The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  "It's not what you think," I begin. Oh for heaven's sake, she thinks I married her because she was pregnant. She's never felt worthy of me, when quite the opposite, I couldn't be less worthy of her. "You conceived on our honeymoon, or shortly after... we were never quite sure of the exact date. Ryan was quite a surprise." You can say that again, King. If she never remembers the last three years, she must never know how badly I reacted. Dammit, I can't bear to entertain the idea... she has to remember. She has to.

  "Is he..." she trails off. I'm not sure she knows what she wants to ask.

  "What would you like to know, love?"

  She gasps a few breaths, still shocked. "Everything."

  I smile, exhaling sharply. Yes, of course she wants to know all about him, but where to begin? "We named him Theodore Raymond, after my grandfather and after your father. He was born May ninth, seven pounds, three ounces. And so beautiful. He was talking before his first birthday, walking shortly after. He's brilliant, and so intuitive. Loves to draw and to stargaze. I hope he'll inherit the company, but you insist he'll be a cartographer, and an explorer. He has such a sense of things, and of people... for instance, the night before last he sensed I was upset, and he comforted me." My face falls. "I don't want you to feel obligated in any way..."

  "Is he all right?" she interrupts. How does she just know?

  I blink a few times, and she looks increasingly anxious. "He's... not been himself. He misses you terribly." I swallow, guilt ridden by this admission.

  Krissy's eyes brim with tears. She speaks slowly, carefully. "Is... is he the reason you've not been around much?"

  I close my eyes briefly. "Yes." When I open them, her face is consumed with shame. Shit. This was the last thing I wanted to result from such a monumentally difficult conversation. "You have no grounds to feel guilty over this, love. Please, please don't feel that way," I beg her. My hand is still holding hers, and it occurs to me that her fingers are gripping mine quite tightly.

  "Krissy," Kate interjects, pulling a packet of tissues from her purse and dabbing Krissy's eyes. "We've all been taking turns with him. You don't have to worry, he's being so well cared for. He just spent the better part of two weeks with us, and he and Ava are the best of friends. Keeping him occupied until you're ready to see him isn't a problem at all."

  "No," Krissy cuts in. "I want to see him." She looks from Kate to me, and I feel the radiating resolve. "I want to."

  I gulp. "You're not ready."

  "I don't give a damn if I'm ready, I want to see him," she demands.

  "Krissy, you can't even hold him, which is exactly what he'll want if he sees you," I try to reason with her. "We should wait."

  She shakily pulls her hand from mine and lifts it, higher than I'd seen her do that morning. It's not long before she lowers it to the bed, but she's made her point. "That will have to be good enough." She looks positively determined to get her way. "If my son needs his mother, then that's exactly what he'll get. Now, tell me what I need to know."

  CHAPTER 8

  ~ EDWARD ~

  "She was very insistent, Mom. She wants to see him. Now."

  "Well I'm both surprised and not," my mother's voice reaches through the Blackberry. "How did her therapy session go?"

  "A bit off topic, but she says it was fine. She's sore, but her coordination has improved drastically more than I'd expected. Can you pick up Ryan and bring him?"

  "Sorry, darling, I'm tied up at the practice. Perhaps you should encourage her to wait until tomorrow morning; she'll have time to process, and I'm sure Ryan's going to be cranky by the time someone can get him over there. Now don't think I don't know what you're thinking; you want to give Krissy everything she wants, and that's very noble of you, it's part of what makes you such a wonderful husband. Spend the evening with her. She's cleared for a reasonable menu, so order in and talk. Ryan can wait one more day. They both can." My mother has to share the honor of being able to stun me silent with a deluge of words; she and my sister are famous for it. I've since learned to recover quickly.

  "Mom, you encouraged me to tell her, and I have. Now you want me to ask her to wait. Why do I still let you tell me what to do?" I assert, exasperated.

  "Something Italian, I think," she suggests, ignoring my exclamation. "The Italians are masters in the art of familial bonding." I can hear the smile in her voice. The women in my life are maddening.

  "Yes, Mother," I sigh and press the 'off' button. Honestly, my mother is a genius, and she knows it. Krissy and I had anything but a traditional courtship, and what limited information I've fed my mom about that time... she just gets it, gets me. I don't get how, but she does.

