Chapter 3 Pretend Play Turns Real, Confrontation in the Bathroom

# Chapter 3: Pretend Play Turns Real, Confrontation in the Bathroom

One month into our marriage, and Gilbert Blackwood remained an enigma wrapped in designer suits. After the incident with Victor Crane, something had shifted between us. Gilbert wasn't exactly warm—I suspected "warm" wasn't in his emotional vocabulary—but he'd become more... present.

He brought me coffee in the mornings, exactly how I liked it. He asked about my day over dinner. He remembered details from conversations we'd had weeks ago. Small things, but from a man who projected all the emotion of a marble statue, they felt significant.

The hidden clauses continued to reveal themselves as I worked through the contract. Each discovery left me more bewildered than the last:

Clause 78: The husband shall provide fresh flowers in the wife's preferred color palette weekly.

Clause 83: During inclement weather, the husband must ensure the wife has suitable transportation, regardless of his own schedule or inconvenience.

Every time I confronted Gilbert about one, he would simply nod and say, "It's in the contract," as if that explained everything.

I still hadn't found the infamous Clause 100, though not for lack of trying. It seemed to be buried deep within the legal jargon, and Gilbert appeared to take a perverse pleasure in watching me search for it.

Tonight, we'd attended a product launch for Blackwood Industries' new tech line. Gilbert had kept me by his side throughout the evening, his hand at my waist, introducing me as "the brilliant mind behind our new marketing strategy." It wasn't true—I hadn't contributed anything to Blackwood Industries yet—but the pride in his voice had sounded genuine.

By the time we returned home, I was exhausted and slightly tipsy from champagne. Gilbert had been unusually quiet on the ride back, his eyes intense whenever they landed on me.

I headed straight for the master bathroom, craving a hot shower to wash away the evening. The penthouse's bathroom was ridiculous—all marble and glass, with a shower big enough for a party and a soaking tub that could double as a small pool.

The hot water was divine, steam filling the massive space as I let the day's tension melt away. I was so relaxed that I didn't hear the bathroom door open.

"Kate?"

I nearly slipped when Gilbert's voice cut through the steam. I peeked around the glass partition to see him standing just inside the door, a fluffy white bathrobe draped over his arm.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, grateful for the frosted sections of the shower glass that preserved some modesty.

Gilbert looked annoyingly composed, still in his dress shirt and pants from the event, though he'd removed his tie and jacket. "I thought you might want your robe. You left it in the bedroom."

"So you just walked in?" I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly very aware of being naked with only semi-opaque glass between us.

He tilted his head slightly. "The door wasn't locked."

"That's not an invitation!"

Gilbert's expression remained neutral, but I could swear there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "My apologies. I'll leave it here." He placed the robe on the vanity counter.

But he didn't leave. Instead, he lingered, his gaze fixed on my silhouette through the glass.

Something snapped inside me—the champagne, the month of confusion, the bizarre hot-and-cold nature of our relationship. I shut off the water and stormed out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around myself.

"What's your game, Gilbert?" I demanded, marching toward him. "One minute you're Mr. Iceberg, the next you're writing me love letters and bringing me coffee. What do you want from me?"

His eyes widened slightly at my advance, but he stood his ground. "I'm not playing a game."

"Bullshit." I was close enough now to see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the slight dilation of his pupils. "Nobody puts clauses about goodnight kisses and chocolate obligations in a business contract unless they're playing some kind of game."

In a move that surprised even me, I planted my palm against his chest and pushed him backward until his shoulders hit the tiled wall. Water from my skin soaked through his expensive shirt, making it cling to his surprisingly defined chest.

"Is this what you want?" I hissed, my face inches from his. "Some kind of bizarre power play? Make the desperate Parkinson girl fall for her cold contract husband? Because I don't remember seeing 'must provide sexual services' anywhere in those two hundred pages."

Gilbert's breathing had quickened, but his voice remained steady. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is it? Because I'm tired of trying to decode you, Gilbert. I'm tired of finding love letters you never intended me to read and discovering contract clauses that make no business sense and trying to figure out if I'm just a pawn in whatever corporate chess game you're playing."

His hands came up to rest lightly on my waist, the heat of his palms burning through the damp towel. "You're not a pawn, Kate."

"Then what am I?"

Gilbert took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "You want to know what Clause 100 says?"

"Yes," I whispered, suddenly aware of how close we were, how intimate this confrontation had become.

"It says," he began, his voice lower and rougher than I'd ever heard it, "that if the second party—that's you—develops feelings for the first party during the contract period, the first party is obligated to spend the rest of his life fulfilling every sweet clause in the contract."

