Spring Into Love

by Chantel Rhondeau

  It was easier to do what he knew, instinctively, was right.

  Let her go.

  His hopes of recovery were slim at best. He could not saddle Maggie with a cripple.

  Let her go.

  Her career was on the brink of breaking out into something greater. He could not get in her way. He could not hold her back.

  Let her go.

  “Take it away,” Drew said.

  “What?”

  “The ring. Take it away. I don’t want Maggie to see it.”

  “You’re going to give it to her, aren’t you?”

  “No.” In that instant, something broke in him. Drew had to shut his eyes and grit his teeth to keep the stab of anguish from doubling him over in pain.

  Greg was silent for a moment. “You’ll never find anyone else like her.”

  Drew shook his head. “It’ll take me months…maybe years…to learn to walk again.”

  Greg stared at him. “I’m surprised you’re handling this so well.”

  “I lived with a bum knee for ten years. It’s worse, but not different.”

  “It shouldn’t make any difference to Maggie, then.”

  “She’s going to Milan.”

  Greg’s eyebrows shot up. “Again?”

  “She got a contract to design and model for one of the fashion houses there. It’s huge for her career.”

  “And you were going to follow her to Milan,” Greg said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “I was, but I can’t. Not anymore. Not like this.”

  “If you asked her, she’d stay for you.”

  “And that’s why I can’t. Her career matters to her.”

  “I’d say, so do you. There are physical therapists in Milan, you know.”

  “If—” Drew caught himself. “When I’m better, I’ll go to her.”

  “You just said it could be months or years.” Greg shook his head. “You are bat-shit crazy, you know that? You’ll let the most amazing woman you’ll ever meet walk out of your life, and you’re not going to fight for her?”

  Drew looked up and met his brother’s eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll be better, and unless I am, I can’t ask Maggie for more than friendship. It’s not just my legs, Greg. It’s everything from my waist down.” The crack in his heart widened and deepened; the fragments left him bleeding. His voice trembled. He could not say more.

  Greg stared at Drew, his face paling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—damn it, man. I’m so sorry.” He yanked his fingers through his hair. “Does she know?”

  Drew nodded. “Two months,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper. “I had her for two months, but the dream is over and our time together is done.”

  Chapter 16

  A week later, Maggie followed along behind Drew as he steered the wheelchair into his bedroom at his parents’ Westchester home. She steadied the chair as Drew lifted himself from the wheelchair and onto the bed. She tried to smile through the nausea swirling in the pit of her stomach. “Do you want me to help you arrange the pillows?”

  Drew shook his head. He did not meet her eyes.

  The panic that clutched at her stomach almost sent her running to the toilet to throw up. The awareness that Drew was emotionally and physically backing away was like a throbbing, open wound. Worse was the knowledge that nothing she said or nothing she did seemed to make any difference.

  He leaned down to lift his legs onto the bed—a pitiful movement that emphasized his crippled state—and then leaned back against his pillows. He turned his face away from her to stare out of the window.

  She had never felt less welcome. “Drew, can we talk?” she asked.

  “What about?”

  “Us.”

  Drew expelled his breath in a soft sigh. “Ten years later, we’re back where we started. I’m stuck in this bed, and you have a plane ticket to Milan. Go to Milan, Maggie. You know you owe it to yourself, your career—”

  “But what about you?”

  “We’re friends; that doesn’t change. I’ll still manage your money. If you come back to visit, we’ll talk about your budget over roast pork buns.”

  Maggie stared at Drew. He was smiling at her. That bastard was smiling while breaking her heart.

  Then she looked into his eyes and realized that he was in as much pain as she was.

  “What will you do?” she asked.

  “Go to physical therapy. Focus on getting better.”

  “And when you are, is there a future for us?”

  He looked away. “I can’t ask you to wait.”

  “No? Is that your answer? Do you want a clean break? Does that mean you won’t even stay in touch with me when I’m in Milan?”

  He said nothing.

  Damn him. Maggie did not know whether to scream or cry. Neither would move him, the stubborn fool. Everything he did shrieked of his love for her, but he had never spoken the words.

  She raised her gaze from his face to the window on the other side of his bed. The view outside his window opened onto snow-covered fields and icicles dangling from bare tree branches.

  The feeling of déjà vu made her recoil.

  She blinked hard and forced herself to see not just the background, but also the window that framed it.

  Months ago, on their first real date, Drew had given her a photograph of a lovely winter background on the far side of a wood-paneled windowpane framed on either side by dark blue curtains.

  It was a photograph of his window. The words on the photograph, inscribed in silver, had read, “I lost the view when I found you.”

  In his deliberately obscure way, Drew had said, “I love you.”

  A faint smile curved her lips. Her path forward was finally, perfectly clear. “Goodbye, Drew,” she said, her voice steady. She spun around, her skirt swishing about her legs, and walked to the door.

  “Maggie.”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  Drew looked alone, and in that moment, vulnerable. “I want you to be happy.” His farewell was as much an apology as it was a profession of love.

  Maggie arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I will be.”