  "Sawyer."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Krissy wants lasagna from Vignetto's, all her favorite things, for two. And stop by The Creamery for her caramel gelato."

  "Anything else, sir?"

  "I suppose flowers would be a good idea as well," I say, more to myself than an instruction.

  "Ranunculus, sir?"

  "If you can find them, I'll give you a raise." I'm feeling generous today.

  He smiles. A rarity. "I'm on it, sir."

  "Taylor."

  "Sir?"

  "Track down Dr. Sluder, and begin making preparations. I'd like to get Krissy home as soon as I can get her cleared, the next day or so."

  "Right away, sir."

  I sigh, my thumb pressed against my bottom lip, tucking my psyche into its most efficient and comfortable zone of strategy and manipulation. Private nurse hired, check. Krissy's favorite meal on the way, check. Now, to go to war with my wife.

  ~oOo~

  "You're trying to keep him from me," Krissy blanches, her voice trembling. "Why would you tell me about my son and then keep him from me?"

  "Krissy, baby, please be reasonable," I plead with her. She's on a rant the likes of which I've rarely seen; this is on a whole new level. "I'll bring him to you myself, first thing in the morning. Baby, please don't cry."

  Kate took her leave, feeling the storm brewing while I was out in the hall. I don't blame her one bit, and I'm glad she's not here to see me beg... but Krissy deserves a friendly face. I try to make mine as friendly, or at least as contrite, as possible.

  Her tears are flowing now. In her left palm is the crushed tissue Kate handed her. She hasn't moved to wipe her face, and her nose has started to run. She's an absolute wreck. I retrieve a handkerchief from my back pocket, leaning in as unthreateningly as possible. "Hush now," I soothe. "I'd never dream of keeping you apart. I want you to see him, and he you, more than you know. But as upset as you are, can you see that it's a bad idea today? Don't you feel that may upset him? You don't want that, do you?"

  "No one told me." She's quiet, accusatory.

  "I'm telling you now, love. There really wasn't a right time, but I felt before now was too soon, and I begged everyone else's cooperation. The blame lies with me. Please, please don't be angry at anyone else."

  She sniffles, considering. She's so, so tired. I fear she may pass out before dinner arrives. "I'm sorry," her voice quivers.

  "No, baby, please don't be," I tell her. "You've been through so much, you're entitled to be more than a little upset. Frankly, I feel you've handled everything we've told you remarkably well."

  She sniffles again, her tears slowing.

  "That's it, baby." I brush her hair away from her face, tucking a few loose strands behind her ear. "I promise to bring him to you in the morning. You have my word."

  "I'm sorry..." she blubbers. "I'm such a loose cannon. I don't know what's wrong with me." This declaration brings on fresh tears, and I'm quick to mop them up. "I just... I want to see him. I'm not sure why... I feel like it's something I need. I don't know. I'm so confused... how can I feel such a need for someone I can't remember?"

  My heart is breaking as I continue to mop her tears. Should I... no, she'll recoil from me. But she needs comfort... oh, fuck it. She's so light, and to my great surprise she doesn't fight me, doesn't
even exclaim as I collect her into my arms, pulling her onto my lap. I will myself not to become aroused, as sudden contact after a prolonged absence often does to me, though the thought makes me sick. I don't have to try very hard. Her tears and weakened form are anesthetic to my libido.

  "Krissy, baby. thank you." I rock her gently, cradling her head against my neck. "Thank you for being honest with me. You have no idea what that means to me." She is limp against me, the occasional sniffle causing her body to spasm. It must be terribly uncomfortable. I press my lips into her hair. Hospital shampoo doesn't suit her. It wrenches my gut; she hardly smells like my Krissy. More proof that she isn't herself. But she is mine. I must look after her better. I simply cannot let her slip through my fingers. "Hush, baby," I soothe her, softly.

  She nuzzles into my neck; whether it's an automatic response to the closeness or she's just trying to be comfortable, I don't care. My eyes close in response, and I pull her closer. We sit this way for a while, long after her tears have stopped. Remarkably, she's still awake.

