Never Say Goodbye

by Sakwa, Kim

  “I’ll be more careful next time,” she whispered under her breath, rolling her eyes again. God he missed talking to her like this. She was so quick, so much fun to be with. “So, when we got separated.”

  “You mean, when you let go.” He couldn’t help himself. And couldn’t believe he was able to tease her about something so serious. But here they were, together, working toward being together.

  “Are you for real right now?”

  He shook his head; he wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. He felt like a teenager who couldn’t control himself. His wife, his beautiful, famous, talented wife was right in front of him, in his house. He was a bit delirious. That’s what it was. They really had been deliriously happy. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  “Where were we? Callie said we were on a ledge, is that true?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” he said, sobering immediately at the memory. “We were in Abersoch.”

  “The cliffs?” she asked, and her eyes widened again. “We couldn’t have been that high up though,” she mused. “I mean, aside from my wrist, Callie and I are both okay.” She paused, and Alexander panicked for a moment. How to explain? But then, thank God, she continued, dismissing the point instead for, “Why didn’t you get us after?”

  He reached forward, resting his hands on the cushion on either side of her. “Remember when you,” he corrected himself quickly, “you used to tell me all about your favorite movies—rom-coms and action flicks, you called them.” He’d watched them all. “In Romancing the Stone, Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner fall down the side of a cliff, they race past trees, get swept away by what looks like a mudslide, and land in the water relatively unhurt and okay. And from the looks of it, they started out in a completely different area and ended somewhere else entirely.”

  “Duh, I remember the scene, Alex.”

  “Okay, what I’m trying say, and rather badly, is, bloody hell, please believe me, Amanda—where I lost you and Callie, and where you landed were two separate stratospheres.”

  “So—”

  “Let’s come to an understanding, okay?” He needed to keep the ground he’d gained of late. “Another truce if you will, since the last is going so well.”

  “Maybe,” she said, eager and bright-eyed. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Give it, me, more time. You’re going to remember, sweetheart, I know it, and once you do, everything will make sense. I swear.”

  “So help me remember, Alex. Please.”

  He grinned. This he could do. He stood up and extended his hand. “Come here, beautiful.”

  She blushed as she stood. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to dance with you, but first we’re going on a detour,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her back to the bar. “Hey, Siri, dim living room lights three, four, and five.”

  He topped off his glass and Amanda laughed. “Drink a lot?” she asked.

  “It’s not just for me,” he told her.

  “You got a mouse in your pocket?”

  He laughed. “Bloody hell, I missed you, Amanda.”

  He took her hand again and led her to the other side of the room, leaning her against the side of the grand piano. He took a long pull of scotch and smiled as she plucked it from his hand and took a sip. A large sip. “I told you, funny girl.”

  Amanda stared at Alex over the rim of the rocks glass. Her heart was beating so fast, it felt like her chest was going to explode, and she couldn’t stop smiling. Jeez, she wasn’t just smiling, she was grinning from ear to ear. There was something about being with him that tugged at her heart, body, and soul. God, she was in trouble here.

  They were in such a different place now compared to last week. She still couldn’t believe she’d snapped at him the way she had. She’d been so petulant, jeez, she’d called him a felon right to his face. His reaction was remarkable. Actually, something she couldn’t forget. Watching him gather his thoughts, then answer everything she’d thrown his way, evenly and determinedly. It didn’t escape her, either, that she’d given him a chance to scold her for the things that had been bothering him as well. And he’d taken it. She couldn’t blame him; she was the one who tried to push every button of his she could. Some of it was in reaction to that kiss they’d shared. Not just the kiss, the entire episode that surrounded that kiss. She’d almost screeched when he’d thrown his stuff aside and chased after her. And the way he’d grabbed her from behind and held her, forget the kiss, when she felt his breath on her neck and the slight scratch of his whiskers on her face, she’d almost dissolved into a hyperventilating fit right then.

  And tonight, when he’d left after dinner. Because like an idiot, she had asked him to, she could think of nothing else but him. She’d been so distracted putting Callie to bed, she hadn’t heard half of the things Callie had said, including the remark about letting go of the toothpaste so she could actually use it. Yep, it was then she knew she was coming over to see Alex. The anticipation from that point on had built until he’d opened the door and pulled her inside. And it was still building.

  He reached out now to trace the side of her face, and she leaned into his touch. “I thought we were going to dance, Montgomery.”

  “Oh, we are,” he told her, taking the glass back and putting it down on the piano. Then he led her to the space right in front of the windows.

  She watched as he fished his phone out of his pocket, fumbling with it and chuckling at the same time. It was a charming display. She’d never seen him so relaxed, carefree. Or if she had, she didn’t remember it. She touched his face to get his attention. “Did we dance together before, Alex?”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, looking down at her so seriously. “Each chance we had.”

  Wow. The things he did to her. He turned his head and kissed her palm, then pressed the screen of his phone again, and swore, “Bloody hell—hey, Siri, play ‘Amanda playlist.’”

  “You named a playlist after me?” she asked, unable to suppress her grin.

