Mrs Reina De La Cruz
1516 Words
Reina’s POV
The next morning felt different.
I was in the kitchen, wearing one of Sebastian’s oversized white shirts over a pair of soft shorts. My hair was loosely tied back, and I was trying to focus on flipping pancakes without burning them.
Being married still felt strange.
The house was too big.
Too silent.
And yet… I liked the calm.
I didn’t hear him walk in.
I only felt it.
A sudden, firm slap against my ass.
I gasped and spun around.
“Sebastian!”
He stood there, completely unbothered, hands in his pockets, looking far too satisfied.
“What was that for?!” I demanded.
He shrugged casually. “Sorry. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”
My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“With my fictional wife,” he corrected smoothly. “Now she’s not fictional anymore.”
I grabbed a wooden spoon and pointed it at him. “Watch it. Remember this marriage is about power.”
He stepped closer.
“Is that why you’re wearing my shirt?” he asked quietly.
I looked down.
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
“It was the closest thing in the closet,” I muttered.
“Mhm.”
He leaned against the counter, watching me like I was far more interesting than breakfast.
“You’re falling for me,” he said suddenly.
I scoffed. “In your dreams.”
“You’re cooking.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not!”
He smirked.
“You’re territorial too.”
“Sebastian!”
He laughed — low, amused — and for a moment, the kitchen didn’t feel like a battlefield.
It felt like… something else.
---
Later That Evening
“I’m taking you out,” he announced casually while scrolling through his phone.
“I’m cooking,” I replied firmly.
“You cooked this morning.”
“So?”
“So tonight, you’re my wife in public.”
I crossed my arms. “You can go alone.”
He looked at me.
Really looked at me.
“Fine,” he said calmly. “I’ll leave you here.”
And for some reason…
The idea of him going out alone irritated me.
“Wait,” I said quickly.
He raised a brow.
“I’ll come.”
His lips curved slightly.
“I knew you would.”
---
Dinner Scene
The restaurant was elegant. Candlelight. Soft music. A perfect atmosphere for romance, Which I refused to acknowledge.
Sebastian reached for my hand across the table.
I pulled it back immediately.
“We’re in public,” I whispered sharply.
“Exactly.”
“I’m not playing along.”
He leaned back, studying me.
Then—
A woman approached our table.
Tall. Elegant. Confident.
“Sebastian? It’s been a while,” she said warmly.
His expression changed instantly.
Charming.
“Oh. Camila,” he replied smoothly. “You look… stunning.”
My grip on my fork tightened.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries.
He even stood up slightly to greet her properly.
I stared at the candle.
Unbothered.
Completely unbothered.
Except my heart was beating harder than necessary.
Camila’s eyes shifted to me briefly.
“And you are?”
Before Sebastian could answer—
I stood up.
Slid my hand firmly into his.
Interlocked our fingers.
“My wife,” Sebastian said calmly, but I noticed the slight smirk he tried to hide.
I lifted my left hand slowly, making sure the ring caught the light.
“Reina De La Cruz,” I said sweetly.
Camila’s smile faltered just slightly.
“Oh… how lovely.”
“Yes,” I replied softly, squeezing Sebastian’s hand tighter. “Very lovely.”
She excused herself shortly after.
When she was gone, I realized I was still holding his hand.
He looked down at our fingers intertwined.
Then at me.
“I thought you didn’t want to hold my hand in public,” he murmured.
I released him immediately.
“I don’t.”
He leaned closer.
“You were jealous.”
“I was not.”
“You practically claimed me.”
I rolled my eyes. “You were flirting.”
“I was testing.”
“Testing what?”
“How much you care.”
Silence.
The candle flickered between us.
“And?” I asked quietly.
He leaned in just slightly.
“You passed.”
My heart betrayed me again.
I looked away.
He reached for my hand once more.
This time—
I didn’t pull away.
Dinner had already left me unsettled.