  "Better?" I whisper.

  She nods. It's subtle, but I feel it. I notice everything when it comes to the woman I love. My heart aches, because eventually, I'll have to release her.

  "Are you hungry?"

  She nods again. It makes me smile.

  "Good. I've ordered your favorite."

  "I thought yogurt was my favorite," she mumbles.

  A soft chuckle escapes my lips. "I suppose your favorites have changed in the past few years. I only know your current ones, though yogurt is rather long-standing. If you prefer, I can bring you pancakes and bacon tomorrow morning." I think back to the morning after our first night together at Escala, Krissy dancing around the kitchen wearing just my shirt, making pancakes for breakfast. If only she knew just how cherished the simple gift of her cooking makes me feel.

  "I'd like that," she tells me, with just a touch more confidence in her voice.

  "Then consider it done." I press my lips to her hair. We're silent for a few moments. "Do you need anything? Would you like to lie down?"

  She sighs, and it's a nervous exhalation, one I've learned to spot well. "Can we stay like this a while longer?"

  I gasp, and my eyes close at her request. "Yes, baby. Of course. As long as you want to. I'm here," I tell her. It's like it was in the beginning... she trusted me implicitly, even then... even when she knew exactly what kinds of things I'd wanted from her, expected of her. It's in these small moments, these subtle revelations that my Krissy tries to shine through. And shine she does.

  "I'm going to try to break you out of here in the next few days," I tell her, trying to fill the silence. Somehow, the long stretches of no talking are uncomfortable. "I'll make arrangements however you'd like. I'll move into one of the guest rooms. My mother has a list of private nurses she's recommend to help with your recovery. Anything you need, I'll make sure it happens. How does that sound?"

  Krissy tenses suddenly. "Um... okay." There's little conviction in her voice.

  I attempt to rein in the creeping panic. "What is it?"

  Her breathing has quickened slightly. "It's just... more to think about. I think my mind is full at the moment."

  "You would like to leave the hospital, wouldn't you?" There's more. I feel it, she's holding back.

  "Of course."

  I lean back just enough as to cup her face and look down at her, to study her expression, and I'm met with one of apprehension. Is she afraid? Of me?

  "Krissy, please tell me. Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it."

  "I um... I sort of saw myself going to stay with Dad for a while, he even asked." She looks ashamed. Ray never mentioned this offer to me. I'm her husband, for crying out loud. He should know better. I make a mental note to call him on the way home.

  "When were you going to mention this?" I try to keep my inflection sympathetic, but I suspect failure when she tightens again. Very reluctantly, I shift her gently out of my lap, back onto her bed and arrange her pillows. "I apologize; I didn't mean to sound that way. I assumed you'd come home to us... you belong with your family."

  "Dad is my family," she retorts.

  "That's not what I meant..." I run my hand through my hair. "We've missed you, Ryan and I. We love you." I suddenly regret this unintended manipulation; she has no way of reciprocating, and likely no desire to either, considering the way I've just behaved. I'm panicked to salvage this. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel obligated. I said you'll have everything you need, and if staying with Ray is just that, you'll have it. I promise."

  There's a timid knock at the door. Sawyer has returned, arms full.

  "Will you at least eat?" I beg.

  She nods.

  ~oOo~

  It's dark when Taylor pulls up the drive; I don't even bother having him drop me at the front door. The conversation with Ray didn't go well. He admitted to asking her home with him, and he was more gruff and protective than I've ever known him to be. In fact, he was downright grizzly in his refusal to even consider encouraging Krissy to come home, as though the suggestion were offensive, spouting recollections of a number of his comrades from his Army days and their post-traumatic memory loss stories. It suddenly occurs to me that what's happened to Krissy is affecting everyone more profoundly than I'd allowed myself to believe.

  Gail has beaten me to Ryan's bedtime story, so I watch, arms crossed, from his bedroom doorway. Gail would have been a fitting mother, she's so animated in her storytelling, trying to engage my son. Ryan, however, still isn't into it.

  I hope tomorrow's reunion will help him heal. I pray it isn't a disaster.

  Gail takes notice and waves me over. I kneel down next to him, brushing his baby curls back. "I love you, Ryan. I have a surprise for you tomorrow."

