5.Pamela

When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I see is the giant ring on my hand. It glimmers in the morning light, a constant reminding that I belong to someone now. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying, like I've been uprooted from a concrete jungle and planted in a lush, blooming garden.

I get out of bed, but I can't shake the guilt from choosing to sleep in the guest room last night. I'm even surprised he agreed. Hugo's been nothing but kind and patient, and I want to make it up to him. An idea forms in my mind: I'll make him breakfast.

Sneaking down the hall, I enter the kitchen and start gathering ingredients. Soon the smell of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee fills the air. I'm just about to scramble the eggs when I suddenly sense someone behind me. A large body, lingering but not touching me. My heart skips a beat, and I freeze when I feel his breath on my throat. It makes the fuzz on my nape rise.

"Is that for me?" Hugo rasps, his husky voice sending shivers down my spine.

"Uh-huh," I whisper, my heart hammering in my chest. I barely dare to move. If I do I'll bump up right against him.

I get the feeling he's going to put his hands on my hips. Use me. Tell me to get down on my knees and offer up my mouth but instead, he steps back, giving me space.

"Smells good," he says, his voice softer now as he sits down at the kitchen island.

I let out a breath and quickly finish up the breakfast. Plating the food, I bring it over to him, my hands trembling slightly.

"Bon appétit," I murmur, setting the plate down in front of Hugo. I squirm, murmuring, "I'm not that good of a cook so I won't blame you if you spit it back out,," I say as I grab a cup of tea for myself.

"You can learn," Hugo says as he digs into the food. "There are cooking classes you can take."

I shrug, unsure how to respond. "I've been thinking about getting work at a record store..." I begin, but Hugo stops eating and looks up, wiping his mouth.

"That's not what I had in mind. I want you to be home. Be here when I go away for work and be here when I get back."

I swallow hard. "You want a housewife?"

Hugo nods, his gaze steady. "Yeah."

"I don't know if I can live up to that," I murmur, turning to wash my cup in the sink.

"I don't need much," Hugo says, leaning back in his chair. "Just make this place feel like a home. That's all I ask."

"And babies?" I pant.

"They'll come when you're ready," Hugo rasps and my throat snares.

"How many do you want?"

"As many as you let me produce."

My heart pounds as I bite my lip, my back still turned to him. "But what if I disappoint you?" I say, my voice trembling. What if my body can't keep up with the demands? "We both know I've already failed in my wifely duties."

The chair screeches when Hugo rises. "Don't say that," he rasps. "You're my wife, and my wife makes no mistakes. She's immaculate from the inside out." He lets out a strange laugh, followed by a curse. "Just being around you makes me want to reach inside and scrub myself clean."

I whirl around, our eyes locking. "With what?" I ask, a small smile tugging at my lips.

"Stain remover," he replies, something flickering in his eyes.

"I see no stains when I look at you," I whisper.

"No," Hugo agrees, the flicker in his eyes intensifying. "You only see what I want you to see."

"What's that?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"Something perfectly acceptable," he replies, his tone unwavering. "I have to go to work, but why don't you spend the rest of the day planning our honeymoon? That should be fun."

My jaw slacks in surprise. "I didn't think there'd be one."

Hugo's eyes darken, his expression serious. "I'm not going to deny you a once in a lifetime experience." He shakes his head, a hint of disappointment in his gaze. "Besides, you can have whatever you want, just say the word."

He walks out of the kitchen, and a sudden longing overwhelms me. It tears at me, a powerful wave of emotion that leaves me dizzy. My chest tightens, and my heart pounds so loudly I can hear it in my ears. I watch him go, feeling an ache I can't quite understand. It's as if I'm slowly dying. It's not just physical, but something deeper, like a cord pulling me towards him.

Taking a couple of stumbling steps, I tell myself he'll be back before I know it. And I'm already counting the minutes.

***

Hugo's been away at work all day, and I'm still trying to get used to the house. Exactly how do you make a place feel like a home? I wouldn't know. Never made one. Raymond's the one who used to decide everything. And this place feels huge. Is huge. And a little bit cold. I wander through the rooms, thinking about what I could do to make this place feel more like a home. Artwork, perhaps, but I don't know what would make Hugo happy. I love bright colors, but I have a feeling that Hugo doesn't.

Sighting to myself, I walk into his bedroom to make his bed, because he didn't bother to make it this morning or maybe he's just a little sloppy like that. A smile tugs at my lips. He's so orderly otherwise and this makes him seem a little more normal. My hands slide over his sheets, smoothing out the wrinkles, the fabric cool and crisp beneath my fingertips.

His pillows are firm, with a faint scent that is distinctly his. I linger there for a moment, inhaling deeply and the comfort that rushes over me is immediate. I should probably take his scent to the lab and have it formulated into some kind of spray, I can just spray around whenever I need to get grounded.

I never felt that way about Raymond's smell. And I remember once more what Hugo's done for me. I don't think he truly understands who he saved me from, but if Hugo hadn't been there that night…I shudder, trying to put the past behind.

