The Ruin (Convenience #3) - Stella Gray Page 0,19
it goes nicely with the faded pink, tan, and cream of the Moroccan rug Mateo sent me from Etsy and the dusty-sage velvet curtains I have yet to hang. I love all the calming colors.
But I still don’t feel…at home.
I’ve been at the penthouse for a few weeks at this point. I thought I’d feel better once I moved back in, but it’s just been weird all around. Part of the discomfort is that I’m still in the guest room. I thought Luka and I would sort of naturally find our old rhythm—and I’d be back in his bed soon enough—but the wedge between us is too big. And it seems to be growing.
We seem to have silently agreed to ignore each other and just focus on work, which makes sense given that Danica Rose Management is the center of both our universes right now. Luka has been putting in crazy hours at the office, and I’ve been helping Emzee with some PR stuff when I’m not auditioning for jobs or swinging by Heart and Home Chicago with supplies for the shelter’s soup kitchen and donated toys for the kids there. I’ve landed a few smaller print gigs here or there, but nothing major—and meanwhile Luka’s been blending into the background at my shoots or managing my career behind the scenes, as always. So yes, we’ve both been very busy. But the lack of meaningful human interaction between us is getting unbearable.
Like when I walk into a room and then right back out because Luka is already in it, giving off “don’t fuck with me” vibes, or when he waits to fix his own meals or order takeout after I finish up in the kitchen instead of eating the extras I always leave out for him. We used to walk Mr. Kibbles together, but now I take the morning shift while Luka takes the evening. Even our text messages are basically transactional and devoid of any emotion or warmth. Thank God for my sisters-in-law, who’ve been keeping my spirits up and my social calendar somewhat full.
I thought redecorating my room might help. Give me a sense of belonging here, of my own personal space. But once the curtains are finally up, an eclectic mix of throw pillows on the tufted reading chair and the bed, my new brass lamp glowing softly from the desk…I have to admit, I still feel out of place. Alone. Nothing has really changed. Mateo was right.
It’s almost midnight. I’m exhausted. And if I’m being honest with myself, I want nothing more than to climb into the massive bed in the master suite and curl up next to my husband. But I can’t even imagine crossing that line with him. And I’m pretty sure he’s been letting Mr. Kibbles out of his crate at night and having him sleep on my side of the bed anyway.
Sighing, I head to the kitchen for a glass of wine, only to find an open bottle on the island and Luka on the couch in the living room, flipping through channels with the dog at his feet.
“Have as much of that as you want,” Luka calls out to me from the other room, in a rare display of verbal communication. “I’m only having one glass, and I’m nursing it.”
Checking out the label, I see it’s all in French. I’m sure this bottle cost him at least two hundred dollars. It’d be a shame to waste it.
After pouring myself a generous glass, I’m about to head back to my room, but something gives me pause. With all the silence and tension lately, I can’t help but wonder if there’s still something between us that needs to be addressed. Otherwise, why would this be so hard? If we were truly over each other, we’d be friends by now—right? Or at least better roommates. But instead it’s like there’s always something lingering in the air, words unspoken, conflict unresolved. Even at my shoots, he’s either totally avoidant or politely business-like.
I take a deep breath. Then I make my way into the living room, hoping this isn’t a huge mistake. Settling into the big puffy chair, I put my wine glass on a side table and then give all my attention and sweet words to Mr. Kibbles, who patiently waited for an official invitation before jumping up into my lap.
“Who’s a good boy?” I coo, planting a kiss on his pointy snout. “Him’s a good boy.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can