The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  "I have a feeling Edward won't like that."

  "He rarely does. But the fact that you've surmised this speaks volumes; he's more familiar to you than you're willing to admit."

  "Why does he make me so mad?"

  "Because the two of you are very passionate about one another." He pauses, shifting in the chair. "Let me ask you this. What do you hope to get out of talking with me, should you wish to continue after today?"

  "I want my life back," I say immediately.

  "In what way?"

  I'm not sure how he senses how torn I am, but maybe he's not the quack I pegged him to be. "I guess... well part of me wants to go back to college and forget all this craziness, call the last three years a loss. But I have a feeling that would disappoint a lot of people. This life, it really isn't mine. I don't feel like I belong in it."

  "So, you're more worried about what everyone thinks of you."

  "I guess I didn't word that very nicely."

  "Regardless, it's how you feel, and under the circumstances, it's understandable. If I may attempt to summarize, you're feeling pressured into a life that you percieve isn't yours, and it would be easier to take the more familiar path. Does that sound right?"

  "Just about."

  "Well, that's a good place to begin."

  "So, let's begin."

  "All right, then." Flynn pulls his feet up into the chair and sits cross-legged. It's childlike and unexpectedly reassuring. "Can you tell me about the last events you remember before waking up here?"

  "Why would they matter?"

  "Sometimes the connection between similar events can cause the mind to function in unexpected ways, and it could explain why your mind chose to blackout that time period. I can't say for certain why your mind chose to block out the time frame that it did, but it's like that particular file drawer was turned upside down and dropped through a shredder. It's all still there, just in mismatched pieces."

  "Well, what about Edward? Supposedly I met him right after the last thing I remember, so could he be it?"

  "Possibly. You took your midterms in March?"

  "Yes."

  "But you didn't meet Edward until May."

  "I... oh."

  Flynn smiles kindly. "Sorry, we're all trying to play catch-up. You don't know what happened since, we're fuzzy on what happened before. Let's try to meet in the middle, hmm?"

  I swallow. So this might not have to do with Edward. But I'm still so mad, I want to blame him for something.

  "Something you want to voice?"

  How does he know? "I'm just mad."

  "At who or what?"

  "Everything." Edward. "Everyone." Edward. "I don't know. I just want to be mad." And I hate that you're trying to make me admit it.

  "Is it confusing?"

  "What?"

  "The inner monologue."

  My jaw drops. "I hate that you might know what you're doing."

  "Sometimes I do. It's a matter of reading body language."

  "But I can hardly move my body, what's there to see?" I challenge.

  "Your face is quite expressive," he points out. "Krissy, I'm not here to pressure you. If you're not comfortable saying it out loud yet, you don't have to. I'm here to help you get to the roots, and you can decide whether to dig them up, if you'll forgive the gardening pun."

  "I'm mad at Edward."

  Flynn raises his eyebrows. "Now we're getting somewhere."

  ~ EDWARD ~

  "Well?"

  "I can't talk about it, Edward. You know that."

  "Please, John. She's so angry. I hate it."

  "Yes, she is, and understandably so. I can't say more without breaching confidentiality."

  "What can I do?"

  "Just be there as much as you can, and as be sensitive as you can. Her father told her you'd stayed the entire time she was asleep, and now that she's awake, you haven't been around much."

  "You didn't tell her why, I hope."

  "Not my place to, Edward. You know that."

  I sigh. "Thank you, John. Thursday?"

  "I'll be here."

  ~oOo~

  Carla and my mother are sitting with Krissy when I return to her room.

  "Goodbye, sweetheart. I'll call every day, and you let me know what you need from me, all right?"

  "Go, Mom. You'll miss your flight." Oh no, she's upset. And why is Carla leaving? I suddenly feel horrible again. I've barely spoken to Carla or Ray since... since it happened.

  "You're leaving?" I practically accost her in the hallway.

  Carla nods. "I don't want to, but I've used all the time off I had saved up. Krissy actually insisted. She wants things as normal as they can be, and that means I should go home. Besides, I've neglected Bob long enough," she jokes.