Leaving his bedroom, I wander into his office, just in case it needs some sorting. I want to make his life easier for him. Show him that he didn't make a mistake marrying me. I clean up around the shelves, organizing the books and papers that are scattered about. Then, I notice a package of fine cigars on his desk with a note attached to it that says, Appreciate it, doc. And so does my girl.

I frown. I pick up the note, turning it over in my hands, my mind racing with questions. Appreciate what? And what does he mean by "and so does my girl"?

My thoughts interrupt when I suddenly notice Hugo standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on me. I didn't even hear him coming home.

"You're back early," I breathe, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of him and I realize how much my body missed him. It's even slightly trembling now from a sudden rush of hormones."I was just organizing your office."

"I can see that," Hugo says, walking inside. He strides over to the desk, picks up the note, and tosses it into the trash without a second glance. I watch him curiously, but I can't help but to sense some unease in him.

"What was the note referring to?" I ask.

"Nothing important," he murmurs, avoiding my gaze while frowning. Then, he looks at me then, his eyes softening and I feel like a melting ice cream cone. "Wanna tell me about your day?" he asks, sitting down in a chair in the corner. He looks tired from being in surgery for hours, but there's still that raw edge to him that exudes virility.

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Wanna do it sitting in my lap?" he adds, and my breath leaves me.

I wring my hands, glancing at his lap. It looks inviting, but I'm not sure if I should. I hesitate, my mind racing with doubts.

"I won't touch you," Hugo says, putting his hands on the armrests, his eyes steady and reassuring and for a moment he reminds me of a king in a throne. "Husband's honor."

My breath leaves me. Slowly, I walk over to him and sit in his lap, our eyes never faltering as if we're seeing each other for the first time. The warmth of his rock-solid body radiates through me, warming me until I could mistake him for a heating lamp.

"I'm not sure what to tell you," I murmur. "It wasn't all that eventful." I glance at him and his eyes are attentive as if I'm telling him the most fascinating stuff ever. "But I've been thinking about putting up paintings. What color do you like?"

"Green," he says, staring into my eyes and I flush. What a charmer…

"What about your day?" I ask and before I can stop myself, I blurt, "Accepted any bribes?"

His face falls. "Don't mention that stuff. I don't even want you thinking about it."

"But how can you take bribes?" I say in a low voice. "Don't you feel guilty?"

"No. My patients come to me because they know what I'm like. And I've never performed a single procedure against someone's will…" His voice cracks and I raise my brows. But then he shrugs.

"And it's not all bad. Sometimes parents pay me, when the waiting list is too long at other hospitals," Hugo says. "One of my patients today was a little girl. She reminded me of you."

"How so?" I ask, tilting my head slightly.

"She was brave," he says, a small smile playing on his lips. "Even though she was in pain, she didn't cry. You were the same the first day I met you."

"I think you're giving me too much credit," I say.

He shakes his head. "I don't think you give yourself enough," he insists, his voice firm. "That asshole must've taken a lot of spark away from you."

"There's still a little bit left,"I whisper. "Saved for you."

The tension between us rises, a palpable energy crackling in the air. Hugo shifts slightly, and I can feel his gaze on me, intense and probing. For a moment, I think he might kiss me, and my heart hammers in my chest.

He reaches out, his hand hovering near my cheek, and panic surges through me. I fly off his lap, stumbling in my haste to get away.

"Pamela, wait," he calls after me, but I'm already running into my bedroom, slamming the door closed behind me. I'm so embarrassed, so frustrated that I overreacted but it was automatic. Pure instinct. I just hope I didn't make him feel as if he crossed a line, but my nerves are still too frayed.

I lean against the door, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My heart is racing, and my mind is a whirl of confusion and fear. I press my hands to my chest, trying to calm the wild beating of my heart.

I don't know what to think, don't know how to feel. We almost touched, almost kissed. I wanted it but I'm not ready and then a horrifying thought crosses my mind. What if I'll never be ready?

***

Hugo

I hurry after Pamela, my footsteps echoing through the hallway as I reach her bedroom door. Leaning against it, I pause to catch my breath, my heart sinking with disappointment and frustration. What happened earlier replayed in my mind like a relentless loop, each moment intensifying the ache of rejection.

"I'm sorry," I murmur through the closed door. "Can I come in?"

"No," sounds Pamela's soft reply from the other side and she sounds embarrassed.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to steady myself. "Will you have dinner ready for later tonight?" I ask, hoping to coax her out of her room.

"Is it okay if you just make something yourself?" Her voice is barely audible, and I feel a surge of frustration. I don't want her hiding away like this. I want her to feel at home, to feel safe and loved.

"Sure," I manage to reply through clenched teeth, keeping my voice as even and open as possible.

I stand there for a moment longer, willing her to change her mind, but she remains silent. With a heavy sigh, I push away from the door and head back down the hallway. The weight of her reluctance sits heavy on my shoulders, and I can't shake the feeling that I've let her down somehow.

But tomorrow's the weekend and I won't be working. I'll be able to give her my full attention and hopefully warm her up to me. At least enough, that she won't flinch every time I touch her and bile rises in my throat. Fuck, I wish I had just killed Raymond with my bare hands. Dropping him from the roof was far too kind.