A couple of days have passed since the dance class, and I've pretty much been working, sleeping, and eating.
With Alexander being in London and Jodie and Jasmine busy with Jodie's dress, I was alone for the majority of my time.
Jodie asked me to join them for dress shopping, but I know she's in good hands with Jasmine, who's like the stylist of our group.
Besides, it wasn't like my work would stop.
Deciding to close up the office for today, I wanted everyone to have some time to spend with their families the day before thanksgiving.
"Have you prepared all your food shit for tomorrow?" Jodie asks, sipping an iced latte. We were at Bean, my favourite cafe, meeting up before the wedding chaos would begin.
"Why would I prepare anything? I'm not spending the day with anyone," I say.
"I really wish I could take you, but I'm with Leroy's family," she says overly sweetly. "But did you forget that you invited Mr King?"
She waits for the realization to hit me. "Shit!"
I scramble off my seat, picking up my purse whilst Jodie sat there a smile playing at her lips at my stupidity. "Where am I going to get a turkey the day before Thanksgiving?" "Why do you have to make turkey? I bet you he's not coming over for the food." She smirks.
"What are you talking about?"
"He's got the Amelia Fever." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You could serve him my shit, and he'll be happy."
I roll my eyes. "I'm alone today, he's alone-why do you have to make it weird? Besides, I'm happily engaged."
"Yes, so happy that your fiancé is out of the country-scratch that, out of the continent on Thanksgiving," she sasses me.
"He's British. He doesn't care about thanksgiving," I say, leaving I have to get
something ready for me and Xavier for tomorrow.
It does sting me a little that he's not even making an effort to meet me for
Thanksgiving. If Jodie's wedding weren't so close, I would've flown to London for him.
I brush it off, after our wedding it would be different.
Deciding not to even bother looking for a turkey, even if I find one it'll be too much food for only 2 people, I go to the butcher and buy a small chicken and some other bits for dinner, tomorrow.
After walking home, I prepare all of the food, seasoning the chicken the night before, following a recipe from one of the books I found lying around my house, and put it in the fridge overnight.
I wash my hair and body, now not wanting to worry about it tomorrow morning, and
get changed into something comfy before sinking into my bed.
We still on for tomorrow? A text from Xavier lights up my phone.
Yep, come over whenever you're ready, I reply and turn my phone off.
It's still relatively early, but walking around the city all day is tiring, and I doze off without even practising it.
The next morning, even though my alarm was beeping loudly, I still woke up fresh after getting a good sleep after days of late nights and early mornings for work.
I take my time getting ready, styling my hair and applying some warm makeup and some lip balm.
I get changing into a figure fitting, but not tight, burnt orange dress and thin black tights, paired with black heels.
I quickly tided up the small mess in the living room since my housekeeper was off.
My house isn't too big, and it's certainly a modest house for the money I have. Unlike Alexander's house, I only have 2 bedrooms-one of which I made into a room for my clothes and my living room is cosy with the dining table in there.
Alexander on the other hand, lived in one of the most expensive houses in New York. It was luxurious sure, but completely unnecessary.
By the time I'm done tidying up, my doorbell rings. I put away the pile of magazines, next to the couch, and open the door.
"Hey," Xavier's voice greets me.
He's looking great-a black button up subtly showed his biceps through the fabric, the first few buttons are undone showing his neck and the edge of his collarbones. Long straight Frey slacks make his legs seem even longer.
I was looking at him for a moment too long, and a hidden smirk came onto his face as he watched me.
"Happy Thanksgiving," I say and let him in. He saunters into my living room, his relaxed body movement making him look so in charge.
"Smells good?" he says questionably.
"Nothing's in the oven yet." I chuckle but appreciate his attempt at being nice. "Can I get you something to drink, or do you want to help yourself?" I offer. He brushes it off and follows me into the kitchen, I point at the mini bar I have, letting him know he can get a drink whenever he wants.
I put the chicken into the oven, feeling Xavier's lingering stare on me as I bend over to push the tray into the oven.
"The food will take a while. Let's sit." I gesture for him to go back into the living room.
We sit on opposite sides of my L-shaped sofa, Xavier's sitting forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he begins to speak.
"How's the engaged life working out for you?" he asks awkwardly. His question makes me uncomfortable, for no reason.
"It's going alright," I say.
"Just alright?" He sounds glad.
"I mean, I love him," I say, and Xavier's jaw tightens abruptly, "but our schedules make
it hard to be together-but he's shifting his headquarters to New York after we get married so it'll be fine."
I sound like I'm convincing myself to believe what I'm saying, and I think Xavier could notice as his face wasn't satisfied with my words. "So, you're Leroy's best man?" I change the topic.
His face lightens at the sound of his friend, he never had friends before he was a lone wolf. "Yeah. Not sure why. He's got tons of other friends," ye says.
"You're his best friend."
"We're not 11. There're no best friends," he huffs.
I wanted to retort but my oven timer goes off, I jump out my seat-the tension in the room getting the best of me and rush into the kitchen.
I smile when I see the food had come out how I wanted it. I call out for Xavier to sit at
the dining table, which I had already set out and bring the food, wearing my pink oven mitts.
"It's ready." I smile after placing the last tray on the table. Xavier sat at the head of the table, and I sat down on the chair next to him.
"It looks good," he says, and we both help ourselves to everything.
I stack my plate up with food, not seeing an inch of the olive green plates under the piles of food I put on it.
He's about to put a bite of food into his mouth, when I hit my knife against his "What are you thankful for?" I ask.
"Oh, right. You go first." He points his fork in my direction.
