The Millionaire's Arranged Marriage (10 page)

CHAPTER
17

Tyson

- - -

Tyson wiped his
hands with a kitchen towel when he heard the doorbell. Jogging to the front door, he opened it and said, “Hey, you.”

Gabrielle glanced at her watch
. “See. Told you I’d be here by six, and there’s three minutes to spare.”

Tyson waved at Padma as she
drove away. “Yeah. You made it,” he acknowledged, taking bags from her hand and set them on the living room table. “I see you brought the mall home.”

“Yeah. Padma wanted to go shopping....bought some summer dresses for myself and a few other things.”

“Cool.”

“Smells good in here.”

“Yep...the food has been prepared, my dear, and now that you’re here, we can eat.”

“Okay.
Let me run these bags upstairs. Be right back.”

Tyson walked back to the kitchen, taking their
plates to the dining room table where he’d already had the silverware laid out. He grabbed two wine glasses and a bottle of Chardonnay.

When he heard Gabrielle coming downstairs, he waited before sitting, allow
ing her to sit first, then he took a seat.

“So...” he said, looking at her while she eyed everything on her plate. “Dig in.”

“It all looks so good. I don’t know where to start.”

Tyson popped the cork on the wine
bottle, poured then both a little and studied Gabrielle as she tried a sampling of the fish. He watched her eyes light up the same way it did when she tried the breakfast pastry he made this morning.

“Good?”

She nodded. “Excellent. Now I know why Padma wants some so badly.”

“Wait...you told her I was cooking this?” he asked, unable to remove the smile from his face.

“No. Around the same time you sent me the text, asking which meal I wanted, she was telling me how she wanted some of your pecan-crusted trout. That’s the reason I chose this meal...she said you cooked some for Prasad’s anniversary or something.”

“Yeah. I did...he and his wife celebrated three years of marriage last February, so I cooked a private dinner for them.”

“That was nice.”

Tyson was quiet for a few moments more, watching her eat and eating his own food.
He took a sip of wine while, at the same time, watching her take a sip. He primarily took notice of the way her lips made contact with the glass. She was delicate in her movements, a true woman – not loud, boisterous, trying to display fierceness and independence like most women in society. She was just a woman. A lovely, young woman.

Tyson wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin
. “So what else did you and Padma talk about?”

“Um...she wants me to work with a group of students for the community garden project, which I’m
looking forward to. She said she was going to pay me...said that since I’m on my own, I have to support myself now.”

“That was nice of her.”

“Yep. Oh, and before I forget, I have to warn you...I made the mistake of telling her that you made tiramisu.”

“Oh, no.
” Tyson laughed. “She’s going to kill me for sure.”

“She sure is,” Gabrielle responded. “Why won’t you make some for her?”

“Because I only make it on special occasions.”

“W
hen you made it for me...well, for us, it wasn’t a special occasion.”

“It was...we were celebrating your independence from your abuser.”

Tyson watched the downcast look take over her face.

“Speaking of Dilvan,” she said, “I think I
will
have to face him eventually.”

“Why you say that? You were unsure this morning.”

“Because after speaking with Padma about it, I realize I still may have feelings for him.”

“Oh
...” Tyson said, trying to conceal the frown in his forehead. How could she have feelings for a man who’d treated her so badly? Who’d stripped her of her dignity?

“And it’s not the feeling of missing him and wanting to be with him again. It’s the feeling of loss...of what we could’ve had. I keep thinking about how our life would be if he was good to me...we’d be happily married with two children. Instead I’m just a damaged
, childless woman with no desire to ever be attached to a man again.”

Tyson cleared his throat by
washing his food down with a long swig of wine. “You cannot keep dwelling on the past, Bri, or you’ll never see the present for what it is. Right now, we’re sitting here sharing a meal and you’re living in darkness. Look around, baby...this is not Dilvan Alexander’s house. This is Tyson Alexander’s home.”

Gabrielle smiled. “You’re right, Tyson.”

“Perfect. Now let me get dessert.”

CHAPTER 18

Gabrielle

- - -

Tyson gets up
from the table to collect our plates. When he reaches in front of me to take my plate, I get a whiff of his mesmerizing cologne and his overall smell. He smells like a man – his scent reminds me of a rich, orangey, woodsy smell, mixed with shave cream or body wash. I’m truly spellbound.

“So, you ready for dessert, my lady?”

