Chapter 3

Morning came, and I was startled out of sleep. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that New Orleans was shrouded in fog and that only a few buildings could be made out through the window. I shivered a little when I felt a strong breath behind me. With the blanket barely covering me, I was completely naked. My thoughts was overtaken by the events of the previous night, yet everything was embarrassingly hazy. His remarks and my perplexity were all I could recall for a little period of time.

To see if he was sleeping, I turned around. I felt as though this was not my first time waking up at someone's hand because every circumstance seemed so familiar to me. I quickly put the white shirt on as I quickly slid to the floor, as if my sleeping husband was the only person who could see me in the street, naked in the daytime.

'Husband…' My finger's golden ring was scrolling while I sat on the bathroom floor. It was warm on the floor. It was also a gorgeous ring. His initials, RH, were engraved on it in a lovely italic typeface. Is that when I was his property? I had no idea. The fact that we were married scared me. I had no idea what I should do specifically, where I was supposed to be, how we were going to get along, or what family life would be like. I had no knowledge of how to maintain a home or be a good husband, for example. At that point, I found all the lessons we learned in school to be useless.

The bathroom lights turned on all of a sudden after that. As I watched my spouse enter, I stood up straight. My palms barely made contact with the chilly wall behind me. I was completely unaware that my husband's white shirt was almost covering my nude torso. I was keeping an eye on him while attempting to guess his next move. He was acting as if he owned the home, in turn. That was accurate, in fact. On occasion. So he appeared to go through the same morning rituals that he had done numerous times before: shaving, brushing, and washing. He unintentionally cast a glimpse at me in the mirror as he shaved his cheek with the dated-looking razor.

"What are you doing?" He continued his morning ritual and inquired with curiosity.

I mumbled back, "I want to take a shower."

For a moment, he stood still. "Then take a shower."

I gave him a quick nod before heading over to the shower. There was just one thin glass wall separating it from the other bathroom. After removing the garment, I hung it up on the hook. As soon as I pressed the first button, a water jet struck me in the stomach. The small flow of water finally gushed from the top as I trembled and stared in terror while pressing each more button. I breathed in gently, turned the switch to warm the water, but all that came out was quiet boiling water, and I leaped away. I had to fiddle with the temperature for a bit before I got it right. I tried to warm up by standing under the water with my hands crossed on my chest, but it was still not hot enough. Suddenly, I saw my husband approaching and halting in front of the toilet. His comfortable breathing and urine sound gave me the impression that he had already long since accomplished his goal.

His ass caught my attention as my eyes just barely made it down his back. "What am I doing?" I turned back and held the shower gel on the shelf out to my palm in a panicked thought. The moment I felt a warm, powerful body resting on my back and delicately gripping mine by my shoulder, I briefly stopped moving and tried to find out what was wrong with me. He was setting the water when all of a sudden, a tremendous stream of water poured down on both of us from above. As he reached for the gel and started to wash, I frightfully leaped ahead. I was staying very close to him. I experienced both the cool water and the warmth of his body. I was only a few feet away from him when I started to tremble. I would have remained there indefinitely if he hadn't changed the setting and controlled the water's flow upon my head. The hot water startled me, and I quickly turned to face my husband.

He warned me against washing in that manner and left me in the shower on my own. I took several deep breaths. I couldn't tell if the breath was one of relaxation or one of anxiety. Before eventually starting to wash, I spent a considerable amount of time submerged in warm water. I took a bit longer in the restroom after the shower to finish off my business before leaving.

"Have you finished already?" Buttoning his shirt, my spouse inquired.

I mumbled, "Yes," in response.

"From the wardrobe, you can pick out something to wear."

"Okay. I appreciate that," I gave a small nod while holding my towel in my hands, then I went to the wardrobe, opened it, and looked at the clothes that were supposed to be mine.

I was really thankful to my husband for not having any pretentious clothing, such as gowns or suits, and I found some flared jeans and sweatshirts. I felt most at ease in that look at the time. He left the room to take a phone call, and I quickly changed into my clothes. The moment I entered the kitchen as my intuition had instructed me to do, I saw my husband making coffee. I took a step forward.

"Can you make an omelet?" He also requested that he be allowed to hear the caller's conversation.

I nodded as I took an egg out of the carton, cut it in half with a fork, and placed it in the tiny metal container. In the same way, I treated the other three.

"Are you familiar with how to operate the mixer?" He questioned while removing his phone from his ear and gazing at me.

I muttered, "No," and he took the metal container, placing it there, closing it with the pinwheels, and demonstrating to me which button I needed to hit.

I followed his instructions and flinched as the pinwheels started buzzing and smashing the eggs. He placed the phone down, but I could still hear the incoming call. He handed it to me in a plastic container after removing it from the refrigerator.

