ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE SINGLE DAD (Gabrielle and Damon) novel Chapter 50

CHAPTER FIFTY

GABRIELLE’S POV

“I see….a man with many secrets who fears nothing but his emotions,” I said softly.

I paused, checking if he’d react to my words.

He only nodded. “Go on.”

My eyes drifted over his reflection—his jaw, tight with restraint… his shoulders, broad and tense… his eyes, dark and unreadable even as they held mine.

“I see someone who carries everything alone,” I continued quietly. “Someone who’s just as damaged as I am, if not more. Someone who shuts the world out because it’s easier than letting anyone in.”

There was no reaction from him.

“And what else?” he murmured.

My chest rose and fell, nerves fluttering inside me.

“I see… a man who scares me sometimes,” I whispered, “but not because he’s dangerous. Because I don’t know what I mean to him. And I’m afraid to ask.”

It was silent for a couple of seconds and my heartbeat stopped with time.

Then Damon leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Gabrielle,” he whispered, his voice low and sinful, “you mean

more than you should.”

His hands slid down my arms, sending shivers down my spine.

“And that,” he added, his breath ghosting over my neck, “is the real problem.”

My knees almost buckled.

He raised my face with two fingers under my chin, forcing my eyes back to the mirror.

“Tell me again what you see, Gabrielle. But this time…” His thumb brushed my lower lip as he whispered, “Tell me about the woman staring back at us.”

My breath caught.

The woman in the mirror suddenly felt exposed. Not because of how close he was, or how easily he could unravel me with a whisper, but because he was asking me to look at myself the way he looked at me.

Slowly, my gaze lifted to the glass.

“I see…” My voice wavered.

God, why was this harder than describing him?

“I see a traitor’s face.”

His fingers traced the line of my jaw, light enough to make my pulse junip.

“No. Again,” he murmured.

I swallowed. “I see the face of a naive and pathetic woman. I see the woman who would still love those who hurt her badly. A woman who should have walked away a long time ago, but didn’t, because she still hopes stupidly that those people will

choose her for once.”

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My throat tightened.

“And I hate that about her,” I whispered. “I hate that she still cares.”

A tear fell down my cheek.

Then another followed.

Before I could stop myself, a sob tore through my chest. It was small, and muffled, but impossible to swallow back. I should have held it back but I couldn’t stop myself anymore.

Damon turned me around until I was facing him. I wondered what he must be thinking of me–that I was pathetic, weak, and

not deserving of love.

My eyes stayed low, because I couldn’t bear to see whatever judgment was in his.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wiping at my face even though the tears kept slipping through my fingers. “I don’t know why I’m—” My voice cracked. “Why I’m like this.”

He pulled my hands away. “You don’t know why you’re perfect?”

My head snapped up. “What?”

“I said you’re perfect, Gabrielle,” he repeated, his voice dark. “You’re not those things.”

“But-

“But nothing,” he said, cupping my cheeks and wiping my tears with his thumb. “You’re not defined by them. God, if only you could see yourself through my eyes.”

My chest tightened and fresh tears blurred my vision.

He knelt and pulled my dress up, covering me. “I won’t take your virginity until you can see that.”

My breath hitched.

Because Damon–the last man I ever expected tenderness from–looked up at me with a sincerity so raw, it broke something open inside me.

He wore his pants and carried me in his arms, bridal style, to my room.

He dropped me softly on my bed.

He sat on the edge of the bed, just close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence filling the room as it had always filled every space I occupied.

“You should get dressed,” he said, his eyes on my mine. “We have a Christmas dinner to attend tonight.”

I nodded, my throat tight, unable to speak.

Damon’s hand brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone gently, reverently, as if I were fragile glass.

“Rest,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe it.

The dinner party was hosted by one of Damon’s business associates.

The drive to the hall was quiet as I was still reeling from our earlier conversation. I still felt exposed, like I was still naked in

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front of the mirror with him behind me.

His hair was in a slight tousle and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked so devilishly good and so effortlessly sexy it pissed me off.

“See what you like?” He asked without looking at me.

Fuck, I got caught staring.

My face flushed. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” I muttered, turning my face to the window so he wouldn’t see the heat rising in my cheeks.

The city lights blurred past, but all I could feel was his presence. It wrapped around me like a second skin, inescapable, and maddening.

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