Be My Forever Bride

by Martha Kennerson

  “Yes, and I really wish everyone would stop asking me that question,” Brooke snapped back, staring out the car window.

  Peter pulled out into the traffic and drove the short distance to Brooke’s hotel in silence. He parked in front and cut the engine. Peter shifted his body toward Brooke. “You ready to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?” Brooke frowned.

  “Whatever it is that’s got you so upset.”

  “I thought you were my neurologist, not my therapist,” she replied, collapsing her hands together in her lap.

  “Right now, I’m prepared to be both.”

  Brooke cleared her throat. “It was just a lot harder than I expected. Seeing Brice again, I mean.”

  “Have you given any more thought to telling him the truth?”

  “All the time, but the end result is always the same. Can we go upstairs and get this over with, Doctor?”

  Brooke walked through the lobby of the hotel with Peter at her side. When she heard her name being called, Brooke turned toward the sound.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Kingsley,” the concierge called as he approached, holding a large manila envelope.

  “Yes?” she replied.

  “This was delivered this afternoon. I was instructed to hand it to you personally.”

  Brooke’s heart sank as she guessed it held her copy of the divorce agreement. “Thank you,” she whispered, accepting the package. “Let me...” Brooke fumbled with her purse as tears burnt the back of her eyes. Her whole body went numb and it had nothing to do with her multiple sclerosis.

  Brooke’s mind jumped back in time to the day she’d attended her sister-in-law China’s baby shower. It was the day that changed the course of her life. China looked especially beautiful; she was glowing like the moon on a clear night and if Brooke could have disappeared, she would have. She had just received her MS diagnosis and had been informed that pregnancy for her might not be possible, depending on her therapy. Her doctors explained that she could have a small window should she want to try and have a baby of her own, but they needed to determine her therapy as soon as possible. Brooke’s difficult childhood and pessimistic attitude toward having her own happily ever after only allowed her to believe the worst.

  After receiving such devastating news, Brooke had been in no mood to celebrate but she had to show her support for China and Alexander. After all, they were her family now. Brooke smiled through the games and forced down delicious food and champagne. She held back tears when everyone asked when she and Brice were going to start having babies. It was only after people started taking bets on when that might happen that she found a reason to excuse herself.

  It was that day—along with a not-so-veiled threat to expose her past to her new family—that Brooke had decided to leave Brice. She thought he deserved someone better than her. In her mind, her diagnosis just confirmed what she’d always known: She’d never be truly happy. Brooke hadn’t had a happy childhood, so how could she have a happy adult life?

  “I got it.” Peter opened his leather bag, pulled out his wallet and handed the concierge a generous tip. Brooke stood, staring down at the envelope. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  Peter took Brooke by the elbow and led her to the elevator. She held the envelope to her chest as tears welled in her eyes. They rode up in silence, exited the elevator and walked the short distance to her door. Brooke crossed the threshold, wandered into the living room and gingerly sat on the sofa.

  Peter went into the kitchen, removed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, twisted off the cap and came back into the main room, handing the bottle to Brooke. “Drink.”

  Brooke took several sips. “Thanks.” She set the envelope on the coffee table.

  “Do you need a minute?”

  Brooke took a deep breath and released it slowly. “No, let’s get this exam done.”

  Peter removed a penlight and reflex hammer from his bag and placed them on the table. He stood and moved to the middle of the room. “You know the drill.”

  Brooke kicked off her shoes, then went and stood in front of Peter. She presented her hands palms down. “No tremors.”

  “Good.”

  She extended her arms out to her side and brought her right index fingers to her nose. “I feel like I’m taking a sobriety test.”

  “You say that every time,” he reminded Brooke. “Left hand, please.”

  Brooke complied. “What’s next?”

  “You know, walk the line. Heel to toe, please.”

  Brooke released a loud moan. “Here goes nothing.” Brooke completed the task, but it took her longer than normal because she was tired and her muscles were reminding her of that fact.

  “Not bad. Take a seat,” he instructed.

  Brooke returned to the sofa and took several sips from her water bottle. She felt like she’d just run a mile full out. Peter checked her reflexes and responses to light. “Everything looks good,” he announced as he made notes on his tablet.

  “I told you when you came to Paris that I was fine and symptom-free.” Peter gave her the side-eye. “Well, mostly symptom-free.”

  “We talked about this. You're fortunate that you don't have the more common symptoms of motor problems, cognitive issues, severe pain and sexual dysfunction, to name a few, but that can change over time. While your symptoms aren’t chronic, flare-ups can be triggered by stress. The fatigue, muscle pain, numbness and tingling in your limbs can be hard on your system.”

  “I know all of this, Peter.” Brooke reached for her room-service menu.

  Peter continued as though she hadn’t said a word. “And while your symptoms will disappear and remain repressed when you remove the triggers, let’s try to avoid them altogether, shall we? Otherwise, you'll keep repeating the cycle.”

  Brooke gave Peter a two-fingered salute. “Yes, sir.”

