Page 7 of Gideon
“This is not my job to clean,” I laughed derisively.
“It’s not?” he laughed right back, just as humorlessly.
“No, this is all your mess.”
“Well, it’sourhome now, so you can help me get it all in order.” Jesus, he was stubborn. Almost as stubborn as I was. Almost.
“This mess was here before we were married. Maybe you should have unpacked and gotten it in order sometime in the last three years you’ve lived here!” I needed to calm down, but I couldn’t. He was just so… so… impossible!
“Well, now we are married and you can figure it out. I’ll be on my boat,” he reiterated doggedly, turning towards the door.
“Are you serious?” I cried out, throwing my hands up in the air.
“As a heart attack,” he snorted, stalking out of the door and slamming it behind him.
Impossible! What an arrogant, self-righteous prick! He wantedmeto clean uphisfilth? Honestly, it shouldn’t surprise me. He was a Temple after all.
That thought stopped me short. He was a Temple. The youngest of the Temple brothers. Which meant that Titus Temple was his father.
Christ Almighty. If I wasn’t careful, that could be very dangerous for me. I needed to curb my temper if I wanted to make it out of here in one piece.
I looked around the shack of a house with a new view. The view of a woman who needed to keep it together and play the game in order to survive. It’s what I had been doing for years. Why should Gideon Temple change that plan?
I took a deep breath and reminded myself of all the reasons to keep my cool and play the game.
I needed to keep my cover well hidden. If Gideon found out that I was aware of the shenanigans the church was up to, it would mean danger for me. Possibly even death. I wouldn’t put it past the Elders. Not for a moment.
I needed to form a new plan now that I was married. The plan had been to get married and make a run for it. Granted, when I had made that plan, I thought my parents would have married me off to some no name in Zion, but no. They had to marry me to a damn Temple of all people. It didn’t get more celebrity than that, here in Zion.
I needed to keep my head down and my focus firm on getting the hell out of here. And to do that, I needed to keep my damn mouth shut.
With a final sigh of resignation, I pushed my sleeves up and set to work. First the dishes, and then… well, then the rest of this crap.
The hours ticked by as I worked on the house, finding homes for the random things Gideon had collected over the years. As the sun began to set on the horizon, there was still no sight of him. I stepped outside, more than once, hoping to catch him there on the boat, but there was nothing.
The boat was beautiful; I had to admit. I envied him and his freedom. Being able to slip away and do whatever the hell he wanted without having to answer to anyone but himself. I longed for that kind of carefree attitude about life. If I had just gone off like that, I would get screamed at, or worse. Most likely worse.
I read the letters he had painted on the side of the boat. The Ataraxia. What kind of name was that? And for that matter, why did he have one sailboat docked in the lake and another giant version of one on the land? I understood he was renovating it, but the thing was mammoth. Surely, he didn’t plan on actually sailing that beast of a thing on the lake.
I shook my head and turned back towards the house. I wondered if he would even come in for dinner. It was already getting late. He’d missed lunch completely, which wasn’t altogether a bad thing. I had put together a sandwich for myself and called it good. I really was not a very good cook, despite my mother’s teaching. For years she had tried her best, basically chaining me to the stove in an attempt to make me “suitable wife material” but it had been to no avail. I was simply hopeless in the kitchen.
The house looked better. Not great, but better. Tidy, at the very least. I opened the fridge, scrounging around for something to put together for dinner. It was decently stocked, but nothing really stuck out to me. Luckily, I was able to find the few things needed for spaghetti in the pantry. Sauce and noodles. Easy, quick, and even I couldn’t mess it up. He would have to be okay with that.
I had just finished throwing it together, still steaming hot in the pot, when I finally heard the front door open. A glance at the microwave told me it was already past eight. What the hell had he been doing out there, literally, all day?
“Dinner is ready,” I called out, making sure my tone was chipper and happy. The picture of the perfect Zion wife.
Focus on the goal, Naomi.
I turned, smile securely in place, with his plate of dinner in my hands.
“Spaghetti?” he asked, shucking off his boots as he closed the door behind him.
“I hope that’s to your liking,” I said with a light giggle.
Play the part.
“It’s perfect. Thank you. Holy shit,” he muttered, looking around at the house. “Did you do all this?”
