At the pinnacle of her career, orthopedic surgeon Ava King conquers the lucrative medical field of London.
A wild and intimate night with competitive Formula One driver James Ellis ends with Ava being stood up. The rejection leads her straight into...
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"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Gabriel asks tentatively. He's cradling a big brown bag in one arm, which appears to have some fresh produce, a baguette, and an array of ingredients, and in the other hand, a bouquet of white roses.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, ignoring his question.
"I'm here to take care of my girlfriend," he shrugs as though obvious. "I called your office and Sebastian said you're off sick."
"Gabriel, we haven't spoken since Friday," I attempt some tact, not flat out saying I've been ignoring and avoiding him altogether.
"I'm sorry, baby. I covered one of my colleagues' shifts this weekend, and I pulled two back to back twenty-hour shifts in trauma. I was knackered this morning, slept most of the day," Gabriel smiles hopefully and I narrow my eyes at him. "I tried dropping by on Saturday after my shift because I hadn't heard from you. But when Sebastian told me you were sick, it all made sense."
This guy is completely oblivious to my anger, and my best efforts to ghost him.
Great. Well fucking done, Ava, you went cold turkey and he didn't even bat an eyelid.
"Babe. It's pouring out, are you going to let me in, or not?" He asks somewhat desperately, and I'm so flabbergasted by his oblivion that my finger lifts off the panic button resting next to the door frame, and I stupidly move aside, letting him in.
Gabriel kisses my forehead, and he shuffles past me as I try my level best to regroup.
Have I been imagining my anxiety? I mean, he is the source of this anxiety, right?
It's the first time he's in my home, and he makes his way to the kitchen (it's not that difficult since it's a very spacious, contemporary-styled house) and he starts unpacking his brown paper bag.
"Thought I'd make you some soup. It's my mom's recipe." He says sweetly, and I continue to survey him skeptically. Apart from telling me about his parents' untimely demise, he had never mentioned his mother.
Gabriel looks up at me as he begins pairing his herbs and greens, making himself quite at home.
"You're very pale," he's in doctor mode now, no doubt making mental notes of my pale skin, dilated pupils, the mild tremor in my hands, the clamminess apparent from the sweat above my brow, and his eyes flutter to the visibly racing pulse at my carotid. "Have you been taking your medication on an empty stomach?"
I nod slowly.
But these symptoms have got fuck all to do with drugs, buddy. My body can't register whether I should fight, flight, assume fetal position, or pretend to be dead. And I ignore all the other primal responses that pop up too, telling myself that it's all a show. Gabriel is too smart, too calculated to have missed the notion of me ignoring him.
Is this the jaguar in stealth mode, stalking its prey, killing me with kindness first?
"Ava? Baby, you look like you're going to pass out." Gabriel is next to me in a flash, and wraps his arms around my waist right as my legs give way. He picks me up swiftly, carrying me upstairs. My arms have no choice but to drape across his neck as I point out my room. I look at him, with blurred and confused vision. He looks genuinely concerned, and worried as he lays my weak body onto the bed.