  "Carla, I'm appalled at my behavior over the last month. I hope I didn't play a part in your decision."

  "Not at all, Edward. You've been through the wringer yourself. Have faith, she'll find herself again." She pats my cheek, then draws me in for a sincere hug. "Take care of our girl, all right? My love to Ryan."

  "Always."

  The look on my mother's face when I approach the doorway again is positively conspiratorial.

  "Do I smell plotting?" I joke, attempting to lighten the mood.

  "Us? Never," she jokes back.

  Krissy just watches me warily. If she wants me to walk on eggshells, then I'm prepared to be a Olympic-class eggshell-walker.

  "Krissy, I know I mentioned it earlier, but is it still okay if I introduce you to the physical therapist I was telling you about? He's free in about twenty minutes, and it's an excuse to break you out of jail for a bit."

  Krissy furrows her eyebrows. I can tell the thought of escape is tempting, but that she's considering declining just to spite me. "Sure. Why not."

  ~oOo~

  Neil Rhames is ruggedly athletic, but with a mild manner and a gentleness I would never have detected had I not took the time before meeting him to covertly watch him with one of his younger patients. Still, it's going to take a miracle for me to fully trust him with my wife.

  "It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs. King. Your husband speaks the world of you." He doesn't move to shake her hand, fully aware she can barely lift it.

  Krissy blushes. "Please, it's Krissy. Edward tells me you're one of the best."

  He laughs. "I just love what I do. And if I'm any good at it, that's just a bonus. Why don't we do an evaluation, see where you are in your recovery?"

  I watch them from the bench in the corner. Rhames has Krissy manipulate a few objects and then push against him with her good hand and both feet. He's very encouraging and remarkably appropriate. He tests her joint reflexes and reactivity before he unexpectedly calls me over.

  "Mr. King, if you would, help your wife onto the table."

  I'm all too happy to oblige; Krissy reluctantly allowed me to lift her from her bed and into the wheelchair earlier, but she didn't exactly radiate warm fuzzies over the experience and doesn't seem any happier at Rhames' request now. However, she doesn't resist. Thankful that there is no longer the IV to contend with, I gently lift her too-light frame, careful that I don't jostle her casted, sling-bound arm, relishing the fleeting contact, and place her on the padded recliner table.

  Krissy blows out the breath she was holding.

  "Comfortable, Krissy?" Rhames asks.

  "Not uncomfortable," she replies.

  Rhames chuckles. "At least you're honest." He turns to me. "Mr. King, I'm going to show you a massage technique I'd like you to use after her sessions. What we're going for here is total muscle stimulation, and the usage she regains is going to come with quite a bit of soreness. These techniques will provide her a world of relief."

  What? Oh this is such a bad idea.

  "Don't be afraid, Mr. King, it's really quite simple."

  Did I look afraid? Shit. I can't... no, won't... can't allow my body to become reactive. It's far too inappropriate. My eyes flash to Krissy's. She looks r
ather calm, I expected her to be alarmed at the prospect. Shit. I was hoping another angry glare would set my loins to rest. Instead I'm going to have to rely on sheer will. I swallow. "All right?"

  She nods, reluctantly.

  Rhames dictates a pattern of squeezing and pulling her arm and legs, and then helps Krissy sit forward while I run my hands over her back and shoulders. "You're not new to this, are you Mr. King?"

  "I've taken a class or two," I deflect. From a certain Mrs. Robinson. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. I shrug off the passing thought before it can do any more damage.

  "Well you certainly have the hang of it," he compliments. "Krissy, would you like to set up a schedule? I can see you every afternoon if you'd like."

  Krissy looks to me, possibly for approval, and I nod. "That would be fine, thank you."

  ~oOo~

  "How was that?" I ask her, seriously.

  "Tolerable."

  I nod. I'm going to get one-word answers today. It's nearing three o'clock, and I should be heading home to our son in a while, but I feel compelled to take John's advice.

  Instead of steering toward the elevator, I turn and head down the corridor.

  "Where are we going?" she chirps.

