Once Upon A Time(64)

Smoothing down my hair, I took a seat on the sofa.

“Well, hello, Mr. Charming,” Kylie slurred.

I giggled quietly as Gabriel walked into the apartment, stopping the moment our gazes locked.

He stopped just inside the living room, tilting his head at me.

“Just how drunk are you?” he asked, his voice even huskier than usual.

“Just a little bit,” I answered, showing him how much with my finger and thumb as I squinted my left eye. “Why?”

He looked towards Quinn, who was trying his hardest not to fall back to sleep on the opposite sofa and then to a swaying Kylie.

“You’re coming with me,” he suddenly announced.

“Huh?” I said, not understanding what the hell he was talking about. Going with him where?

“Come on, princess, your chariot awaits.” He smirked, stepping towards me and before I knew what hit me, I was in his arms and being carried out of my apartment.

“Bye, honey! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” Kylie yelled after us.

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do!” I yelled over Gabriel shoulder.





I WAS STILL IN GABRIEL’S ARMS when he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Deciding I really should use my legs before they started to go numb, I wiggled out of his hold. Shaking his head, he placed me down on my feet but not before catching me as I stumbled in my heels.

“Easy, princess.” He guided me towards the town car.

“Wait, where’s Leo?” I slurred, which sounded more like “Waffle, whack 'em loophole.”

He shook his head as his hand moved to the small of my back. I shivered. Damn, it was cold.

“Just me tonight, princess,” he said, opening the passenger door and guiding me in. Once secured in place, he moved to the other side and got in. The door slamming sobered me up a little; not a lot, but just enough.

“Hold on. Why am I in your car and where are we going?”

He buckled his seatbelt and started the car, the engine purring to life before pulling away from my building before he answered.

“You’re in my car because Kylie and Quinn are wasted and I don’t trust them to look after you and we’re going to my place.”

“Oh,” I answered, not sure what to say to any of that.

What felt like only minutes later, I was woken by Gabriel’s gravelly voice.

“Come on, princess, you fell asleep,” he said, unbuckling my seatbelt.

I must have fallen asleep sometime during the drive through the city. The sleep had sobered me up more than I would've liked, and now my brain was trying to process why I’d agreed to get into his car or even drunk dial him. Rolling my eyes, I batted his hands away and stepped out of the car.

“I may be a little drunk but I’m not completely incapable of normal bodily functions,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my body. In the craziness of him carrying me from my apartment, I hadn’t grabbed a jacket and the cold of the night had descended, causing a chill to settle over the exposed skin of my arms.

“Even drunk you’re infuriating. Who would've thought?” he said sarcastically.

Turning, he walked towards a large white building where I noticed the concierge removing his hat before opening the door for Gabriel.

This was going to be soooo much fun.

Deciding I really didn’t want to catch hyperthermia, I followed Gabriel inside, smiling at the concierge as I did so. The moment I stepped inside the warm building, I realized quite quickly that he lived in one of his own hotels. A little weird but the building was absolutely stunning.

So I announced like it was a normal every day sentence: “You live in a hotel.”

He chuckled softly as he walked towards the elevators and pressed the button.

“The entire top floor is mine, the rest is for hotel guests,” he replied, turning his head towards me. “Is that a problem?”

“Why would it be a problem?” I asked, a little confused as to why he’d ask, why was it my business where he decided to live?

“You seem to have a problem with money. My money to be exact,” he said as the elevator doors opened and we stepped inside.

“I don’t have a problem with your money,” I fired back and he pressed the button for the twenty-second floor.

“Really? You tend to freak out more than normal where my money is concerned.” He chuckled softly as the elevator ascended.

I sighed heavily; for once we agreed on something. I didn't have a problem with his money, or anyone else's, for that matter, it just intimidated me.

“I lived below the poverty line for a good twenty years of my life, your money isn't a problem. It’s what it represents that bothers me.”

“What does it represent, exactly?” he asked, perplexed.