  Chapter 17

  Drew unlocked the door and maneuvered himself and his wheelchair into his apartment. The muscles in his back, sore from that day’s physical therapy session, protested as he reached up to flick on the light switch.

  Alone, at home, with no need to pretend that he was stronger, more capable, or happier than others imagined him to be, he sighed, his shoulders sagging from weariness.

  After his accident, he spent a month and a half in his parents’ home before the doctors judged him competent enough with a wheelchair to return to his solitary life in the city. Another two months had passed since, each day blending into the next. He spent hours in physical therapy and the rest of his time working on his clients’ investments, including Maggie’s. Each night, he collapsed into bed, physically and mentally exhausted. Fatigue, however, bought him no relief from the dull heartache embedded in his chest. He had too many memories of Maggie to escape unscathed.

  His glance fell on the light blue box on his bedside table. Others might have thought it reckless to leave an expensive diamond engagement ring out in plain sight. To Drew, however, the ring represented hope, however slim. When he woke each morning, his back and legs leaden with stiffness and pain, it gave him the strength to get out of bed and head to his grueling physical therapy session. Each night, he stared at the box until sleep dragged him down. Thinking of Maggie kept his grinding loneliness at bay.

  Perhaps one day, soon, he would call her. He missed her voice.

  How was she doing in Milan? Perhaps she was dating again; Maggie never lacked admirers. Drew could have followed her through the news and social media channels, but that was too masochistic, even for him. It was easier to separate his Maggie from the Marguerite Ferrara the world knew. The former might have loved him, but the latter had too many celebrity admirers to waste her time on a man who could not walk. />
  Drew gritted his teeth as he gripped the armrest. His biceps cording, he pressed down and pushed to his feet. He reached for his crutches. His first few steps were slow and unsteady, but he was not in a rush. His practice was best done in the privacy of his apartment instead of in the mad and impatient swirl of New York City.

  He had just completed two loops around his apartment when his smartphone rang. He leaned against the closest wall and tugged the phone from his pocket. No caller ID. Frowning, he accepted the call. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Drew.”

  Her voice jolted him. “Maggie.”

  “I just got in.”

  “Got in? You’re in New York?”

  “Yes. I’d like to talk about my finances, and I wondered, are you free to meet me tonight?”

  Tonight? He could barely frame a coherent thought. What was she doing back in New York? “Yeah, I am. Where would you like to meet?”

  “How about your place?”

  “My place?”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Drew hobbled the short distance to the door and flung it open. Maggie, stunning in a sapphire blue dress that matched her eyes, stood outside the door. With a smile, she disconnected the call and slipped her smartphone back into her handbag. Her eyes lit. “You’re walking!”

  Drew glanced down at his crutches. “I’m trying.”

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  He still couldn’t think clearly, but he stepped aside to let her in.

  Maggie’s gaze flicked across the apartment. He couldn’t tell if she noticed the Tiffany box on his bedside table. When she turned back to him, she wore her professional smile, the one that appeared on magazine covers. It reminded him of the distance between them.

  “Sorry, I would have picked up if I’d expected company,” he said. “What would you have done if I wasn’t home?”

  “But you were. I saw you enter the building, in your wheelchair, ten minutes ago.”

  She had been watching him? “Why?”

  “Why what?” she returned innocently.

  “Why are you back in New York?”

  “I told you. I wanted to talk about my budget.”

  “And e-mail or an international phone call wouldn’t have worked?”

  She pouted at him. “I wanted to see you. You look tired, but it appears physical therapy is paying off.”

  He nodded.

  “Would you like to sit?” she asked. “You should be sitting before I talk about my one-off.”

  Drew lowered himself into a chair. “Are you budgeting for it?”

  “That’s the plan,” she said with a broad smile that made him suspicious. She reached into her handbag for a tablet.

  “How is Milan?” he asked as she walked around the table to stand behind him.

  “Lovely. I finally moved out of the hotel and into this delicious little condo. Prime location. Took me forever to find it.” She set the tablet in front of him and tapped her way into a spreadsheet.

  Drew went straight to the bottom line. “It’s a lot of money.”

  “It’s a big deal. I broke down the line items in the budget; I knew you’d want to see the details. Perhaps you can find additional ways to bring the cost down?” She leaned over his shoulder and scrolled up on the page.

  His trained eye jumped to the big dollar numbers.

  Rings.

  Catering charges.

  Open bar.

  Photographer.

  Table and chair rentals.

  Decorating costs

  Reception band.

  Venue fee.

  Drew’s breath caught. His thoughts froze. She was planning a wedding.

  His gaze continued down the page, as if he needed more confirmation.

  Dress—was she really planning to spend $10,000 on a dress?

  Jewelry.

  Shoes.

  Wedding planner.

  Wedding favors.

  Tuxedo.

  His throat tightened. His head felt like it would explode—too many stray thoughts, not a single clear conclusion. “It’s a lot of money.”

  She nodded as casually as if they were talking about budgeting for a picnic in Central Park. “That’s why I thought I’d come to you and get your take on this.”

