Filed to story: When His Wife Can’t Forgive
“Do you know how?”
“No.”
“Then why agree?”
“I can learn.”
Gemma chuckled. “Then I’ll teach you.”
“When did you start enjoying teaching?” Corey interjected sharply. “You always find excuses to avoid baking for me, yet you’re so eager to teach a stranger.”
Hearing this, Pierre stepped back.
“That’s not fair, Corey. You always said you didn’t want me to tire myself, so you discouraged me from baking.”
Now you’re upset I haven’t made any for you,” Gemma protested.
To make her point, she turned and headed to the kitchen to prepare desserts.
Corey departed with three large bags of them. Two were for Alicia and Caden. Having failed to gain Gemma’s favor, he left, playing the role of a reluctant delivery man. His mood was sour.
Seizing the moment, Gemma instructed Pierre in the art of cake baking.
The chemistry between them was palpable, sparking like dry tinder catching flame.
Gemma found herself increasingly distracted.
Pierre, however, remained focused. “Miss Hampton, please stop staring at me or you’ll ruin the icing.”
Embarrassed, Gemma looked down only to notice cream smeared over Pierre’s hand. She reached out to wipe it away, but he pulled back.
“Your brother doesn’t like us being too close,” Pierre commented.
Gemma paused, her eyes widening slightly. “Are you afraid of him?”
Pierre gazed at her earnest expression, feeling a stir within. “Do you want me to be?”
“No.” Gemma was well aware of Corey’s stern demeanor. He was invariably strict and detached toward the staff. “We’ll just need to be discreet.”
Pierre chuckled, but his smile quickly vanished as he raised his cream-covered hand toward Gemma’s lips.
Gemma frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Help me clean off the cream.”
Her beauty struck him profoundly, her lips a vibrant pink, which made Pierre’s rough fingers seem all the more intrusive, like a blemish on her perfection.
Despite this, Pierre playfully coaxed her lips apart with his fingers, encouraging her to taste the cream little by little.
Gemma resisted with all her might. While the kisses she shared with Pierre had been pleasant, she had clear limits, and she intended to maintain them. The very idea of his fingers-having come into contact with countless objects throughout the day-entering her mouth, even if washed, repelled her.
Pierre, however, seemed oblivious to her discomfort.
Unable to push his fingers away with her tongue, Gemma felt helpless. Pierre effortlessly caught her wrists when she tried to resist, pinning them behind her back. The cream melted quickly in her mouth, leaving her no choice but to swallow it.
Gemma’s face burned with anger. She slapped Pierre hard, pushing him away. “This is too much!” she protested, wiping the corner of her mouth. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you tell I hate it when you do things like this?”
Pierre’s gaze was steady, dark, and unreadable. “Hate it?” he echoed, tilting his head. “You didn’t look like you hated it. You’ve been sucking my fingers the whole time.” Gemma was stunned. It was bad enough that he had forced her, but now he dared to say something so crass? A bitter feeling settled over her. It was as if Pierre didn’t take her seriously. She hated that. She missed the Pierre who listened, the one who was considerate and obedient.
Gemma turned away, her expression cold and unyielding. “Clean up the kitchen,” she ordered, her tone sharp and final. “And don’t bother coming to my room tonight.”
Pierre paused, washing his hands. “Are you angry?” he asked cautiously, glancing over his shoulder.
“What do you think?” Gemma snapped back, her tone laced with dissatisfaction.
Understanding the cue, Pierre nodded. “Very well, Miss Hampton. I’ll give you space tonight.”
Gemma frowned, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “You’re nothing like my brother.” Corey would waste no time trying to calm her storms. But Pierre? He simply nodded, his agreement almost robotic. It felt like their previous closeness-the hugs and kisses-had never happened.
Pierre’s expression remained unreadable as he methodically cleaned the kitchen.
That night, as Gemma shut herself in her room, Pierre lay on the living room couch, staring at the ceiling. No matter how hard he tried, sleep eluded him. In the dead of night, the shrill ring of his phone startled him.
Expecting it might be Gemma relenting, Pierre was surprised to see an unfamiliar number on the screen. He answered cautiously, only to hear a vaguely familiar voice. “Pierre, why aren’t you asleep?”
His breath caught. He remained silent for a moment, his mind racing to place the voice. Then, it clicked. It was Talia Blakely, his ex-girlfriend.
Their last conversation had been three years prior, shortly after a tragic accident. Pierre had been a shell of himself then and had ended things with Talia, not wanting to pull her down into his despair.