  “Yeah.”

  He took her hands and lifted them around his neck. Circled her waist and pulled her forward till she was so close she had to look up at him. Then he brushed his lips across her forehead and pulled her in just as Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up” started playing.

  He whispered the lyrics as he slowly moved them around their makeshift dancefloor. She burrowed her head in the crook of his neck, not able to believe how amazing it felt. Three songs later, she pulled away to ask, “Do you think I had one too?”

  “One what, Amanda?”

  “A playlist. For you.” He looked down, becoming otherwise occupied in putting her hair behind her ears.

  “I think you did. I just…I think when things became too much for you, you—”

  “You think I erased it?” she said, screwing up her face at the awful thought. God, had she been that heartbroken that she couldn’t even keep a playlist of songs? She’d dated before, even been in love, but a man had never affected her like that. What had she and Alex been like together? Amanda shook her head. “No way, Alex. Where’s my jacket?”

  He gave her an indulgent smile, and used that same head motion, minus the “move” part. She turned in the direction he’d nodded to see her jacket hanging over the banister. Amanda went over to it and reached into its pocket, pulling out her own phone. Sitting down on the step, too impatient to wait, she opened up her playlists, chancing a glance up at Alex before she dug in. He stood, leaning against the railing, watching as she scrolled through. Everything looked normal: Workout, Meditation, Callie’s Faves. And then she saw something that caught her eye and she paused, her finger over the screen. Amanda looked up at Alex. He raised a brow as she wet her lips, feeling breathless again. “I think I found it.”

  “You did?” His shock was real as he sat next to her. They leaned against each other while l
ooking at the screen. She was terrified and excited at the same time. She’d never even thought to look at her music library. Some music professional she was. Jeez, Amanda Abigail, you of all people should have known there would be a trail of this sort. He saw what she did. “Bloody hell, sweetheart,” he breathed, just as surprised as she was.

  Yep, because there it was, the playlist she’d named “The Spy Who Loved Me.” She looked at him then, and it felt like a valve released. She started to cry. She didn’t mean to, it just happened. It wasn’t an all-out bawl fest or anything, just a few tears shed in relief. And another piece of the puzzle clicking into place. A deeper layer too. This wasn’t an image or a flashback. It was a tangible feeling right here, right now. And for her, a bit of evidence that everything she’d felt for Alexander Montgomery since he’d brought her home from the hospital was real…was true.

  She wondered if it was just the title of the playlist or if that song was on it. “Hey,” Alex said, wiping beneath her eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?”

  “Did we dance to that song?” she asked before looking through the list herself.

  He smiled, cupping her face. “Did we dance to it?” he repeated. “Amanda, you sang that song to me almost every night we were together.”

  “Can we—”

  He nodded, and it felt like they were racing against time as he laced their hands together and took her back to living room. She was shaking when she started scrolling through her list, but then Alex shook his head, took her phone, and put it in his pocket. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I’ve got this. Hey, Siri, play our song.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he whispered, pulling her in flush against him as the keys sounded on the speakers, seconds before Carly Simon’s beautiful voice belted out the song. And when Alex moved her around their dance floor again, she could only imagine what this man had meant to her. That song was akin to her dream song, like her every girlhood fantasy come to life.

  “That song, Alex,” she told him as he continued to hold her as they swayed back and forth. “I never—”

  “Played it for anyone.”

  “It was—”

  “What you imagined singing to—”

  “The spy who loved—”

  He shook his head. “Loves.”

  “You’re really a spy.”

  “Was.”

  “Did I have secrets?”

  “Not from me. And we didn’t keep secrets from each other.”

  “You kept them safe?”

  “I tried, Amanda. Bloody hell, I tried.”

  “Start it over.”

  He did, then he pulled her in close again, cupped the back of her head, and pressed her face into his neck. They both shuddered as he rocked her back and forth for the umpteenth time that night. Then he’d walked her home, holding her hand the entire time. They didn’t talk about the kids, they didn’t talk about the past; it seemed they finally found that middle ground they had been searching for. And as it happened, it turned out to be one of the nicest evenings she could remember. Including the kiss he gave her on her front steps. She watched him walk back down the drive, where he turned and waved one last time. Then she may have skipped up the steps, feeling like a teenager and floating on air the rest of the night.

  “Welcome home, Admiral.”

  “Goodly,” Alexander acknowledged with a nod. He turned as his man reached for his overcoat, then raised a brow.

  Goodly smiled, a twinkle in his eye, which belied his dry remark. “As our mistress fondly says, sir…wait for it.”

  Alexander hadn’t heard that one yet, but could only imagine Amanda saying so, and not a second later peals of laughter came from the parlor. Alexander grinned. “Ah, Goodly, that’s a sound to come home to.”

  “Sir.” Goodly bowed his head in agreement as Alexander started down the hall.

