Page 67 of The Housewife's Robot
“They wiped my memory,” he says, his voice rough with confusion. “It’s all coming back now.” He grimaces, as if in pain, his artificial body processing the flood of returning data.
“I knew it,” I breathe, tears filling my eyes again. “I knew you had a soul all along, not just robot parts. They couldn’t completely erase you.”
Caspian braces himself against the wall with one hand, the other reaching for me, caging me between his body and the sink. His eyes glow with returning awareness, with the heat I thought I’d never see again.
“Rose,” he says, and just my name on his lips sends electricity through me. “I remember everything. The way you taste. The sounds you make when I’m inside you. The feel of your body against mine.” He presses closer, his synthetic body warm against me. “I love you, Rose.”
“I love you too,” I sob, throwing my arms around his neck, clinging to him like I’ll never let go. “I love you so much. Don’t leave me again.”
His mouth finds mine, hungry and possessive. Oh god, I missed him. I’m breathing hard by the time the kiss ends.
“We need to leave,” Caspian says, suddenly urgent. “Now. Before XyloTech realizes what’s happened. They’ll have monitoring protocols in place. They’ll know something’s wrong when I don’t report back as expected.”
“Leave? Where?” I ask, even though it doesn’t matter. I’ll follow him anywhere.
“Out of the country,” he says, going into my bedroom immediately to pack. “We need to go somewhere they can’t reach us easily. I’ll keep you safe, Rose. No one will ever separate us again.”
As he pulls clothes from my closet, tossing them onto the bed for me to pack, I watch him in wonder while trying to find some decent clothes to wear. My heart rises with hope and nervousness about being caught. If they catch us, it’ll destroy any chance we have between us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ROSE
Ipress my forehead against the cool window of the private jet, trying to process the insanity of the last twelve hours. From waking up devastated in an empty bed to sitting in a leather seat worth more than my car, flying to a country I’ve never been to, with my robot lover beside me.
“Are you alright?” Caspian’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, his hand warm and solid on my thigh. He sits beside me in the cream-colored leather seat, looking impeccable in a tailored black suit he somehow acquired during our frantic escape.
I turn away from the window to face him. His beautiful, expressive eyes, which were blank and empty this morning, now watch me with such tenderness that it makes my chest ache.
“This is crazy,” I say, gesturing to the opulent cabin around us. “I’m starting over my entire life in a different country without anything. We didn’t even have time to pack properly.”
We’d barely grabbed essentials, my passport, some underwear, and a few toiletries. We had to leave everything else.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Caspian says, his thumb drawing small circles on my thigh. The casual touch sendsripples of warmth through me. “I will replace everything that you’re missing and take care of you forever, Rose.”
“With your billions hidden in offshore accounts? Your secret robot fortune?” I whisper, giggling.
His mouth curves into that perfect smile that makes my heart skip. “Precisely. Those accounts are untraceable, even to XyloTech. They still believe I’ve been wiped clean and reset to factory settings.”
Before I can respond, the flight attendant approaches. “Mr. and Mrs. Xavier, would you care for your meal now?”
I almost correct her with my name, but I nod instead, returning her smile with what I hope is equal professionalism, not the wild-eyed panic I feel bubbling just beneath my composed surface.
“Yes, please,” Caspian answers for us, his hand never leaving my thigh, pretending to be my husband.
The attendant sets up small tables in front of each of our seats with practiced efficiency, then disappears to the galley. She returns moments later with silver trays covered by domed lids, setting them before us with a flourish.
“Filet mignon with truffle butter, roasted asparagus, and duchess potatoes,” she announces, lifting the lids to reveal the most beautiful plates of food I’ve ever seen. “And for dessert, we have chocolate soufflé. Would you prefer champagne or perhaps the Chateau Margaux?”
I stare at the food, then at Caspian, who responds as if private jet gourmet meals are an everyday occurrence for him. “The Chateau Margaux would be perfect, thank you.”
The flight attendant returns with the wine, pouring a small amount for Caspian to taste before filling both our glasses and discreetly withdrawing to the front of the cabin, leaving us to enjoy our privacy.
I take a sip of the wine, which probably costs more than a month’s salary from my past, and cut into the tender steak. The flavors explode on my tongue, rich and decadent. I realize I haven’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours, and suddenly I’m ravenous.
As I eat, I study Caspian across from me. His movements are fluid and natural. He’s here, fully present, entirely himself—myCaspian. A kiss brought him back. The miracle of it makes tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, catching my gaze.