  Peter packed his bag. “One more thing. I know you think you’re doing what’s best for your husband, but if I were him, I’d want to know the truth. MS isn’t a death sentence.”

  “I know that, Doctor, but it can be a long and difficult journey.” Not to mention having to deal with my colorful past. That's too much to ask of anyone, no matter how much they love you.

  “Yes, it can, but it can also be filled with lots of love and even children.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this. I’m ordering food. Care for anything?” Brooke picked up the menu and started browsing through it.

  “No, thank you, and I think we should,” he said, taking the menu from Brooke. “Having MS shouldn’t stop you from getting pregnant or having a healthy pregnancy. Now, if you were in the middle of a specialized treatment plan, that would be a different story and even then, we’d just suspend the treatments until you delivered. You’re nowhere near that, either.”

  Not with my luck. A successful career is about as close as I'm going to get to having a family. “I understand you’re trying to help, but I’ve made my decision. I’m not dragging Brice into this mess of a life I have. He’s better off finding someone without so much baggage,” she declared, reaching for the menu.

  “Fine, but don’t you think that’s a decision your husband has a right to make?”

  “No! Now if you’re done—”

  “Actually—”

  “With your role as my medical doctor, I’d like to call it a night. I need to eat and get my rest. Doctor’s orders,” she reminded him, rising from her spot on the sofa.

  Peter exhaled loudly. “Fine. I may be your doctor, Brooke, but you’re also my family. I just want you to be happy and it’s obvious you’re not happy about losing the only man you’ve ever loved.”

  “I know you do, and I’ll always be grateful to you and your family for taking me in that last year I was in high school. Yours was the only foster home I ever felt safe in.”

  “Just thi
nk about what I said.”

  “Okay. You know, you really need to find a life of your own and stop worrying about mine.”

  “So my mother keeps telling me.” He picked up his bag and walked to the door. “See you in a couple of months, unless you need me before then.”

  “I won’t. Thanks, Peter.”

  Brooke closed the door and suddenly she wasn’t hungry, but she knew she had to put some food in her stomach before she took her medicine. She went to the phone and ordered something light. After placing the request, she went to the bedroom, undressed and took a quick shower. Brooke was standing in the middle of the bathroom, her body wrapped in a large towel, squeezing the excess water from her hair with another, when she heard her cell phone ring. She walked back into the bedroom, picked up her phone on the dresser and looked at the screen. The name read unknown. “Hello.”

  “I found you,” a muffled voice replied.

  “Who is this?” Brooke asked before the line went dead. “Kids.” Brooke wrapped her hair in the towel, dried herself off and changed into a long nightshirt and shorts. She walked back into the living room and there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?”

  “Room service,” a soft voice replied.

  Brooke opened the door and stood back as the waitress rolled in a small table. She lifted the lid from the plate and said, “Chicken salad sandwich on a croissant. Will that be all?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She handed Brooke the bill to sign and took her exit. Brooke picked up the plate, sat on the sofa and stared down at the envelope that would change everything. She forced herself to eat half her sandwich until she started to feel anxious, so she placed the plate back on the table and wheeled it outside the door.

  Brooke walked out onto the balcony and took a couple of deep breaths. She wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to contain her tremors. Her heart was racing and no matter how hard she fought, the dam broke and her tears fell. Brooke cried for the end of her marriage, for the fact that—as far as she was concerned and regardless of what the facts might have been—she’d never have children, but most of all, she cried because she knew she’d never stop loving Brice and somehow had to find a way to live with that realization.

  Chapter 5

  Brice circled and jabbed at the punching bag he had placed in the man cave he established in the lower level of the three-story house in the Houston Museum District he’d bought Brooke as a wedding present. It was a lovely starter home in the perfect location. He just recently turned the open concept lower level into the perfect getaway spot for a much-needed escape. Every time he walked upstairs, it was like the ghost of Christmas past, assaulting him with memories of the brief time he’d had there with Brooke.

  He punched and kicked the freestanding bag until his arms, shoulders and legs screamed for surrender. Brice wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel as he walked to the small kitchenette and pulled out a large bottle from the refrigerator. He twisted off the cap and was gulping down water when he heard a knock on his door. What now?

  “Who is it?” he called out harshly, not in the mood for visitors.

  “It’s me, Brice.”

  “Alexander?”

  “Yeah, open up.”

  Brice moved past the large sectional sofa sitting in front of two medium-size ottomans that doubled as coffee tables and a fifty-inch screen television mounted to the wall as he made his way to the door. “What’s up, A?” he asked, stepping aside, allowing his brother to enter.

  “What’s up with you?” Alexander asked.

  When Alexander walked through the door, still wearing the same suit he’d had on at the office, Brice knew this wasn’t a social call; something was definitely wrong. And if that wasn’t enough, the twitching muscles in his brother’s jaw certainly did.

  “I’m good,” Brice lied. “Want a beer?”

  “No, thanks. Look, Brice, I can only imagine how hard this must be...working with Brooke, I mean.”

  “I know what you mean, man, and it’s fine.” He moved to his sofa and took a seat.