Since I had a very important task to complete and needed to remember all the directions and buttons my husband had given me, I didn't pay much attention to what was being said over the phone. I'm not sure why, but I had the impression that he was taking pleasure in instructing and assisting me at that precise moment. I followed his instructions to the letter, and when he asked me whether I knew how to clean the mixer, I shook my head a little, feeling ashamed that I couldn't even prepare the most basic meal. He pointed me toward the pan after disassembling the mixer and running the filthy pieces through the dishwasher. He then picked up the phone and kept listening to the voice on the other end.

When the omelet was finished, I placed it on the plate that my husband so kindly set out on the table. I had been carefully watching the omelet and trying to make it as good as I could. He only took two bites before giving me the fork and asking me if I would like to eat some too. I took a bit and immediately stopped.

'Delicious!' I started to devour it slice by slice until my husband unexpectedly caught me with a full mouth and a nearly empty plate. He merely grinned a little while giving me a gentle smack on the cheek and nudging me toward the door while placing his hand on my back.

In fact, the entire time we were walking to the car, he had his hand on my lower back. Afterwards as well. As if he had no other surfaces to rest his hand on. However, it had a calming effect. When we left the apartment, I had my hands crossed across my chest. I didn't look around, content only to inspect the shining floor. His tone was soft and soothing. He led me to the elevator and then to the automobile in the garage. The driver had already arrived. In the car, we both sat down. Where were we going, I wondered. I felt unprepared for every circumstance.

New Orleans was busy in the morning. There were numerous cars on the road and numerous commuters. I was as silent as I could be, sitting close to the door. I listened to some financial topics that I didn't comprehend while the radio was discussing the news. Due to my poor math skills, I was unable to combine two ideas. I had a good feeling in my tummy after eating an omelet recently. I slowly turned to look at my husband, who was carefully reading something on the phone and frowning a little. He appeared to be really worried. 'Is he still hungry?' I thought.

I was about to ask him something when he suddenly turned to the driver and said, "In such traffic, how long does it take to reach to the office?"

The driver responded, "Roughly an hour."

My spouse almost muttered, "An hour," before he let himself fall a little on the seat and closed his eyes.

"A restless night?" As he spied him in the rearview mirror, the driver giggled.

I slouched down, attempting to hide my blush and intense embarrassment.

My husband crossed his hands over his chest and said, "Shut up," with a small smirk.

The fact that we ended up in the casino was unexpected. My father talked to us about his experience there and his wins. As we were passing gambling machines, I felt a little astonished and perplexed. There weren't many people in the hallway. A few idlers decided to stay here rather than go to work because they were late for the start of the workday. Although my husband's hand was still on my lower back, which caused me some confusion, it seemed that I had become accustomed to it.

The croupiers were packing and unpacking cards, balls, and other staff as we moved through the hallway with the various casino employees. Then we descended the stairs and moved through the gloomy, dark hallway that had a few gray, dusty lamps. As usual, my husband let me in first by pushing a little on my lower back as we came to a halt in front of the door. A few folks were gathered inside around the pool table. There was smoke from hookahs and joints. Two people were playing pool and four people were playing cards. One of them was puffing on the hookah while seated in the recliner.

Even though there were two women among them, I felt uneasy. My husband made the depraved decision to no longer be with me. Everyone stopped looking up at him when he approached and greeted them.

The woman with the cue hugged my husband and gave him two quick kisses on the cheeks before saying, "Mornin' Ranold."

He gently replied, "Morning Jane," and placed his hand on her back.

I turned my head away and started to rub my fingers while I observed the other guests here and scrolled the ring on my hand. They all appeared to be hazardous. I began to fear that I was entering a pretty bad situation.

"¡Hola, cariño!" He was welcomed and held close by the fat man with the beard.

My husband said, "Hola, hola."

"Wassup bro?" My husband was greeted with a "bro" hug by the other dark-skinned man, who also raised his voice.

He appeared to be well-known to everyone. When people welcomed him and inquired about his well-being, he always grinned. I felt uncomfortable. I was the only person to see them for the first time, but they all seemed to get along nicely. In addition, the basement's stifling air was quite uncomfortable. On top of that, no one ever paid any attention to me, as if I were just a shadow or something that stopped at the door after its owner left.

"So, is that him?" asked Jane as she sat on the edge of the pool table with the cue's blunt end on the ground.

My spouse said, "Yes," and I got shivers all over.

My knees started to tremble as I slowly turned to look up. They were all closely observing me even though I had no idea what would happen.

Jane remarked, as if she were labeling me, "He's still too green."

My husband abruptly retorted, "Be careful, Jane. You're referring to my husband." His tone then softened. "Olivier, look at me."

He referred to me by my name for the first time that day. For a brief while, I felt myself go immobile as my inner instinct forced me to obey. I then directly met his eyes. I kept hearing him say, "You need not be afraid," in the back of my mind. "You're my husband."

"The New Orleans Mafia is who we are. Hamilton is who we are. Everyone is all of us, and we are all one. You're all welcome, Olivier."