Novels by Gbemisola Matthew

Golden light flooded in like a river through the big windows in the kitchen. Standing at the counter, whipping up batter in a bowl. Firm and sure were my hands; elsewhere was my mind.I had hardly slept a wink the previous night, at the back of my mind was the mystery of Ethan's face, cold and yet fragile, so much lacking, my mind kept turning round it asking myself what the missing pieces could be.This afternoon, I did something different, something small but special. One of the times that I spoke to Ethan's mom, she talked about how much, as a young boy, Ethan enjoyed chocolate chip muffins. A small thing, perhaps, but maybe it would serve as a reminder that I paid attention, that I cared.I took the muffins out of the oven and placed them on a plate, releasing bouquets of the richest chocolate-stuffed aroma into the air. My heart seemed to pound at the notion that somehow, such a simple act could span the gulf so rapidly developing between us.I turned around and considered the pl

ETHAN'S POV The sound of my pen scratching across the paper was the only thing tethering me to reality as chaos swirled around the office. Numbers, reports, projections, they were safe, predictable. They didn’t ask questions or pry into the disaster that was my personal life. They didn’t care about the sham of a marriage I’d been forced into.Business didn't need my heart.The phone on my desk jingled, and I glanced over at the name scrolling on the face of the phone. My jaw was clenched. Of course it would be her.I let it ring.A minute later, my assistant's voice crackled over the intercom. "Mr. Blackwell, your mother is on line one. Shall I connect her?""No," I said curtly. "Tell her I'm in a meeting."I leaned back in my chair and exhaled deeply. I didn't hate my mother, deep down, I really love her, but her meddling finally went too far. Her arrangement for me to marry Lila was the ultimate betrayal.Lila.She roused in me a confused tempest.I did not want a wife. I did not w

Islands of golden light in the morning streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling out onto plush carpeting in the master bedroom. It was one of those odd, teasing moments when I could have been anywhere. There were hazy memories hovering just beyond recall, marriage vows, champagne toasts, and whispers about our "unlikely match" that seemed like fragments of a dream.And I rolled over to the other side of the bed, and the cold, intact sheets spoke in gory words. This wasn't a dream.I was Mrs. Ethan Blackwell.There was something in the heaviness of that realization. The husband to whom I had married, a stranger in so many ways had walked out after our strained showdown in the honeymoon suite last night and hadn't been back until very late last night. I'd heard the muffled sound of his footsteps down the hall, the firm click of his study door, and then nothing. He hadn't gone to bed.I looked out over the sea of empty space on either side of me and sighed in exasperation.

I stood in front of the two large oak doors as the delicate bouquet of white roses shook in my fingers. The carvings within the wood were so detailed they almost seemed intimidating. It truly was hard to believe that in a moment, I would walk through them into a life I was not so sure I was ready for.It wasn't very reminiscent of a wedding day, even to me. No overwhelming joy, no nervous anticipation of a beautiful beginning, just heavy, obliging weight squarely upon my chest. I looked down at the sleek satin gown my mother insisted on; the thought of its price still wrenched at my stomach. Beautiful indeed, but it felt more like an armor than something a bride would wear. "Lila," my mother whispered beside me, firm but pleading. "Stop fidgeting. You're marrying into the Blackwell family. Do you know what that means for us?"Of course, I knew, how could I not have? The Blackwells were untouchable, wealthy beyond my imagination, and my mother's closest friend, Margaret Blackwell, was