We made the effort to spend some time as a family, and I have to admit, this lifestyle is growing on me. I don’t miss the lonely nights, the fame, or the money because everything I have wanted is right under this roof.
A family.
A concept so foreign and never desired throughout my twenty-seven years. I will always love my father and Morgan, but this is completely different.
The change in Noah was instant.
From that night onward, he often talked about his in
clination for more children, and now that I agree, we rarely fight about anything. He treats me like a queen, bringing coffee to me everything morning with breakfast in bed, waking up earlier to help with the kids, and at night we make love as if the world around us never existed.
Everything about us is perfect.
Tonight, he cooks us a roast beef brisket dinner—a rare occurrence according to him, but to me, I couldn’t have asked for a more loving husband.
“She’s calling me,” Noah says, hopping off the couch. “Let me read to her, so she falls asleep.”
I smile as he walks away, opening my laptop to finalize some emails and contracts. Being on the other side of the business is different, yet another type of pressure, which I hate to admit I now thrive on. There’s no pressure for me to be on camera, nor get glammed up every day. A life of normalcy isn’t so bad.
“Laptop away,” he demands, walking back into the room less than twenty minutes later.
“Just one more—”
“Morgan,” he scolds gently. “C’mon, our therapist said we need to make time for each other when Jessa’s asleep.”
Nodding, I shut down my laptop and let out a sigh. “You’re right. Of course. Cheese and wine?”
“How about you naked?” He pulls my body into his, a small giggle escaping my lips as his fingers dig into my ribcage.
“How about I slip into something more comfortable?” I tease.
“How about you slip into nothing?”
I lean in, kissing his lips, as the sensation heightens while his hand runs beneath my skirt. Noah knows just how to push my right buttons.
“I’ll be back. Behave,” I warn him, playfully.
I walk out of the den toward the kitchen, dropping my heels to the floor and untucking my blouse. This whole prepare-food-inside-the-kitchen thing isn’t too difficult. Granted, I pull out my phone to Google the perfect way to present cheese on a platter. It takes me somewhat around ten minutes, especially when I get distracted on an article about Scarlett Winters via a clickbait link.
Scarlett Winters—America’s leading actress.
But behind closed doors, lays a bitter, lonely woman.
The article somewhat strikes a nerve, unusually accurate for a piece written by a trashy tabloid. In an effort to shake off the negative vibes, I drink straight from the wine bottle until I let out a small hiccup. Steadying my hands, I grab two glasses and juggle everything back toward the den.
“Ready or not, here we go, and get drunk—”
The second I step back into the room, the energy inside the room has completely changed. Noah’s pale white. Eyes wide, breaths ragged and harsh. His hands tremble as his face leans against his tightened fist, knuckles stark white from the pressure.
I place the plate and bottle on the coffee table, worried. “Noah, what’s wrong?”
He doesn’t say a single word. Instead, he’s dead silent and staring at the fireplace with a downward expression. What could have possibly changed in the last ten minutes since I left the room? Jessa’s still asleep, so it has nothing to do with her. I assume it’s work-related and perhaps some not-so-good news.
“Noah, talk,” I repeat, anxiously. “You’re scaring me.”
His eyelids close, shut tight, ignoring my desperate pleas. My heart rate picks up, nervous tension rages through me from what he’s about to tell me.
Is he sick? Maybe he’s sick and just found out, though, I don’t recall him ever saying he was going to the doctor or having tests.