsciously leaning into him. Why can’t we be a normal couple? Why can’t he love me? Why can’t he be kinder, more forgiving? Why? I’m not asking for too much.

My lips part open but he beats me to it and I nod. “Good morning. How was your night?”

Following the events of last night, how we ended up on different sides of the bed, I am unsure if that is a trick question. I peer at him through my thick lashes, his hawk-like gaze narrows, set intently on my pouted lips and I rub my clammy palms on my hips.

“Fine,” I say. My breath catches in my throat, my tongue darts out to wet my lips and my legs draw circles on the floor. He needs to stop staring at me like I am his favourite item on the menu, it is doing us no good. “How was your night?” I cough. “You slept well?”