  “You sure? Because we have a lot riding on making sure we’re cool with the IRS and Brooke is the one person that can ensure that happens. Her IRS experience and history with our company aside, she's family.”

  “I’m sure. Damn, you sound more and more like Mother every day.”

  “Well, in this instance, she’s right,” he stated.

  “I guess. KJ will be on in a few—want to stay and watch the game?”

  “Not this time. I’ll catch it at home, but first I have to pick up dinner and ice cream for China.”

  Brice smirked. “Lucky you.”

  “That I am,” Alexander acknowledged, taking a seat next to his brother. “So, today was good?”

  Brice saw the doubtful look on his brother’s face. “Yes, it was. Brooke even signed the divorce agreement. I offered to take her to dinner but she had other plans...with another man.”

  “Ouch...”

  “But in fairness I did make it seem like I was seeing Amy, so I guess we’re even...kind of, anyway.”

  Alexander’s eyebrows came to attention. “Amy, your research assistant?” Brice nodded. “And why would you do that?”

  “Because I’m an idiot.” Brice stood, walked to his refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He popped off the cap and took one long pull. Brice stood with his back to his brother. “I didn’t know just how much I missed her until I saw her again, but I can’t seem to get past my anger.”

  Alexander rose and turned toward Brice. “Look at me, man.” Brice’s shoulders dropped and he turned and met his brother’s inquisitive gaze. “Look, if you want another shot with Brooke, you should just go for it. Remember the advice you gave me about China?”

  “Yeah, but that was different.” He took another pull from his bottle.

  “How so?”

  “You two have always had something special. It just took several years before you figured out what it was,” Brice explained.

  “You don’t think what you and Brooke had was special?”

  “I thought so...”

  “Look, I can’t tell you what to do, but I wouldn’t be so quick to walk away if there’s even the slightest chance she’s your One.”

  “It’s not just up to me, A. Besides, she’s already moved on.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “She left me, remember?” Brice finished off his beer, tossed the bottle in the recycling bin and flopped back down on the couch.

  “I remember. I also remember the BS ‘you two got married too soon...too young’ excuse she gave you too. I can’t believe you’re not digging deeper into that.” His eyebrows snapped together.

  Brice reached for the TV remote and placed his feet up on the ottoman. “She signed the papers. It’s done.”

  “You’re right. You are an idiot.” Alexander moved toward the door. “Just be sure to keep it professional at the office.”

  “I’m over the shock. You know me, A. I’m a Kingsley and we’re all about our business.” Brice turned on the game.

  “And that’s what I’m afraid of, little brother. Later.” Alexander walked out the door.

  Brice hit the mute button. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift back to a time when he’d tried to watch his brother KJ’s game but Brooke had had something else planned...

  * * *

  Brice was in the living room sitting on the blue suede extra-long sofa that Brooke had insisted they needed, with his legs stretched out before him. In a gray T-shirt and a pair of long shorts, he was ready to coach his brother’s team to victory from his new sofa. He sat back, watching the TV, when Brooke shouted down from upstairs, “Honey, you ready?”

  “For what?” he replied. Hearing no response, he said, “Sure, call in whatever you want to eat
, as long as they deliver.”

  Brooke laughed. The sound made him happy. Her laugh was one of the many things he loved about his new wife. “Cute,” she said as she descended the steps, stopping halfway down. “What are you doing?”

  Hearing the surprise in her voice but oblivious to her appearance, Brice called out, “Watching the NBA’s preshow. KJ’s game starts in thirty minutes.”

  Brooke reached the bottom of the stairs and stood staring at him in silence. Brice’s eyes shifted from the TV to his wife, who was standing there wearing a short black cocktail dress, strappy heels that showed off her sexy legs, and her hair and face made up like she was ready for a night of partying.

  Brice’s mind raced. He was trying to figure out what he’d missed. It’s not date night. Brice’s body responded to the gorgeous sight before him and he quickly got to his feet. “Where are you going?”

  “I thought we were going dancing.”

  “Tonight? KJ’s playing.”

  Brooke placed her hands on her hips. “You made these plans, remember?”

  Brice quickly searched his mind and recollection of their brief conversation reared its ugly and badly timed head. “Oh, baby, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.” He picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “Give me fifteen minutes to change.”

  “Never mind.” She walked farther into the living room.

  “Sweetheart, you’re all dressed up and ready to go. You look beautiful too.” He started to move toward her.

  “Thank you, but please sit back down.”

  Brice complied, expecting an argument would soon follow, only to receive the most pleasant surprise. “It’s no big deal,” she started to explain as she kicked off her shoes. She gifted Brice with a sexy smile. “I really wasn’t in the mood to go out. However, I’d like something else from you.”

  Brice smiled up at his wife, waiting for the request that his body already knew; the front of his pants had tented. Brooke’s eyes dropped to his crotch and she bit her lip. “Exactly.”

  Brice reached for Brooke, but she stepped back out of his reach. “I’m in control,” she stated emphatically.