  "It's a surprise." The corner of my mouth turns up in a smirk. I almost wish she could see it.

  I swing her chair around and pull her backward down the ramp. I'm only moderately aware that Taylor and Sawyer are lurking nearby. Ryan is in the doorway, trying to placate one of the nurses who must not have received the memo earlier, the one that says 'Mr. King is a major benefactor of this hospital and may take his wife wherever he damn well pleases.'

  "Maybe we should go back," Krissy sounds nervous.

  "Nonsense. It's a beautiful afternoon, and you haven't been outside in a while," I deflect. I push her through the grassy courtyard and over to a shade tree. Turning her chair so she faces the tree, I plop down in front of her, my back to the trunk.

  "Is there a point to this?"

  I sigh. "I want to spend time with you. I've been neglecting you since you woke up, and I want to make it right." I pull her right foot from the metal rest and drag her sock off, commanding my fingers to push and pull against her heel and arch. "And... I'd like to know why you've been so angry with me. The real reason."

  She hesitates. "You really don't have to do that..."

  "I do, actually. It elates me to look after you. I should know your needs before you have them."

  "That's an impossible goal," she scoffs.

  "Is it? I feel you relaxing already." She can't argue with that.

  "That's because you're a master manipulator, Mr. King."

  "And you're very beautiful when you're irate, Mrs. King." I smile fondly.

  She sighs, hard. I can see the gears turning. My smile widens.

  "What?"

  "Your wheels are spinning, Kristina."

  "Only because I can't be mad at you for what I was mad at you for earlier, so I'm trying to think of something else."

  I barely contain my laughter.

  Krissy's eyes suddenly dart around. "There are suits watching us."

  I look over my shoulder. "Security detail," I tell her, re-socking her right foot and moving onto the other. "Nothing to worry about."

  "Why are they watching us?"

  I smirk, concentrating on her left foot now. "Because I pay them to."

  "What, they're yours?"

  "Ours."

  "But why?"

  "Because, I need you safe," I say, as though it's the simplest concept in the world.

  "What are we in danger from?"

  "Anything and everything. In my line of work, one can never be too careful."

  "But you're just a businessman," she points out.

  "Oh, just?" I tease. "Krissy, we're very wealthy, you and I. And recognized throughout the community. We have to be careful. There are quite a few unreasonable people out there."

  She looks a bit taken-aback by this revelation. I realize I haven't actually mentioned the nature of our wealth to her before... it's difficult to comprehend that she knows nothing of us but what others tell her. She frowns. "You make it sound like there's been danger before."

  "There have been... incidents, yes. Nothing for you to worry about."

  "My accident?"

  "Not one of those incidents." I swallow, not knowing what else to say.

  "Then what kind of... incidents?"

  I draw a deep breath. I was hoping we wouldn't go here. I can't outright lie to her; she'll hate me later. "Threats, and attempts to make good on threats have been made in the past. Usually pertaining to economic or environmental interests. A few personal as well. I try to stay out of politics wherever possible."

  "Why? Politics might suit you."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Might I remind you of your powers of manipulation? Exhibit A, my right foot. Exhibit B, my left."

  I laugh. "Good point, well made as ever, Mrs. King. I shall endeavor to manipulate you every chance I get."

  "Threat or promise?"

  Did she just? Why yes, she did. My insides stir. I lower my voice seductively. "Both, my lovely wife."

  She's suddenly quiet. I inwardly thrust my fist in the air, victorious. I've stumped her. A half-second later, I feel extremely guilty. She looks a tad ashamed of her move in our game. She has enough to mull over, you shit. Change the subject.

  "So have you decided?" I ask.

  "Decided?"

  "What you're mad at me about now."

  "Not yet. I'll let you know."

  "You do that."

  Oh, I love my wife, even when she's out of her mind. We're such teenagers sometimes.

  ~oOo~

  "Evening, Gail," I drop my suit jacket over the back of the couch and loosen my tie. "Where's Ryan?"

  "In his room, Mr. King. He isn't feeling very well today. I've been checking him every ten minutes and I have him on the video monitor in the kitchen."

