Page 265 of Gabriel
A few more minutes go by before I reluctantly climb out of bed, tugging Cecilia with me as we both get dressed. She squirms as she pulls on her underwear and jeans, and I quirk a brow, smirking as I watch her.
“So what should we—” The shrill of a phone pierces through the room. My eyes scan the room while Cecilia checks her pockets before we locate her phone on the floor a few feet away from the bed.
“Hello,” she answers. “This is her.” I watch her, half-naked and flushed, hair wild from me claiming her. She’s a mess of contradictions—fragile yet strong, soft yet resilient. And she’s all mine.
I head to my dresser for a pair of sweats, entirely naked and unashamed.
“Oh—” Something in her tone changes with that single word. I look over my shoulder as I shove my feet into my pants. Her skin pales, and her breath catches as she listens to whoever’s on the other end of the line. The way her eyes lose focus, glassing over, tells me something’s wrong.
Shit. And here I thought she might be checking me out the way I had been eyeing her.
I close the distance between us in three long strides, my hand on her hip as I tilt her chin up to meet my eyes. “What’s goingon?” I ask, voice low, but she shakes her head, stepping out of my grip, her body tense.
Fuck, I don’t like this.
My fingers itch to take the phone from her and find out for myself what the hell is going on, but I know she won’t like it. So, I wait.
She paces away from me, and I don’t like that either.
My eyes track her as she walks around the room, stiff and agitated as she listens to the call. Every second feels like an eternity, and my patience is wearing thin. I want to know what’s happening. I need to know.
Finally, she hangs up, turning to face me, her eyes wide and her lips trembling. “That was Mr. Ayala,” she says, her voice shaking. “All three guys accepted their plea agreements. Sentencing is set for the week after next.”
It takes a second for her words to sink in, for me to process what she’s just said. Fuck. That’s good, right? I mean, I think it’s good. But judging by the freaked out expression on her face, I’m not so sure. I thought this was what she wanted.
“Are you okay with that?” I ask, my voice quieter than I expected.
She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line, and I can see some of the tension in her shoulders start to ease. “It’s going to be over,” she says. Cecilia’s dark brown eyes shine with unshed tears and a hesitant smile curls the corners of her lips. “It’s finally going to be over.”
I pull her into my arms, my grip tight as I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in. "Yeah, baby. It's over."
CHAPTER 90
CECILIA
Istep into the kitchen, my stomach growling softly as Gabriel follows close behind, his presence like a warm shadow.
“Hungry, baby?” he asks, his arms winding around my waist, pulling me against his chest. There’s a smile in his voice, and I can’t help but smile back, my lips tugging up even as I try to focus on the task at hand.
“A little,” I admit, though my stomach’s impatient grumbling says otherwise. “I have swim practice soon, but we’ve got time for a quick bite. Wanna eat with me before I go?” I glance back at him, catching his honey-brown eyes flicking down to my lips.
He tightens his hold, pressing a kiss to the side of my throat in that possessive way he does, making my knees feel weak. "I could eat." His voice is low, suggestive, and suddenly, this isn’t just about food anymore.
How does he make something as simple as eating sound so dirty?
“What do you want?” I ask, slipping out of his hold and making my way toward the pantry, needing the small space to clear my head, to focus. Gabriel is a lot—intense, all-consuming, especially when his hands are on me. Not that I’m complaining.
He leans against the counter, watching me. “Whatever you want, baby. Surprise me.”
I rummage through his pantry and pull out some ingredients. “How about pasta? Maybe a quick homemade marinara?”
One brow quirks up, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You can cook?”
I laugh, setting the cans of tomatoes and herbs on the counter. “Gabriel, I’m Italian. Cooking is literally in my blood.”
Gabriel crosses his arms over his chest, a slow grin tugging at his lips as he watches me. His eyes stay locked on me, like he’s trying to figure me out—always watching, always wanting. "You sure? Usually, I’m the one showing off in the kitchen."
“We’ll see if you’re still cocky after this.” I roll my eyes playfully, grabbing a pot and filling it with water. "Watch and learn, Herrera. This is how we Italians do it." My hands move automatically, years of watching my mom and Nonna’s hands at work making this second nature.