  Ryan's droopy, blue eyes widen for a few seconds, then blink into weariness. My poor baby boy. He's about given up. I restrain the flow of anguish that's begun to pool in my chest, kiss my son's forehead as he closes his eyes, and retreat to our bedroom.

  I can't bear this. I don't know where I got off thinking she might actually want to come home. My shoes and clothes make a trail behind me as my feet find the cold stonework of our bathroom floor. She doesn't want you, you fool. She doesn't know you. How could she ever want what she doesn't know?

  The subtle, eerie glow from the stained glass skylight is all I need to find the shower controls, and the jets flow icy cold. I cringe under them, but it's a fitting distraction from the hopeless, aching pain in my heart. My hands find my hair as hot wetness finds my cheeks, and I curl in on myself, bitterly thankful for the solitude. No one will ever see me this way, not ever again. No one but my Krissy. I forbid it.

  The mere, fleeting mention of her in my mind sets my body to stir, and the all-too-familiar need is there, making itself sadistically known. In more than three years, I've never had to do this. It's never been without her. My resistant hand finds its goal, and it's a matter of quick, simple release.

  The aftershock sickens me. What have I done? I drag myself off the stone floor, my mind settling into an uncomfortable flatline. Towels bring more comfort than I deserve. Her pillow... its fresh, clean scent, still smells of her.

  I have to give her what she wants. I will, even though it will surely end me.

  ~ KRISSY~

  "Good morning, Krissy."

  It's later than I intended to wake up is my first thought when the voice wakes me. Sunlight streams through the window. I wanted more time to prepare. My heart starts to thud the way it does when a loud noise wakes me, though the voice could be described as anything but loud.

  "Good morning, Dr. Grace." I rub my eyes, and then it dawns on me. Though my arm is still quite sore, it's obeying. I give my legs a test flex. Yes, also sore, but mildly responsive. Progress is good. Progress means I can get out of here. But to where, I still have yet to decide, and Edward didn't make that any easier with his concessive plea to take me 'home'. I don't even know where that particular ho
me is, but one thing is for sure... it isn't mine.

  "Still sore?"

  "A bit." Am I that transparent? I don't recall wincing... no, I actually tried rather hard to internalize the pain. Nothing gets past Dr. Grace, it seems.

  "I'll get you something to take the edge off," she smiles kindly.

  "No... I mean..." What do I mean? "No, thank you. I'm fine. I'd rather not take any more meds, if that's all right." And I need a clear head today. My... son... is coming to see me. I have a son. This is so surreal.

  Dr. Grace and her knowing smile are back. "I just meant some ibuprofen. Are you sure?"

  "Oh," I say. "I guess that's okay."

  She returns and hands me the tablets and a cup of water. My dexterity makes me proud, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

  "You're doing so much better, Krissy. It's so good to see." She holds up a stack of neatly folded clothes. "Would you like me to help you get cleaned up? Edward and Ryan will be here within the hour."

  This sets my pulse to racing again. Dr. Grace senses my panic and rubs my arm soothingly. "It's all right, dear. You won't be alone, I promise."

  Edward must have told her. I wonder if he included the part where I was an incoherent mess. How humiliating. And what she must think of me... I'm supposed to be mother to her grandchild. Some mother I am, panicking about our reunion. Well, to me it's a first meeting, but for him... Oh God. I'm not sure I can do this.

  Dr. Grace and one of the nurses put me into a warm bath. It's rather comforting. The scent of the shampoo, jasmine I think, is a balm to my frazzled nerves. My hair is dried, brushed and clipped back away from my face. The brief glimpse of my reflection in the en-suite bathroom wasn't exactly pleasant, but given the raw material, it could be worse.

  I've been dressed in soft lavender cotton lounge pants and a long-sleeved heather shirt, rather pajama-like without quite being pajamas. My comfort seems to be a recurring theme, here. I could care less what I'm wearing, but I'm glad for the bathtime pampering. Dr. Grace helps to put my bracelet back on... where it came from in the first place is beyond me. I was finally able to get a good look at the charms yesterday after Edward left, and now I have more questions than before... the first being, What do they mean?