  His home had changed so much in these last few months and this particular commission had taken him away longer than intended. When he stepped inside the parlor, he nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of Amanda and Callie. Bloody hell, she was dressed ridiculously. Though he supposed he should be getting used to that; they’d been corresponding by letter and she’d confessed quite charmingly that she’d ruined nearly half of his clothes, partial as they both were to soft breeches. A woman in breeches; he chuckled every time he thought of it. But that wasn’t what had startled him. No, it was Amanda sitting beside Callesandra on the piano bench with her face pressed to his daughter’s cheek. Her little hands were on top of Amanda’s as she intently watched the keys they pressed.

  He regarded them for a good minute, perhaps two before Amanda noticed him. When she did, she smiled, and when Callesandra looked up at her and asked, “Mama, why did you stop?” Amanda placed her hand on her cheek and said, “Your papa’s home, sweet baby girl.”

  If he’d stopped breathing just then, he would have died a happy man. It was the most gratifying homecoming he’d ever experienced, and he’d experienced many in the time they’d been together. Callesandra squealed when she saw him and came running. He scooped her up and hugged her tight.

  “Angel, what on earth are you doing in here?” he asked, even though he already knew. He just wanted to hear it from her.

  “Mama’s teaching me to play the piano, Admiral,” she told him as he walked with her back over to Amanda. He straddled the bench, Callesandra still on his hip, so happy to be home with them.

  Amanda reached out to touch his face. He rubbed his cheek into her hand, settled Callie in his lap, then dragged Amanda in close and kissed her. When Callie giggled, he pulled away and gave his daughter a little tickle before turning back to his wife.

  “Your hand?” he asked anxiously. She’d injured herself with Stephen’s dagger a few weeks ago, not realizing just how sharp it was. Thankfully Alexander had arrived home just as it happened. At the time, he’d never considered the possibility that he could hurt her terribly. His focus was on stitching her hand quickly and properly—first so she would not in fact die, and second so she could continue to play the piano. He did his best not to contemplate that a simple but clean wound such as it looked might be the death of her. God knows he’d heard of men dying over less. She could not die. Bloody hell, he would not let her.

  He’d never seen to a task more diligently in his life. He’d tried not to show the worry on his face, but in the back of his mind he’d never let go of the fear that her cut would show an infection. She held it up for his inspection now.

  “Stephen took out the stitches two weeks ago,” she told him. “Thank you. You did a remarkable job.”

  Alexander lifted her chin next, looking carefully at her neck. The bruises were completely gone now, not a hint of discoloration. Only one had been particularly stubborn, the last hanger on, as a small yellowish stain marred her skin. He was sorry they’d found Robert’s dead body shortly after they’d found Rebecca’s. He wouldn’t have minded killing the man himself.

  Callesandra wiggled in his lap, eager for attention. “You know what else Mama’s teaching me?” she asked.

  Alexander had heard about that, too, from his wife’s letters, but he gave Amanda a wink and played along. “No, angel, what else is your mama teaching you?”

  Callesandra jumped off his lap then ran to the side table that held a music box. She turned the crank several times and when the music started, she showed him various ballet poses and finished with a twirl.

  “Your mama seems to be newly possessed of the arts,” he said conversationally but there was a question for Amanda in there as well. They were learning so much about each other, yet here was another piece of her he’d not been aware of.

  “I spent three years in classical training before deciding it was the piano and songwriting I couldn’t live without.” Callesandra was still twirling all over the room. The music box played for close to
eight minutes when fully wound.

  “Where’s Beatrice and Janey?” Alexander asked.

  Callesandra bumped into his leg, dizzy from all the circles, and informed him, “We don’t really need their help, Papa.” Then for good measure she parroted what he’d heard Amanda say many times in her presence. “We’re quite capable of taking care of ourselfs.”

  He wasn’t sure what was more amusing, his daughter mimicking Amanda or her lisp. Then the gravity of what he’d heard set in.

  “You dismissed them?” Alexander asked, fearing she actually had.

  “Of course not,” his wife laughed. “They’re wonderful. And believe me, they’re never far. But—”

  Callie finished for her, “We are self supchishient.”

  Alexander grinned at his daughter’s words, or rather Amanda’s coming from her. He called after the women wondering if they really were close by. They nearly fell into the room, clearly having been waiting for just this moment, to be needed. He laughed aloud, grinning at Amanda. Bloody hell, his house had truly become a home. By now everyone adored his wife. He’d heard whispers from the servants about the change in their mistress’s behavior. They’d called it sorcery, too, whatever had taken the cruel, thoughtless traits from her. But they weren’t complaining. Amanda was considerate and warm, and there was no mistaking that.

  “I told you,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  He couldn’t help himself and kissed her again. “Janey,” he said, turning to Callesandra’s latest nanny. “Why don’t you tend to Callesandra’s bath.”

  “Mama gave me a bath,” Callesandra told him.

  “Did you have your supper yet?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “I had supper with Mama.”

  “Why don’t you have Janey read you a story, then?” he asked.

  “’Cause Mama reads me stories,” she told him, a little exasperated now that he didn’t seem to be catching on.

  Amanda laughed and finally took over. “Callie, go with Janey and Beatrice. I’ll come up soon.”