I snap out of my trance and look towards him. He’s heading back this way with dessert and two small plates. After he sets the plates on the table, he says, “I know you’re going to ask, so I’ll tell you what this is...puff pastries, filled with vanilla pudding, homemade of course, and topped with mixed berries.”

“Sounds delicious,” I say, then
help myself to one of the pastries. Holding it like a cupcake, I take a big bite. Again, he’s made another delectable dessert. “Gosh...everything you make is a masterpiece.”

I watch him smile and finish his pastry in one huge mouthful.
He has a healthy appetite and I realize he loves eating just as much as he loves cooking. After he finishes chewing, he says, “Thank you,” and smiles again.

How did I miss his gorgeous dimple before?
It makes him even more adorable. “No...thank
you
for cooking this fabulous dinner.”

“You’re welcome as always.”

While I finish my first pastry dessert, he starts on another one, consuming it greedily, then smiles at me again.

“So I’ve bee
n thinking,” he says. “After everything you’ve been through with my cousin, you need an outlet, you know, something to take your mind off of things.”

“
Well, I’m going to be working soon, so—”

“No, not work...something you enjoy...something that relieves stress.”

I think about it for a moment and when I can’t come up with anything, I ask, “What’s your outlet? Cooking?”

“No. Cooking is my hobby and how I make a living.
”

“Then what’s your outlet?”

“Every morning at 4:00 a.m., I get up to walk and jog on the beach.”

“Really?”
I ask. Now I know how he stays so fit.

“Yes. It gives me time to think, to enjoy nature...to realize there’s something out there greater than me...helps me understand my purpose.”

“Maybe I should try that. Since you go at 4:00 a.m., I’ll wait until you get back and go around seven-ish.”

“Or you could just come with me.”

“Oh, no...I can’t interfere with your one-on-one time with nature.”

“You won’t. C
ome with me...tomorrow morning. We’ll run together.”

I’m reluctant to go. If he’s been using this as his outlet for years, I really would hate to break his concentration.
Besides, I can barely get up before noon – now I have to get up at four in the morning?

When I look into his eyes to tell him no once again, I see something in them, something longing, and that’s how I know he’s not asking me to come with him just to be nice. He
really
wants me to join him.

“Okay. I’ll do it,
” I say, watching his face light up.

“Good.”

“What time is it now?” I ask as I look around for the nearest clock. “Oh...8:37 p.m.”

“It’s still early,” Tyson says.

“Yeah. I need to go unpack my shopping bags.”

“Cool. I’m going to clean up here.”

“Ugh...where are my manners...I can help you clean up here...wash some dishes...”

“No, I got it. I’m just going to throw these in the dishwasher and I’m done.”

“Are you sure, because I would love to help.”

“I’m sure, Bri.”

“All right...I’m going to head upstairs then.”

* * *

I try on all of the dresses Padma bought for me today, just to see if I still like them before cutting off the tags. The beautiful beach dresses fit me as good as they did when I tried them on in the store, even after the meal I just ate. So I clip the tags and hang the dresses in the closet.

After taking a shower, I’m back in my room, sitting on the bed, bored, wondering what Tyson is up to. I’m becoming accustomed to being here, living with him and enjoying his company and his skillful cooking. He’s pleasant to be around, and I know it’s dangerous for me to feel so close to him, since I’m still married, but I know Tyson has no interest in a woman my age. Still, I enjoy his company and when I’m with him, I’m not afraid to be myself. He accepts me for who I am, which is the most freeing and satisfying feeling in the world.

I blow a breath and walk over to the windows. The wind has picked up drastically.
Even though the rain hasn’t made it to the earth yet, I smell it coming. There’s nothing like sleeping while rain pounds the rooftop. It gets me every time. The only problem is, it’s not raining yet and I’m not ready for bed...

Beep beep.

I turn away from the windows when I hear my phone. I pick it up and see that Tyson has sent a message:

Tyson
:
if you’re still up, come downstairs for a moment

Immediately, a smile comes to my face. I’m excited he’s still up, but I wonder why he wants me to come downstairs. What does he have up his sleeve?

I happily place my phone on the nightstand, then head downstairs in my pajamas. As I near the bottom of the stairs, I can see him sitting on the couch, one arm stretched out on the backrest, the other hand holding the TV remote. He has on a plain white tee and distressed jeans.

“The
re she is,” he says. “You do know you don’t have to go to your room to watch TV, right? You can hang out down here, too. Mi casa es Bri’s casa.”

I giggle at
his remark. He’s such a clown sometimes.