Sebastian, complimenting that woman — Camila — replayed in my head even after she walked away. So when he suggested we play a small game over wine, I agreed without thinking.
It was simple. Whoever lost a round would drink.
I lost.
Again.
And again.
He watched me with that infuriating calm expression while I insisted I wasn’t tipsy.
“I am perfectly fine,” I declared, though my words felt softer than usual.
“You’re losing terribly,” he replied smoothly.
“I am not!”
Another round.
Another drink.
The restaurant lights seemed warmer. His voice sounded deeper. His smile was more distracting.
When I stood up, the floor betrayed me.
Strong arms caught me before I could fall.
“I’m fine,” I murmured against his chest.
“You’re not,” he said quietly.
And this time, I didn’t argue.
He carried me out.
---
Sebastian’s POV
She was glowing.
Her cheeks flushed. Her lips slightly parted. Her pride was loosened by alcohol but not gone.
When she nearly fell, instinct took over. I lifted her without hesitation. She didn’t resist. Instead, she rested against me, her fingers tracing slow circles against my collar.
“You’re very warm,” she whispered.
“You’re very drunk.”
“Mhm.”
The drive home was torture. Her hand never left me.
When we reached the mansion, I carried her upstairs and tried to lay her gently on the bed.
She refused to let go.
“Stay,” she murmured.
“Reina…”
But she pulled me down instead.
Her lips met mine.
Soft at first.
Then deeper.
Her fingers slid into my hair, tightening. She kissed me like she had been holding it for days. Weeks.
Her mouth moved against mine with surprising confidence, her body pressing closer. When her lips drifted to my jaw, then lower, my control thinned dangerously.
She brushed her lips against my ear and whispered my name in a tone I had never heard from her before.
Slow.
Breathless.
Unfiltered.
My hands settled at her waist, gripping gently but firmly.
For a moment — I almost forgot everything else.
Then reality returned.
She was drunk.
And I would not let her wake up regretting something we couldn’t undo.
I pulled back slowly.
Her brows furrowed. “Why did you stop?”
“Because,” I said quietly, brushing her hair from her face, “I want you to be aware of when you choose me.”
Her eyes searched mine, vulnerable. “You don’t want me?”
“I want you,” I admitted. “But not like this.”
Within minutes, exhaustion claimed her. She fell asleep against me.
I changed her into her nightwear carefully, making sure she was comfortable.
And then I lay beside her.
Close.
But not touching.
---
Reina’s POV — The Next Morning
My head hurts.
My memory hurts more.
I sat up abruptly, realizing I was properly dressed in my nightwear and tucked under the sheets.
Flashbacks hit me.
Wine.
Kissing.
His hands.
Oh no.
The door opened. Sebastian walked in holding coffee, looking entirely too composed.
“Good morning, wife.”
I stared at him. “Did we…?”
He raised a brow. “Did we what?”
“Sebastian.”
He took a slow sip. “You were very enthusiastic.”
My heart dropped. “What does that mean?”
“You kissed me,” he said calmly. “For a very long time.”
Heat flooded my face. “Did we have s*x?”
He allowed the silence to stretch.
Watching me panic.
Then a small smirk curved his lips.
“You’re adorable when you’re nervous.”
“Sebastian!”
He stepped closer, amusement fading into sincerity.
“No. We didn’t.”
Relief crashed over me so quickly I almost fell back onto the pillows.
“I told you before,” he continued softly, “I would never touch you without your consent.”
I searched his face. He wasn’t teasing now.
“But,” he added quietly, leaning slightly closer, “we did kiss for what felt like eternity.”
My breath hitched.
“You were very persuasive.”
I buried my face in the pillow.
“I can’t believe I did that.”
“You wanted me,” he said gently.
I peeked at him.
“And I wanted you,” he admitted.
Silence filled the room.
Not awkward.
Not angry.
Just heavy with anticipation.
And for the first time since this marriage began…
I wasn’t sure I was fighting him anymore.
---
- Writer