  "Is he sick?" I panic, taking the stairs two at a time and dash toward his bedroom.

  "Your mother doesn't think so," Gail calls behind me. "He's just not himself today. She said to bring him in tomorrow if he doesn't work this off by morning."

  Ryan is absolutely pitiful. He's curled up in the center of his bed, in different pajamas than he had on this morning, fisting Mr. Leo in one hand and sucking the opposite thumb. My hands are gently upon him in an instant.

  "Hey, baby boy," I croon to him. "Daddy's here." His forehead isn't particularly warm and he's a good color, but Gail is right, he isn't himself. "Has he eaten?"

  "Waffles and macaroni again," Gail tells me.

  "Not exactly balanced but he's eaten worse." I pull Ryan into my lap and rock him. He doesn't feel weak, just off. I pat my pockets, then inwardly chastise myself for leaving my Blackberry in the car. "Would you get my mother on the phone, please," I request.

  "Sure. Back in a sec." Gail scurries off, returning a moment later with the cordless. "Here he is," she speaks into the receiver, then hands it to me.

  "Mom, Ryan's not well."

  "I told Gail to bring him in tomorrow if he isn't better by morning, Edward. It sounds like he's just in a funk. He misses Krissy. Coming home may have stressed him out."

  "You didn't tell me," I accuse her softly, as not to upset the balled up two-year-old in my lap.

  "Perhaps I should have, and I apologize. I think he just needs some TLC. If you're really worried, I can stop by after my shift."

  "I'd appreciate it. Thanks, Mom." I press the 'end' button.

  "I hope I did the right thing," Gail worries.

  "You did fine," I say, offering her a half-smile. "You know I worry."

  She nods. "Dinner is ready whenever you are."

  "Only if you'll share. I have your husband on some errands this evening; you shouldn't have to eat alone," I insist.

  ~oOo~

  Ryan stuffs his mouth with bite-size squares of tenderloin and peas that
he's mashed under his fists. I start to believe that my mother is correct from the expression on his face; he's sulking. It's a relief to know that his mood doesn't affect his appetite.

  Mom arrives as Gail is clearing the table and checks Ryan over. She can't find anything obviously wrong with him.

  "I don't know what to tell you, Edward. He's a healthy little boy, he just wants... well, you know."

  "It's not possible right now." I hand Ryan over to Gail and she takes him out the rear sliding door. I know they're going stargazing on the deck; it's one of Ryan's favorite things. I hope it'll cheer him up.

  "When are you going to tell her?"

  "I don't know."

  "She needs to know, Edward. She's handling things remarkably well thus far. She'll be even more angry and upset and hurt and God knows what else if you wait much longer. She needs to know she has a child."

  "You think I don't know that?" my voice goes up an octave. "It's only been two days. She's only had that long to begin to absorb the time she's lost, and it's so different from the life she had then. And she's been so wary of me, I don't want to push her away or make her feel obligated to this life. Ryan is just a baby. He's my responsibility. I can't let him be hurt if she's cold toward him. If she never remembers, she may hate me, but worse, she may resent him. I can't allow that."

  "You always fear the worst, darling," my mother places her hands on my arms. "Try not to be afraid. Trust Krissy. You know how strong, capable and understanding she is."

  "You know what? I am afraid," I feel myself falling apart. What composure I've held since I woke this morning is crumbling. My bottom lip quivers. Shit. "My family is falling apart."

  "Oh Edward, no." My mother pulls me into her arms. They aren't the arms I want, the ones I need, but they're familiar and moreover, she needs to hold me. "Tell her tomorrow," she whispers. "Just do it. I'll be with you. I can call Ray to come too, if you want that. Please, just tell her. And she's going to be upset. But she'll get over it, and then she'll want to see him, I just know it. And imagine what that could do for her recovery."

  I gulp, sniffling. I feel like a goddamned infant, crying to his mommy. But as usual, she's right. She sees the good in everything, the most likely path, where all I see is darkness and despair. I hold her tightly against me for a moment and then release her, letting her brush the tears from my cheeks.