Julian woke up early the next morning — out of habit. CEOs didn't always need to be early risers, but discipline had become second nature to him. After a quick shower, he dressed casually — or at least, as casually as grey slacks and an expensive designer T-shirt would allow. A spritz of his favorite cologne, a quick sweep of his hand through his neatly combed hair, and he was ready to face the day.
He tiptoed downstairs, hoping to enjoy a few minutes of peace and caffeine before confronting whatever mood his new wife had woken up with. He didn't think she had bad intentions — not exactly — but he'd overheard the bartender at the reception mention her little "plans" for him. Just the memory made him shiver slightly.
The coast was clear. Perfect. He stepped into the kitchen, humming softly to himself as he reached for the coffee pot and turned—
Only to freeze.
She was already there, leaning against the doorframe with an unreadable expression, a mug cradled casually in her hands.
"Good morning," Alex said, lifting the cup to her lips.
He blinked. "How—how didn't I hear you come in?" Then, realizing something horrifying, he narrowed his gaze. "Wait. Is that my cup?"
Alex looked down at it, then shrugged. "This one? I found it here."
"You're not supposed to use that," he said tightly.
Her brow arched. "What? Then why keep it in the kitchen if it's not meant to be used?" She rinsed the cup and set it back on the counter. "There. Happy?"
Julian accepted it silently, refilled it, and forced himself not to rewash it — that would start a pointless argument. She wasn't moving though; she leaned lazily against the door, clearly enjoying his discomfort.
"How did I even get in last night?" she asked, watching him. "I don't remember walking in."
"Maybe because you didn't," he replied, sipping his coffee. "I carried you."
Her tone turned sharp. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you were asleep," he said flatly, meeting her glare without flinching.
Alex's jaw tightened. She hadn't planned to start the morning like this. She'd woken up disoriented, still tired from yesterday's whirlwind of a wedding. After her bath, she'd gone to make coffee and figure out how she'd ended up in a strange room — but the last thing she expected was to run into the infuriating groom himself.
"I appreciate the thought, Mr. Blackwood," she said coolly, "but next time, I'd rather walk myself."
He couldn't believe it. He'd carried her to bed so she could rest, and she was making it sound like an insult. Ungrateful, he thought, biting back a sigh.
"Anyway," she continued, folding her arms, "why aren't you at work yet?"
Julian raised a brow. "Do you even know what time I go to work? Or did you just assume I'd leave you alone first thing in the morning?"
Alex shrugged. "I forgot. You CEOs probably don't have to show up every day. Still, why are you here?"
Ah. There it was. She wanted him gone.
Julian smiled sweetly. "We're supposed to be on our honeymoon, remember?"
Alex laughed. "Honeymoon? You can't be serious. There's no honeymoon for us, Blackwood. Cut the crap."
"Well, wife, if you haven't noticed — this house is mine. I can stay here for as long as I please." He leaned casually against the counter, his smile deliberately smug. "Besides, I thought I might spend the day with my wife. Is that such a bad idea?"
She smirked. "Are you really asking me that? I'm not your real wife. This—" she gestured between them "—is not a real marriage."
Julian's tone turned teasing. "If you want so badly to be alone, why don't you go out?"
Alex clenched her teeth. She would have, but both her mother and Elizabeth had texted that morning, telling her not to go anywhere for three days — so you can get to know each other better. If only they knew how tempting escape sounded right now. Instead, she simply glared at him and marched back into the kitchen.
Julian shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he walked to the living room. He sank into the plush grey sofa and switched on the television — something he hadn't done in ages. The spacious room, painted in soft grey and white tones, looked like something out of a modern art magazine: elegant, minimalist, expensive. He barely ever used it. His life was mostly work, meetings, and more work.
As he flipped through channels, a warm aroma began to drift from the kitchen — buttery, sweet, and unmistakably inviting. Pancakes. He smiled despite himself. She's cooking? Maybe this day wouldn't be a total disaster.
He waited patiently for her to bring breakfast. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Nothing. Curiosity — and hunger — got the better of him. He walked to the kitchen and found her wiping the counter, humming softly to herself.
"Did you make something?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes," she said without looking up. "Am I allowed to do that?"
"Of course." His lips curved slightly. "Did you make some for me?"
Alex looked at him as if he'd just suggested she join a circus. "What? Why would I do that?"
Julian nearly lost his composure. Unbelievable. He'd been sitting there, practically drooling over the thought of pancakes, only to find out she hadn't made a single one for him. He shut his eyes, inhaled slowly, and decided not to explode — yet. Without another word, he turned and left the kitchen.
Alex watched him go, unfazed, and continued cleaning. That act set him off.
"We're going to need to set some ground rules."