Stepping out into the cool night air, Pierre held the phone tightly. “What prompted you to call me?”
Talia’s laughter echoed through the line. It carried a mature timbre, hinting at the changes life had wrought upon her. “Can’t I just call you out of the blue?” she teased. “Or is your current girlfriend so possessive that chatting with another woman is off-limits?”
Pierre’s voice remained indifferent. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it.” A spontaneous late-night call seemed unlikely to be without reason.
“I’m getting married,” Talia said. “Will you come?”
Surprise flickered across Pierre’s stoic fa?ade. He felt a strange sense of relief. “When is it?”
“The 29th of this month,” Talia replied, her tone shifting to concern. “I’ve moved on, Pierre. Have you? Or are you still holding on to Aitana?”
Pierre’s heart tightened at the mention of Aitana, prompting him to quickly change the subject. “I’ll check my schedule. If I’m free, I’ll come.”
Talia’s voice grew serious. “You probably shouldn’t come as an ex, but I want to make sure you’re doing okay.” Before Pierre could respond, a man’s voice suddenly interrupted on the other end. “Who are you talking to at this hour?”
Pierre barely caught the words before the call ended abruptly. His brow furrowed, sensing that something wasn’t right.
Just then, a gust of wind swung the door open.
Pierre reached out instinctively to stop it and caught sight of a figure in the living room.
Gemma was there, standing behind the sofa with a thin blanket in her arms..
Even from a distance, Pierre could read the grievance etched on Gemma’s face. He knew it wasn’t because of the phone conversation-there was no way she could have overheard it. Her frustration stemmed from his silence throughout the night. He knew she sought his comfort, a gesture of reassurance that he was all too aware she desired. But he wasn’t in the mood. He didn’t have the energy to indulge her.
When Gemma descended the stairs, Pierre decided there was no point in prolonging the tension. He walked toward her calmly.
With a huff, Gemma said, “I didn’t come here because I was worried about you catching a cold. I just wanted to check if you were sneakily sleeping behind my back.” Pierre saw right through her excuse but didn’t bother calling her out. Instead, he stepped closer, his tall frame towering over her. He bent slightly, bringing his face close to hers so she could see him clearly.
“Miss Hampton, I have no intention of defying you,” he assured her softly.
Gemma’s irritation only deepened. His composed demeanor, laced with just enough charm to rile her up, made her feel worse. “You purposely made me uncomfortable today.”
Pierre offered a genuine apology. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
In response, Gemma tossed the blanket at him. “I don’t need this anymore. You take it and get rid of it.” This blanket, her favorite, was the one she used to cover her belly on cool summer nights, carrying her scent.
Pierre hesitated. The thought of throwing away something so distinctly hers made him wistful. “Can I dispose of it tomorrow?” he asked, hoping to keep it for one more night.
Gemma’s response was a cold scoff. “If you actually throw it away, you’ll regret it.”
Pierre smiled faintly. “Did you talk to your brother about this tonight?”
Gemma shook her head. “I wouldn’t bother him with something so petty.”
She then paused and asked, “Was that my brother on the phone just now?”
“No, it was my ex-girlfriend,” Pierre replied, his voice neutral.
Promise with Gemma
Gemma paused, affecting a semblance of calmness. “Oh.” Pierre noticed her curiosity, mixed with hesitation. Her lips parted, yet no words emerged. Her reluctance only spurred him to tease her further.
“It’s getting late, Miss Hampton. Time to retire,” he said.
Frustration knotted inside Gemma as she realized he wasn’t going to volunteer the information. “You’re supposed to keep me updated on everything as my bodyguard. Have you forgotten your duties?”
Pierre responded, “Does that include personal calls?”
“Absolutely.”
Having teased her sufficiently, Pierre finally disclosed, “She’s getting married and asked if I would attend.”
Gemma instinctively questioned, “Are you the groom, so she needs to check if you’re attending?”
“No, I’m merely a guest.”
“Oh.” Gemma raised her chin slightly. “Did you accept?”
“Not yet. I might not have the time.”
“What date is it?”
Pierre paused, thinking. “Valentine’s Day.” He sensed there was another commitment on the 29th, but he couldn’t quite remember.
Gemma’s expression subtly shifted. “If you’re free, will you attend?”
“Perhaps. She was a very good friend.”
Sometimes, Gemma resented Pierre’s frankness, yet she also didn’t want him to lie. Noticing Pierre’s earnest expression, Gemma felt her resolve deflate.
“Fine, if you really want to go, then go,” she said sulkily. “I’ll give you the day off.”