Alpha Billionaire Series

CHARLES

When I got home from the debate, I stood outside the apartment door for at least ten minutes trying to decide what to say to Willow when I got in. If she was doing things according to plan, she would be here. It would be the first time we were alone together since that night seven years ago. I had no clue what to say or do, so I leaned against the wall preparing a speech for every possible circumstance that could arise.

Finally, when I realized that no matter how well prepared I was there would still be tension, I let myself in. The place was dim, only the small reading light next to the fireplace in the corner of the room was on. Willow sat in the uncomfortable wingback chair with a blanket and a book. The fireplace was cold, and the curtains drawn.

She looked up as I entered, then adjusted her position in the seat and looked back down at her book. I locked the door, not saying anything as I wasn't sure what to say. All my rehearsing and preparing for the entrance hadn't helped. I hadn't expected her to not say anything at all. I had expected her to be sleeping maybe, or even waiting for me. But this didn’t appear like she was waiting for me.

I hung my keys on the hook by the door, kicked my shoes off, and shed my coat, hanging it over a chair in the kitchen. It wasn't the best spot for it, but with the light drizzle coming down outside, I didn’t want to hang it in the coat closet and make everything else damp. When my coat was hung, I loosened my tie and headed to the liquor cabinet for my usual nightcap, a glass of bourbon on the rocks to help my mind settle.

“Having a drink. Want one?” The old Indiana cupboard had been refinished to a dark mahogany brown, the restoration costing more than the original piece, but I had to have it. I glanced back at her as I pulled the glass tumbler from the shelf and selected my bottle of bourbon. She didn't respond and I didn’t even see her look up.

I scowled into the glass as I poured two fingers. Normally I'd have that amount and then relax and lie down, but I figured tonight would be tough. I downed the first glass and poured another two fingers out. Willow was known to hold a grudge; I just thought maybe she'd have lightened up at least a little bit in the past seven years. This silent treatment wouldn't do. I'd rather be arguing. If you are not reading this novel on Jo b nib.com, some paragraphs are incomplete. After putting the cork back in the bourbon and replacing it on the shelf, I carried my glass to my spot on the end of the couch and sat down, propping my feet up. I wanted to put on the game—Celtics vs. The Lakers in L.A— but I figured that would disrupt Willow's reading and draw her ire. So in the interest of keeping the peace a while longer, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the stock market news. Boring, but not arguing.

We sat there in silence until my drink was finished. I watched her for a while, and I wasn’t sure if she even knew I was watching her. I studied her the way I used to, comparing the images stored away in my mind of years past with her current self. She had fine lines around her eyes, dark circles like she was worried about something or tired. From my vantage point I could see a few silver streaks through her hair, signs of aging creeping in.

Besides that, not much had changed. Her skin was clear, her complexion warm. She even sat in the same uncomfortable-looking position, with her legs curled up and laid to the side, draped in a blanket. If I sat like that my back would go out for a week.

I pried my eyes away from her and looked up at the black screen where the game should have been playing. Her living here would take some getting used to. I tried to convince Peter to let her stay at her place and just meet me at events, but Peter advised us both that if we wanted things to look real and be successful, we had to live in the same place.

Tired and irritable now, I wanted to rest. I stood and carried my glass to the sink, leaving it there for the cleaning lady to do with the morning dishes after breakfast, then headed to my room. Willow glanced up at me as I walked through, but if she could ignore my question about drinks, I could ignore her furtive glances. Besides, if I started a conversation now, it would definitely turn into an argument.

I slunk into my bedroom, changed out of my suit into pajamas, and pulled a spare pillow and blanket out of the closet—kept for the times we worked late, and Peter had to sleep over. It didn’t happen often, but I liked to be prepared. In this case it worked out well. So, with the blanket and pillow tucked under my arm, I headed for the living room again.

Willow hadn't moved a muscle, except to turn a page maybe. Her eyes looked a bit more tired though. I thought about tossing the blanket and pillow onto the couch and leaving it, but then thought better of it. I strolled right up t her and held them out, and she looked up at me, her brows knit in confusion.

“What's this?” She closed her book and laid it on the stand next to the lamp, then took the pillow and blanket and tucked it under her arms.

“To sleep?” I quirked an eyebrow and pointed my thumb over my shoulder. “I only have the one bedroom.”

She scoffed, her face screwing up into a scowl. As she rose to her feet I backed away, suddenly defensive. I was only trying to be helpful, so I didn’t understand what her problem was. It would get cold in here over night and I thought offering her a pillow and blanket would be the right thing to do.

“You really expect me to sleep on your couch?” She pushed past me, her shoulder bumping into my chest as she went. “You really have changed, Perish. I thought maybe you'd have gotten beat up by life enough that you learned that it isn't all about you.”

“What the hell? I was trying to be nice.” I whipped around, my hands turning to fists. She glared at me, the sort of painful glare where you know you've done something wrong, you're just not sure what.

“Nice? You think making a lady sleep on your couch while you curl up in your nice king-size bed and sleep is nice? I might be your fake wife, but I'm not putting up with fake niceness.”

Fake niceness? Where had she come up with that? I was genuinely thinking of her by getting her the pillow and blanket. I glanced at the couch then back up at her face. She couldn't possibly think we'd sleep in my bed together, could she? This marriage was only a contractual obligation, nothing more. Hell, I'd sleep on the couch for a year if I got paid two-hundred grand.

“I don't see what the problem is.”

She screamed through a clenched jaw and turned on her heel, storming into my bedroom and slamming the door. I shook my head, not even understanding what happened, then followed her. But the door was locked. I jiggled the handle and banged on it.

“Willow, let me in there.” I banged again and again, but there was no response. “Willow, that's my bedroom.”

I took a step back, hoping she'd open the door for me any second, but all I saw was the light beneath the doorway extinguish. I heard rustling and then silence, so I banged again. “Willow, this is ridiculous. Let me in. You're acting lik a child”

I stood there for a long time, waiting, banging on the door every few minutes until my arm got tired. The apartment was too quiet, frustratingly so. I looked over at the cold couch, no pillow, no blanket. Then turned back to the door, realizing she was forcing me to sleep on the couch—in my own apartment. I rolled my eyes and sighed, then banged on the door again.

“At least give me the pillow and blanket.”

After waiting a few more minutes, I decided she was not listening, and resigned myself to the fact that I would, in fact, be sleeping on the sofa, I shuffled over and grabbed the remote. At least I'd be able to watch the game now. I turned it on and lay down, curling up into a tight ball, but I was cold. So as angry as I was, I lay there, stubborn and refusing to cave. But when I started shivering, I headed to the coat closet and grabbed one of my spring jackets to use as a cover, and a sweater to use as a pillow.

My neck was going to hurt in the morning and so was my ego. Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.