Mr Reluctant Billionaire || BWWM

Eleven

“Elna!” I jump in fright at the sound of the voice, eyes wide open and lips pulled into a frown as I turn around to face whoever thinks it fun to shout out my name on a warm, beautiful evening. “Get away from there.”

“Goddamit Brandon, lower your voice,” I scream back at him and push away from the railing. “You are screaming like a crazy banshee whose wife left him a day after their wedding and now his life is a mess.”

What am I even saying? I offer Brandon a sheepish smile, thankful to see that he finds my statement funny. “Sorry,” I murmur. This is what I become when my best friend is upset with me, a swearing mess.

“Why are you standing so close to the edge?” he asks as his feet carry him the rest of the distance between us. He stops in front of me, a short towel hanging from his neck. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

My lips press into a grim line and I roll my eyes, maybe bending over the railing of the hotel’s corridor isn’t such a good idea but I am only admiring the beautiful view outside. I want to take my mind off the fact that in my stupidity, I slipped up and told Clarissa about the marriage. I even had the guts to sound offended because she didn’t remember when the problem was from me.

I never told her, I had wanted to do it in person. Well, that’s the only option I have left since she has refused to talk to me.

“You are a terrible husband, Brandon,” I start to say, “probably the worst in the history of husbands but that’s not enough reason for me to want to kill myself.”

His limb making its way to his hair freezes mid-air, I take advantage of his shock to sashay past him and plop onto the couch in the balcony. My long legs stretch in front of me, I close my eyes and inhale the fresh air until I feel Brandon’s fingers on my feet for a short while before he takes my hand in his.

Pop sounds fill the air as he starts to crack my knuckles and my eyelids part open. He is crouched by the side of the couch with different emotions swimming in his eyes. His usual mask is missing, his face is the most expressive I have seen since we met and I play a mind game of trying to identify the emotions written all over his feature.

“Did you mean that?” he murmurs and my head falls to the side. His tone is like that of a young child seeking approval from his parents. “That I’m a terrible husband, the worst? Is that what you think of me, El?”

One of his arms comes around me, my fingers find their way into his hair, I pull it gently from the root. I wasn’t thinking when I said that, my mind was all over the place. The vulnerability in his eyes has me wanting to offer him comfort, to bare my soul to him. My heart clenches, he does so many things to me, makes me mad, riles me up but still finds a way to win my pity.

“No...” I murmur and squeeze my eyes shut. “I was upset.” His body goes rigid and I open my eyes to reassure him. “Not at you, at myself. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of the things I said.” I withdraw my hand from his hair to stare at my lap. “I don’t want you to go to hell either, I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

Brandon takes his seat at the foot of the long couch and props my legs on his laps, he seems to have made a habit of doing that. I like it, more than I should, maybe because it’s a subconscious action on his part.

The concentration with which he does his volunteer foot massage is cute, I want to hold him, pinch his cheeks and kiss him. A sigh escapes me at that thought, I don’t know where our sex life stands anymore. But I don’t want to think about it now, this moment is too peaceful to be ruined by such memories.

“I am sure hell is the only place that will gladly accept me,” he murmurs as he begins to trail a line down my foot. His eyes flitter to mine, he smiles. “Why are you upset?”