Khadija

Chapter 8

Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York, 2018

The entire ride home was tense and awkward. Neither of us spoke. Not even in the elevator or walking into his penthouse.

But whatever this was, it was fixable. When he was really, truly angry, he'd drop me off at the apartment I was technically still leasing but not exactly living in. Even with my housing contract, we essentially had moved in together, and for him to leave me at my old apartment would have been a dangerous message.

By the time we were inside, and Jake was already walking away from me to the bedroom, I was sick of it. "Jake, what is this?" I asked, arms raised to free my hair from a tightly bound ponytail. The tresses tumbled down my back.

He stopped, back to me, head bowed, and hands on hips. I sighed and walked to him, stopping behind him to wrap my arms around his waist and nestle my cheek on his shoulder. "Amore?" How had we been so content that same Tuesday morning, talking about the cold?

I felt his chest rise and fall under my palms with shallow breaths. Of course, I couldn't see his face, and maybe that was for the best. "What's up with you and Sanchez?" he whispered suddenly. Quietly. Men were always the most chilling when you could tell they were fumbling for control. But Freddy? I lifted my head from his shoulder and slid my embrace away. Finally, he turned to face me, an accusation in his eyes.

"What do you mean, me and Sanchez? We work together. You know that."

He shook his head at the ground and laughed without any actual humor. "I mean why is he looking you up and down and asking you out?"

He was seething because Freddy asked to hang out with me. Jake hadn't spoken to me that whole day, because of something someone else did. Ya rab. "Freddy is a friend, and friends have lunch. He wasn't looking at me in any--"

"Stop. Just stop. He was looking at you like he wanted to bend you over his fucking desk," Jake accused, voice getting more aggressive by the second.

"Hal tamzaho maai?" I moaned, more to myself than the man who didn't know a word of Arabic. "Not everyone wants me like that, Jacob. You're overreacting."

"If that's what you really think, you're blind," he snapped.

I leaned my head back and resisted the urge to slap a hand to my forehead. "Even if Freddy was interested in me, what does it matter? I'm with you. I love you," I reasoned. Slowly, I closed the gap between us, head down. I placed my hands on his chest, and peered up at him through my lashes. My hands slid over his body to his tie, loosening and unknotting it. "I love you, Jake."

I slipped the tie from his neck and let it drop to the ground. He sucked in a breath, heavy lidded eyes still clouded with jealousy. "You were flirting with him," he growled, and I felt the words vibrate through his chest. "You were batting your lashes at that fuck."

I shook my head and laced my fingers through his blonde hair. "No, amore mio. Why would I? I have you," I assured. I tugged his face down to mine and kissed him.

Jake's lips remained still against mine, light stubble tickling my cheeks. I frowned into our kiss, until I felt him grip my wrists and pry my arms from around his neck.

Feeling stung by the rejection, I tried to pull away from him, but he kept me close by tightening his hold on my wrists. "Don't talk to Sanchez anymore. Okay?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but he bent down closer to my face. "Amira," he warned. He must have seen the swirling discontent on my face, because he hung his head and breathed out an exasperated sigh. "Amy. You can be naive sometimes. You're innocent. I don't think you understand what goes through these fucker's minds."

I stared down hard at the carpet and let the hands he had in his vices go limp. "I'm not innocent," I whispered. Not in the slightest.

My husband made sure of that.

Jake released one of my wrists to grip my chin and tilt my face upwards. His lips curled in the smallest of smirks and he brushed his thumb over my cheek. The touch was tender--he knew he was winning, and that power quelled his beast. "Sure, baby. But promise me, alright?"

My lips tightened into a line, but I gave him a jerking nod, stubborn eyes trained on a modern art piece hanging above the sofa. His hand dipped to brush back my hair, and he bent to tug at my earlobe with his teeth. "Use your words, baby," he murmured into my neck, lips brushing me with every syllable. As I clenched my jaw, his nose grazed my throat, and I felt him press a lazy kiss to it.

I kept my eyes on the painting. The colors were desaturated, but not dull. Greys and whites and blacks mingled and swirled in comfortable, nonsensical patterns. Jake never understood why I wanted it.

"I won't talk to Freddy anymore," I surrendered in a hush, mesmerized by the painting my fiance didn't 'get'. The submission made him groan, hands abandoning my wrists entirely to latch onto my waist and pull me flush against him in a kiss.

I had always adored that painting. I thought it looked like the ocean.