  “Your income gives you enough breathing room to absorb this over twelve months without drastically cutting your lifestyle. If you want, I can escrow for it. When…do you need this money?”

  “Late spring, early summer.”

  He set the tablet down and closed his eyes. The pain in his chest was so real he had to clench his hands into fists to keep them from pressing against his heart in an irrational attempt to alleviate the pain. “Congratulations,” he managed to get out.

  “Thank you.”

  He heard the smile and genuine delight in her voice.

  He had wanted her to get married. He had told himself once that he would be able to move on once she did. Let it go. She’s found someone else. My only job is to manage her money.

  Now, Drew realized, he had only been lying to himself. Hating himself, he asked, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  ~*~

  Maggie still didn’t know whether to scream or cry, but then, what was Drew supposed to think after three and a half months of complete silence between them?

  Instead of replying, she reached over his shoulder for her tablet and pulled up her Pinterest account where she had saved pictures of wedding invitation card designs. “I hope you’re grateful I narrowed down the thousands of choices into two. Which one do you like?”

  The first featured entwined calla lilies and the second showcased mini roses. In both cases, the flowers framed the names Marguerite Ferrara and Drew Jackson.

  He froze.

  She waved her fingers in front of his nose to make sure he was still breathing.

  Keep it casual, she coached herself. She had rehearsed it a thousand times in her mind. The only way to get past Drew’s formidable defenses was to act as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I know you don’t have a tux, but if you’d rather not look like a penguin, a regular suit is perfectly fine. That will save…let’s see, $250 on the rental. Good, that’s like a bottle of champagne for the wedding night. Rounding error, as you might say.”

  “Maggie—”

  Don’t give him a chance to object. “I was thinking of a May wedding. I know that’s only a month and a half away, but Cheryl, my wedding planner, swears everything is on track. Even my dress is ready; I designed it myself. I’d show it to you, but it’s supposed to be bad luck. Your parents and my mom finalized the guest list. Greg and Brandon helped some. The envelopes have been addressed. All you have to do is pick the card, and the invitations can be in the mail by this weekend.”

  “Maggie—”

  She leaned down, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pressed her cheek against his. She tapped on another Pinterest board to bring up pictures of just about every key European city. “And for the honeymoon, we can do Paris. I actually prefer Cinque Terre, but when we’re in Italy, we can take lots of extended weekend trips there. The condo I found in Milan is five hundred feet from the best hospital in the city. I got Dr. Hendricks to interview several specialists in Milan, and the picky bastard finally found someone he’d trust with your continued care and physical therapy. As soon as you sign the release for your medical records, Dr. Hendricks will send your file to Dr. Costa so that he can get your treatment plan set up before you arrive.”

  “Maggie—”

  She turned his chair around so she could look him in the face. “I love you, Drew, but I refuse to do what you or my father think is best for me. I’m going to do what I know is best for me, and that means marrying you. You said you wanted me to be happy. The only thing that will make me happy is knowing that I can come home to you, always, whether home is here or in Italy. Oh, that, and the fact that you’ll be legally obligated to wake up next to me every morning.”

  His dark eyes locked on
her. “Maggie, will you shut up long enough for me to propose to you?”

  “Yes! I do!” She threw her arms around his neck and claimed his mouth with a kiss. He filled her senses—this man whom she had loved for so long—his familiar, clean scent mixed in with the crisp fragrance of his aftershave. His hands gripped her waist hard, and he embraced her with the desperation of a dying man given a fresh promise of life. Their tongues tangled, their breaths united.

  “But I didn’t even ask yet,” he said as they came up for air.

  “Too late, I’ve already accepted. And I lied to you. I already chose the invitations and mailed them out yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “That was Plan B. I figured that if pure love wasn’t enough to move you, that the thought of poor little Maggie Ferrara jilted at the altar by her fiancé would get you down the aisle.”

  His eyes widened. “Blackmail?”

  “Darling, you’re stubborn as hell, especially when you think you’re right. I had to pull out all the stops.” She relaxed in his arms. “But what made you change your mind? Surely it wasn’t my eloquence.”

  Drew glanced at the little blue box on the bedside table. “When I realized that the hope of marrying you one day was the only thing that got me out of bed each morning.” He rested his head against her breasts, drew a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Tension eased out of his shoulders.

  Maggie smiled as she cradled his head. She was home. They were both finally where they belonged—in each other’s arms.

  Epilogue

  That particular Sunday morning had begun like any other. Felicity Rivers, wrapped in her bathrobe, bent down to pick up the newspapers that had been delivered through the mail slot in her door. She gathered up the pile of yesterday’s mail too.

  She sat at the breakfast table, sipping from a mug of coffee, as she idly flipped through the Sunday paper. A large photograph in the Entertainment section caught her eye. Marguerite Ferrara looked like a modern-day princess, stunning in a pale-cream lace and satin wedding gown that hugged her curves before flaring out into a mermaid-style bridal train. She had gathered her blond hair into a chignon—an unusual style for her—and happiness radiated from her eyes.