"Hmm. OK! Firstly, of course, I'm grateful for another year of success and prosperity."
He nods.
Now I need to improvise. "I'm grateful for being engaged to Alexander, the love of my life." I regret saying that as soon as it comes out, but he doesn't even seem fazed. "And lastly, I'm grateful for getting a new friend?" I look at him hopefully.
He gives me a soft smile.
"I'm thankful for getting my business back to where it was, after some questionable things happened this year." He gives me a look.
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I look down at my plate in embarrassment, I can't believe all that drama with his company happened this year. It's only been a few months.
"I'm sorry about that," I mutter, as if any type of apology would rectify everything I did.
"Water under the bridge." He brushes me off. "And I'm thankful for making a friend as well."
We're friends.
So why didn't I feel content?
"I made a pie," I say and get up to go get it.
I bring out the pie, which is pumpkin, and give him a slice. "You're not eating it?" he
asks.
"I'm too full," I say. "Besides, it's not like the food will run away if I don't eat it now."
"Fair enough." He loads his spoon and takes a massive bite.
I hold my breath, wondering how he'll like it-I had never made a pie before.
A breath of relief escapes me when his face has a small smile. "Wow. That's really
good." he says in between bites.
"I can't wait to try it later."
"You'll surprise yourself at how good it is," he compliments me.
After he helps me put everything away, we're sitting at the bar. Drinking, I've downed a
couple cocktails, it was easy to drink when it tasted so good.
Xavier is downing vodka, and honestly, I can't blame him. Being stuck with your ex-wife
on thanksgiving isn't something to be ecstatic about.
I was in the mood to do something. "Let's dance!" I say a bit too loudly to Xavier.
"No thanks." He's always been a miserable drunk.
"Let's practice then?" I compromise. "We have to dance for the wedding, anyway."
What was I saying? Was I forgetting how he made me feel at the practice?
Or did I want to feel it again?
After a couple more words of encouragement, he eventually gives in. I clap my hands excitedly and go to the living room.
I push my coffee table into the corner of my living room, making space for us to dance.
I play the same song that the instructor played in the gym, and Curtis in front of him, playfully.
His hand rests on my stomach, before sliding to sit above my hip. I put my hand on his left shoulder.
His other hand trails my arm, starting above my elbow his fingers glide up until they meet my hand, interlocking our fingers.
"No., I whisper, eyes droopy from the drinks. "She said like this." I take my hand out of
his and hold it the way the teacher showed us.
He resists a little when I pull my hand away but relaxes.
His touch made my skin hot, even above clothes. My eyes half close, feeling his hand grip my waist.
"She said closer," he whispers, pulling me against him. We're a lot closer than we were in the class, my face inches away from his and my breasts pressed against his chest.
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He looked down, I'm in his view.
No, I am his view.
He eyes me, slowly, drinking up every detail of mine. His gaze burned, in the best way
possible.
Softly, the music plays, and we move. '1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6," I mutter under my breath, my
eyes squinting as I can't remember the steps fully.
My foot goes forward instead of back, and I wince as Xavier steps on it.
"Sorry," he says. "Is your foot okay?"
His hard shoes hurt, but the way he asked made the pain disappear. "I'm sorry," I say, apologizing for messing up the routine. Before he could respond I carry on talking. "I'm sorry for everything, Mr King." I look down, ashamed to face him. "I never gave you the proper apology you deserve. I know that words won't fix what I did, but-" "Miss Davis." He places his thumb under my chin to lift my head so I face him. "I forgive you." His eyes are soft. "I'll always forgive you. Don't you worry about that." I nod. "Whether you accept it or not," he continues, "you've got me in the palm of your hand. I'll always be yours to keep whenever you want."
A small gasp escapes my slightly parted lips, I didn't expect him to say that.
I take my hand out of his, moving it to caress his face, my finger trailing down his jaw.
He shuts his eyes at my touch, and I see his Adam's apple move as he swallows deeply.
Cautiously, I go onto my tip toes, our lips less than an inch away from each other. Slowly, I press my lips against his, leaning into him.
His mouth tightens at my unexpected move but then he relaxes and gives into me. His hold on my waist gives him the freedom to pull me impossibly closer to him.
His lips leave mine, kissing down my jaw and sucking hand licking my neck. I squeeze
my lips together, to stop myself saying this name.
"I told you..." he breathes against my skin, his cool breath making my skin tingle, "I'm completely wrapped around your finger."
"You're drunk," I mutter as I look up, exposing more of my neck to his lips. His words are too much, and I don't want to hear them.
"I'm completely sober, Miss Davis. It was water," he says sadly, as if he's upset he feels like that. What the hell am I doing?
I take 2 steps back, struggling to keep my balance as I come out of his hold. "I'm sorry/
I wasn't "
"It's my fault," he stops me. "I shouldn't have gotten so carried away." He glances at his
watch "It's late; I should get going."
"It's only 6. You-"
"I need to leave, Miss Davis." His authoritative tone, the tone he had when I first ever
met him, is back. "I'll see you at the wedding."
"OK," I say, my voice barely audible.
Shutting the door behind him, I sigh out loud. My fingers instinctively make their way
to touch my lips, salvaging the feeling of him.
I slump into my couch, taking the rest of the pie in my lap, not even taking it out of the pan and dig in.
Spooning the pie into my mouth, I was looking forward to it.
But all I could taste was salt.
I spit it out and throw the rest of it away, chugging a bottle of water to get the taste
out of my mouth.
"Mr King, what am I going to do with you?" I sigh to myself as I sit back down.
He said it tasted good-just so I don't get upset.