One with You (Crossfire #5)(41)

But his fears for my safety weren’t going to be dismissed in a single conversation. We would have to go step-by-step.

“Okay,” I conceded. “Let’s agree to this: Blaire will drop off his concepts and we’ll look them over together later. In the meantime, we’ll agree not to knock down any walls in the guest room. I think that’s going too far, Gideon.”

“You didn’t think so before.”

“It’s a stopgap that may become permanent and we don’t want that. I mean, you don’t want that, do you? You want to work on sleeping together, right?”

He unfolded his arms and rounded the bed, taking a seat on the edge. Taking my hand in his, he lifted it to his lips. “Yes, I want that. It kills me that I can’t give you something so basic in our marriage. And knowing you’re unhappy about it … I’m sorry, angel. I can’t tell you how much.”

Leaning forward, I cupped his cheek. “We’ll work on it. I should’ve started by talking it out. Guess I pulled a Gideon on you—act first, explain later.”

His mouth twisted ruefully. “Touché.” He gave me a quick, hard kiss. “Watch out for Blaire. He wants you.”

I sat back. “He finds me attractive,” I corrected. “And he’s a natural-born flirt.”

Gideon’s eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “Has he been hitting on you?”

“Nothing unprofessional. If he crossed a line I’d fire him myself, but I think he probably finesses all his female clients. I bet it’s good for business.” I smiled. “He cooled his jets when I told him I was getting used to your stamina and didn’t feel like I needed a separate bed for sleep anymore.”

His brows shot up. “You didn’t.”

“I totally did. I can sleep when I’m dead, I told him. In the meantime, if my husband wants to hit it with me a half-dozen times every night and he’s as skilled as he is at doing it, who am I to complain?”

The first time we’d consulted with Blaire, I hadn’t considered what the designer would think about Gideon marrying a woman he didn’t intend to sleep with. When Blaire’s subtle flirtation registered, I realized why he might think I’d be receptive—and understood how awkward the whole situation was for my husband. Yet Gideon had never complained about how it might look to an outsider. His concern was for me, not his reputation as a world-class player.

I’d enjoyed setting Blaire straight.

I fluffed my messy hair. “I’m a blonde with big tits. Throw a giggle in there and I can usually get away with saying anything.”

“Christ.” Gideon feigned a long-suffering sigh but was clearly amused. “Is it a compulsion of yours to share the details of our sex life with everyone?”

“No.” I winked. “But it’s certainly fun.”




I didn’t go to sleep after Gideon left for work. Instead, I picked up the phone and called my trainer, Parker Smith. Since it was early, he wasn’t working yet and picked up.

“Hey, Parker. It’s Eva Tramell. How are you?”

“I’m good. You coming in today? You’re slacking lately.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I know. And yes, I’m coming in. That’s why I’m calling. I want to work on something with you.”

“Yeah? What’s on your mind?”

“We’ve gone over situational awareness and what to do if you’re cornered, how to get away. But what if I’m completely taken off guard, like when I’m sleeping?”

He absorbed that. “A hard knee shot in the balls will lay any man out. Gives you the opening you need.”

I’d done that before to Gideon, to snap him out of a vicious nightmare. I would do it again, if it came to that, but I’d prefer to break his hold and get away without hurting him. He was already hurting so much in his dreams. I didn’t want him to wake up to pain, too.

“But what if … How would you knee someone when they’re lying on top of you?”

“We can work it out. Choreograph some different scenarios.” He paused. “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s great,” I assured him, and then I lied. “It just came up on a TV show I was watching last night and I realized that no matter how prepared you are, you can’t be situationally aware when you’re sleeping.”

“No problem. I’ll be at the warehouse in a couple hours and stay until closing.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I ended the call, then headed into the shower. When I came back out, there were two missed calls from Cary. I dialed him back.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’ve been thinking. You said something about a classic dress, right?”

I sighed. It made me cringe every time I thought about it. Because no matter how much I wanted to believe the perfect dress would fall out of the sky before the big day, it was more realistic to accept that I was going to have to settle.

Still, I had to love Cary for staying on me about it. He knew me as well as I knew myself.

“What about one of Monica’s bridal gowns?” he suggested. “Something old and all that. You two have the same build. It wouldn’t take much alteration.”

“Ugh. Really? No, Cary. If she’d married my dad in it, maybe. But I can’t wear something she wore to marry a stepdad. That’s just weird.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. She has great taste, though.”

I ran my fingers through my damp hair. “I don’t think she keeps her wedding dresses, anyway. Not a great souvenir to have hanging around your new husband’s house.”

“Okay, so it’s a stupid idea. We can hunt for something vintage. A pal of mine knows every couture and designer consignment shop in Manhattan.”

The thought had merit. “Cool. That’s a good idea.”

“Sometimes, I’m brilliant. I’m tied up with Grey Isles today, but tonight works.”

“I have couples counseling tonight.”

“Oh, right. Have fun with that. Tomorrow? Maybe we’ll pick up a few things for Ibiza, too.”

The reminder of the weekend’s plans made me feel pressed for time. I couldn’t help being anxious about it, even knowing how much fun it would be to spend time with my friends. “Tomorrow’s good. I’ll come to the apartment.”

“Sweet. We’ll pack, too.”

We hung up and I held my phone in my hand for a long time, feeling a sense of grief. For the first time since we’d moved to New York, it felt like Cary and I were living in two separate places. I was settling into being home with Gideon, while Cary’s home was still very much the apartment.

My calendar app beeped a reminder that Blaire would be showing up in thirty minutes. Cursing to myself, I dropped my phone on the bed and hurried to get ready.




“How are you both doing?” Dr. Petersen asked, as we all three took our seats.

Gideon and I sat on the couch, as usual, while Dr. Petersen settled into his armchair and picked up his tablet.

“We’re better than ever,” I answered.

My husband said nothing, but he reached over and took my hand, pulling it over to rest on his thigh.

“I received an invitation to your reception.” Dr. Petersen smiled. “My wife and I are very much looking forward to it.”

I hadn’t been able to convince my mom to include even the tiniest bit of red on the invites, but I thought they were pretty all the same. We’d agreed on a vellum invitation, tucked into a sheer pocket, with an exterior white envelope for mailing and privacy. It gave me butterflies thinking of them being received. We were another step closer to putting the façade of an engagement behind us.

“Me, too.” I leaned my shoulder against Gideon’s and he put his arm around me.

“The last time we met,” Dr. Petersen said, “you’d just quit your job, Eva. How has that been?”

“Easier than I thought. I’ve been busy, though, so that helps.”

“Helps with what?”

I considered my answer. “From feeling aimless. I’m busier now. And I’m working on things that actually make a difference in my life.”

“Such as?”

“The wedding, of course. And moving into the penthouse, which I’m doing in baby steps. And planning some renovations, which I’d like to talk about.”

“Of course.” He studied me. “Let’s talk about those baby steps first. Is there any significance to that?”

“Well, just that I’m not doing it all at once. It’s ongoing.”

“Do you view it as a way to ease into the commitment? Previously, you’ve acted very decisively. Eloping. Separating. Quitting your job.”

That made me think. “It’s a transition that affects Gideon and Cary as much as it does me.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Gideon interjected, “the sooner she’s moved in, the better.”

“I’m just being careful.” I shrugged.

Dr. Petersen scrawled across his tablet screen, taking notes. “Is Cary having difficulty adjusting?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s not acting like he is. But I worry. He falls into bad habits without support.”

“Do you have any thoughts about that, Gideon?”