“
I appreciate that,
señor
. Your living room is so elegant, I didn’t think you used it at all. This white couch could easily get stained.”

“Yeah, and it could also easily be replaced. Have a seat,” he says, gesturing for me to sit down.

I make myself comfortable on the opposite end of the couch then stare at the TV. “Why’d you go upstairs if you weren’t ready for bed?”

“Force of habit.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s been my routine for six months. I would
only come downstairs to eat, or go to Padma’s house and if I wasn’t doing one of the two things, I stayed in my bedroom.”

“The whole day?”

“Yep. Pretty much.”

Tyson shook
his head. “Well, I hope I’ve made my house a home for you and that you feel comfortable here.”

“
I do feel comfortable.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Tyson powers the TV off and I look at him. He has a furtive smile on his face.

“What?” I ask, holding his gaze.

“I like talking to you.”

“Why?”

“You’re interesting.”

“You say that like I’m a
sculpture or something.”

“No, I don’t mean like that...I mean, you’re different.
Even though you’re eleven years younger than I am, you still like things I like.”

“
And you’ve gathered that in less than a week?”

“Yep...like the charity work you do with Padma...I admire that
. Honestly, you could’ve folded and gave up on life after the nightmare you lived through, but not only do you keep going...you also find inspiration in your soul to help someone else.”

I
can only smile. I hadn’t thought about it that way, but after Tyson broke it down for me, I guess I can truly say I’m a survivor, and though Dilvan tried to break me, he failed.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,
” he says.

“
Oh...nothing...” I reply, because I can’t tell him what I’m thinking. I’m thinking how wonderful it is to be in his company; how I feel like the luckiest woman in the world just to be a guest in his home. There’s a lot of depth to Tyson. He’s not superficial like Dilvan. He’s thoughtful, intriguing, smart and handsome, and most importantly, he doesn’t have to trample on others to make himself appear alpha-like. He’s already alpha, but at the same time, he’s grounded enough to know that dominance doesn’t make a man a man.

“So how many years of schooling did you have to take to become a pastry chef?”

“I did four in the states, then I studied abroad.”

“You studied abroad? I thought you studied food.”

He chuckles. “I get it...a-broad...you’re funny.”

I laugh and say, “Sorry...I forgot to warn you that I can be extremely silly at times.
”

“So can I. See,
yet another thing we have in common. If Padma would’ve matched you with me instead of Dilvan, we’d be happily married right now.”

For a moment, our eyes connect and it seems that everything else around us disappears. It’s just
Tyson and I, sitting on an invisible couch, in an invisible living room, completely in tune with each other. To break away from his heated stare, I say, “Is it raining yet?” I get up from the couch and walk over to the front door, opening it to the screen door. I notice a few rain drops falling onto the deck.

I completely freeze when I feel the warm
th of his body heat behind me. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he says, “Yep...it’s drizzling now...the bottom’s going to fall out before it’s all said and done.” He puts his other hand on my shoulder and after massaging me there, he says, “But guess what...I still go for my morning jog, rain or shine.”

“You run in the rain?”

“Yeah. It’s exhilarating. As a matter of fact, come here.”

Tyson op
ens the screen door and steps out onto the deck, pulling me with him. Now it begins to rain harder while lightning is flashing in the night sky.

“Oh my gosh, Tyson,” I say, turning my hands palm
s up, feeling the cool rain dampen my body. I can tell he’s used to this because it doesn’t bother him one bit. And while I’m squirming like I’ve never felt water before, he’s standing there laughing at me.

I run back inside and he follows.

“See...now I have to change pajamas thanks to you and your spontaneity.”

“Yeah, but you’ll sleep good tonight...well at least
until 4:00 a.m. Set your alarm.”

“I will,” I respond, still wiping water from my face. Before I head upstairs for the night, I turn around to look at him. He’s staring back at me, with beads of water still on his
face. He’s amazing, and I feel compelled to show my appreciation for all he’s done for me these last few days. So I walk back to him, then fold my arms around his thick, muscular body, squeezing hard – the side of my face pressed firmly against his chest. “Thank you, Tyson.”

He knows I’m not thanking him for pulling me out in
to the rain. I’m thanking him for being him, for allowing me to see firsthand that not all men are the same and for taking me under his wing and helping me bandage my wounds. I know I have a long way to go and I know I won’t have him forever, but I have him for right now, encased in my arms.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he replies, his arms squeezing me gently while one of his hands rests on my hair.

I let go, he follows suit and after wishing each other a good night, we head to our bedrooms.