I laugh. “How do you feel?”
“I don’t know.” She tilts her head. “You seem so normal.”
“Well, I’d say you’re clearly off-track there.” I smirk, and Marley snuggles up against me.
“What do you think?” I ask. “You want to go inside?”
She squeals. “Yes! I’m such a plebeian. You’re losing cool points right now with your crew for your girl’s lack of chill.” She nods at the pilot standing by the door. “I’ve never been on someone’s private jet before,” she whisper-hisses.
I take her hand. “Well, here’s your chance.”
My pilot, Boomer, treats her kindly, winking at me over her head, and the stewardess, a friendly older woman named Matilda, oohs and aahs over her, then asks, behind her back, “Is this your girlfriend?”
I just smile.
The plane is big as far as jets go, and it’s designed so much of it is bedroom. I lead Marley to the bed, and she lies down and grins up at the rounded ceiling. “Should I nap as we take off?”
“If you want to.” I lie down behind her, drape a hand over her belly. “Is it strange I want this to get bigger?” I ask near her ear. “And these?” I stroke her breast, piquing a nipple.
I can hear her smile in her voice, “I don’t think so. I think it’s a common fetish.”
“You calling me a plebian?”
“You know I am.”
I leave Marley with a kiss and go touch base with Boomer. I tell him our destination, and he says, “Are you sure? No Paris or Italy?”
I shake my head. “Maybe there next time.”
I return to find Marley actually asleep, which makes me laugh—quietly.
I’m skeptical that she can sleep through take-off, but I climb up on the smallish bed and wrap myself around her again, and she does. She doesn’t awaken until the punching sound of our wheels coming down. As soon as she realizes she slept through the flight, she smacks me. “You should have woken me up!” She pulls a tiny curtain back, revealing a round window, but of course, it’s dark. It was dark when we left Auburn.
“Oh my God, Gabe…” She turns to me with her mouth open. “We’re in New York!”
“Almost.”
I can feel the question in her, even as she coos at all the lights below. I bet she’s dying to ask why.
“New York is beautiful. I’ve only been once, but I love it.”
Pretty soon we’re walking off the plane, climbing into my waiting car.
“It smells so good in here. Like new.”
I don’t tell her this car is new. I had my former assistant sell the one I shared with Madeline.
“It’s just an M5. Pretty regular stuff.”
She snorts. “That’s a surprise.” I pull onto the road and Marley takes my hand. “Where are we going, sugar daddy?”
I chuckle. “To get pie.”
Marley’s face tells me she doesn’t trust me—and for once, I’m glad. I smile, and when she asks again, I shrug. “I thought you liked a man with mystique…”
3
Marley
Driving through the city with Gabe is slightly surreal. I have these moments sometimes where it hits me out of nowhere that my mom is dead, and it’s so unexpected to re-realize. Once, I even gasped at work.
As Gabe steers us into the city, I have an experience that feels like the opposite. I look around, and really realize where I am, and who I’m with, and why—and I feel pleasure so intense, I almost cry.
“This feels so right,” I whisper.
I expect a pat reply, so when his eyes drag over me and he asks, “You don’t think it’s too fast,” I’m surprised.
“Do you?”
“I don’t.” His eyes hold mine before he changes lanes. “I was worried that you might, though.”
“Too little time between pork chops and pie?” I tease.
Gabe shakes his head. “That shit is so embarrassing.”
I squeeze his hand. “Really?”
“Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of behaving like a ragey teenager.”
“Only for me.” I laugh.
Gabe shoots me a “fuck you” look, and I smile. “C’mon, Fancy Pants. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
“Are you mocking me for my wealth, Marley?”
I snort. “Oh yeah. What a rich, successful loser. So Christian Grey of you.”
His eyebrows wiggle as the city lights send shadows over his face. “I can Christian Grey this thing.”
I giggle happily. “What does that even mean?” I lean my cheek against his shoulder.
“I don’t know. Who is Christian Grey again?”
I smile. “Don’t worry. You just do you, Gabe. Although I think it’s time to tell me where we’re going.”
“Not a chance.”
*
He takes me to Central Park. At least, he says it’s Central Park. I didn’t visit that last time I came to New York—for a conference once, in med school—so to me it looks more like a forest, which is strange, because we’re in the middle of the city.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he leads me beneath twinkling trees and past spotlighted sculptures.
“You’ll just have to see.”
We pass a horse-drawn buggy, and Gabe flags it down, hands the driver some cash, and we’re in. We’re riding through the park at night, and I’m exhausted, and I’m giddy, and it’s weird and weirdly wonderful and probably the most improbable thing that’s ever happened to me.
“You know this is crazy, right?” I ask him.
He smiles knowingly, and then steps out of the carriage and returns a moment later. “Directions,” he explains.
“This is a lot of mystique.”
“Don’t worry—I’ll get you to bed in just a few hours. We’re staying somewhere very nearby.”
“We’re staying the night?”
He laughs. “You didn’t think I’d make you sleep on a plane bed, did you?”
“Well, um, yeah. That would be just fine with me.”
His hand comes over my belly. “We’ve gotta take care of the little one.”
Hearing him talk about the baby makes my heart sing. “The little bean.”
“Have you seen him or her on ultrasound?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” I watch his eyes for signs of anger or disappointment, but Gabe just says, “Can I see?”
“Yeah.” I pull my phone out, and I show him the pictures of what looks exactly like a little bean.
“A lima bean,” he smiles. “Fuck, Marley. That’s our bean.”
“I know. It’s crazy, right? I’m sorry I didn’t take you with me to the first appointment. I went just after my mom died.”
“It’s okay.” He rubs my belly once more, softly. “Can I go next time?”
“Yes—of course. And every time. If you want.”
“I do want.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, and we ride through the park. I watch the trees through the round window in our carriage. By the time it stops, I’m half asleep, and Gabe is laughing at me.
“I can carry you,” he offers.
“It’s okay.”
He helps me down, and then we’re walking down a little trail amidst the trees, and then there’s lights and we’re at what looks like a stone cottage. I squint at the sign. “Miss Mable’s Famous Peanut Butter Pies.”
“Oh God, Gabe. Pie!”
A little while later, we’re on a park bench, and we’re both shoving pie into our faces. “I’m going to gain like fifty pounds. But I don’t even care, because this shit is so good.”