I blinked, trying to process his words. "That's... that's ridiculous. No lawyer would include that in a binding document."

"I wrote the contract, Kate. My lawyers merely reviewed it."

"You wrote it? All 200 pages?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I'm thorough."

"But why would you include such a clause? It's meaningless unless..." I trailed off as realization dawned. "Unless you were hoping I would develop feelings for you."

Gilbert's hands tightened slightly on my waist. "I've never been good at expressing... emotions. Numbers, contracts, business deals—those make sense to me. People don't. Especially people I find... compelling."

"So you wrote your feelings into a contract instead of just telling me like a normal person?"

"I never claimed to be normal."

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. "That's the understatement of the century."

Something shifted in Gilbert's expression—a softening around his eyes, a tension releasing from his jaw. He looked almost vulnerable, a word I would never have associated with Gilbert Blackwood before this moment.

"I didn't expect you," he admitted quietly. "When I planned to acquire your family's company, you were just a name on paper. Then you walked into that meeting room—angry and defiant and brilliant—and everything changed."

His confession hung in the steam-filled air between us. I was suddenly acutely aware of my near-nakedness, of his hands on my waist, of the dampness of his shirt beneath my palm where I still held him against the wall.

"Gilbert," I started, not entirely sure what I was going to say.

He silenced me by reaching up to brush a wet strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "You don't have to say anything. I know this isn't what you signed up for."

"I signed up for 200 pages of terms and conditions," I reminded him. "Most of which I'm still discovering."

"Do you regret it?" The question was so soft I almost didn't hear it.

I considered lying, but something about the moment demanded honesty. "No. Not yet, anyway."

The bathroom mirror had fogged over completely from the shower steam. As I glanced at it, I noticed something strange—writing appearing in the condensation. Words I hadn't put there.

Pulling away from Gilbert, I moved closer to the mirror. What I saw made my breath catch.

A week ago, I'd been alone in the bathroom after a particularly frustrating day. On a childish impulse, I'd written a list in the steam on the mirror: "Things Gilbert Blackwood Hates." The list had included items like "smiling," "human emotion," "wrinkled suits," and "spontaneity."

Now, that same list was visible in the steam, but someone had crossed out "Hates" and written "Loves" above it. Next to each item were little annotations:

"Smiling" – when it's genuine, especially yours

"Human emotion" – still learning, be patient with me

"Wrinkled suits" – only when you're the one wrinkling them

"Spontaneity" – trying to appreciate it, for you

I turned to Gilbert, who was watching me with an intensity that made my skin tingle. "You saw my list."

"I did."

"And you changed it."

"I corrected it," he replied simply.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. This impossible man with his contracts and clauses and inability to just say what he felt like a normal person—he was driving me crazy.

"You're infuriating," I told him.

"So I've been told." Was that actually a smile tugging at his lips?

"And manipulative."

"Strategic," he corrected.

"And far too confident."

"With good reason."

I couldn't help but smile at his audacity. "Do you have a response for everything?"

Gilbert pushed away from the wall, closing the distance between us again. This time, there was no mistaking the heat in his eyes. "Not everything. For instance, I have no response prepared for what might happen if you decide to kiss me right now."

My heart raced as his hands returned to my waist, more certain this time. "Is there a clause for that?"

"Probably," he murmured, his eyes dropping to my lips. "I was very thorough."

"I should check the contract first," I whispered, even as I leaned closer. "Make sure I'm not violating any terms."

Gilbert's laugh—the first real one I'd ever heard from him—was low and rich. "I'll accept the breach of protocol. Just this once."

When his lips finally met mine, it wasn't at all what I expected from a man who seemed carved from ice. Gilbert Blackwood kissed like a man starving, like he'd been holding himself back for too long. One hand slid into my wet hair while the other pressed against my lower back, eliminating any space between us.

I clutched his ruined shirt, giving as good as I got. If this was a game, we were both losing—or maybe both winning. I wasn't sure anymore.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I couldn't resist one more jab. "Was that in the contract too?"

Gilbert's eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them, his composure thoroughly shattered. "That," he said, his voice rough, "was entirely off the record."

He stepped back, running a hand through his usually perfect hair. "I should let you finish getting ready for bed."

I tightened my grip on his shirt. "Or you could stay."

Something like wonder crossed his face. "Kate..."

"I'm not saying I'm invoking Clause 100," I clarified quickly. "But maybe we could... negotiate some new terms?"

Gilbert's smile—a real, full smile that transformed his entire face—was worth every confusing moment of the past month. "I'm always open to negotiations, Mrs. Blackwood."

As he leaned in to kiss me again, I had the distinct feeling that my contract husband had been planning this all along. And strangely, I didn't mind at all.