by Caroline Lee
And that was a problem, because she already did.
Before she could come up with a way to broach the topic, he sighed heavily, and turned. His expression blank, he met her eyes.
“I'll pack up today. I'm sure the hotel has a room. If not, I'll go stay on the ranch.”
That hadn't been what she’d expected.
“Wait, what? What do you mean?”
“You've fulfilled our bargain.” When he exhaled, it wasn't quite a sigh, but he sounded so weary. “Don't worry about the money; I'll write a check out before I leave.”
Anger slammed into Katie so quickly, she didn't think about what she would say. Instead, she opened her mouth to snap at him, but all that came out was a sort of choking noise. She reached for her coffee, took a big gulp, and tried again.
“You think this is about the money?”
In that infuriating monotone voice, Kenneth merely said, “Of course.”
She struggled to find words to make him understand. “When you approached me, the money was intriguing. Jerm needed that money, and I was thinking about all the good I could do for him. But—” She spluttered. “But you can't think I married you just for that reason? It wasn't about the money, Kenneth! I wouldn't have married you just for that.”
She forced herself to take a deep breath, to impart as much sincerity into her voice as she could when she said, “I married you because I liked you. And because I could see you needed me.”
Maybe it didn't work, because he shrugged. “I just needed a wife.”
Katie surged back as if he'd slapped her. Her instinct was to push away from the table, to run away from his insult. But instead, she had to borrow some of his control. Just as he refused to allow himself to feel, she knew sometimes she felt too much. Here, now, she had to be logical, and remind herself Kenneth hadn’t meant those words. He wasn't a cruel man. He said them for a reason.
She took a deep breath. “You needed me. I saw it then, and I still see it.” As if to remind herself, she repeated in a whisper, “You need me.”
Something flashed in his eyes, but then he jerked his chin at the contract in front of her. “Paragraph eight.”
She nodded, tapping that section with a fingernail. “That's what I've been sitting here reading.” Over and over again.
Paragraph Eight in the contract outlined when her responsibility would be over. After the death of Susan Weston. That's what it said. It said Katie’s side of the bargain would be complete, her role as his wife would be over, after his mother's death.
But it didn't specify when after her death.
Kenneth turned his head until he was looking out the window over the sink. Katie seriously doubted he was staring out at the early crocuses in her backyard. Her eyes caressed the stubbled line of his jaw, and her heart ached for him.
“I don't need you anymore.”
That was a lie. She knew it, and by the way he was refusing to meet her eyes, he knew it too.
She took a deep breath. “Sit down,” she commanded.
He needs me. He does need me, even if he can't admit it to himself.
When he didn't respond, she made her voice hard. “Kenneth Weston, you sit your cute butt down in this chair and listen to me.”
His head jerked around, and he blinked at her. In surprise? Well, let him feel surprised. Let him feel all sorts of things.
Without speaking, he crossed to the table and sat in the chair opposite her, his still full mug of coffee still in his hands. Did he remember their first meeting, at this table, on the evening of her birthday? Then, they'd sat just like this, with this same stupid marriage contract between them.
She took a deep breath, preparing for what she needed to say. What he needed to understand.
“I know you, Kenneth. Yesterday—for the last week, for the last few years—you’ve been in control. You’ve been the leader your family needed, yesterday especially.” Truer words were never spoken. “But now, let it go. Let yourself feel. It's healthy. You need this.”
He was frowning. “No.”
“Yes.” She could match him.
His eyes widened. Was that panic in them? “No, I don’t need to.”
“Yes, you do.”
That’s when his lips trembled, just slightly. “I don’t want to.”
At last, the truth.
Katie felt herself melt, aching for him. “I know you don’t, honey, but you have to. You have to make yourself feel.”
He shook his head, his hands still clamped around his coffee mug. “No,” he repeated.
She reached across the table and pried one hand away from the mug, gripping it in hers, trying to make him understand. “When you run your business, you’re in control. But the only way to be in business is to let yourself feel. To let your imagination and your heart run wild. You have to feel, Kenneth.”
“I don’t want to,” he mumbled, not looking at her. “It hurts too much.”
She squeezed gently. “I know, but your mother died.”
With a frown, his eyes slammed into hers. “I know!” he snapped.
Finally! A reaction. She took a steadying breath and repeated, “Kenneth, your mom died.”
Still frowning, the look in his eyes turned to confusion. “I know.”
At least he wasn’t zombie-ing all over the place anymore.
“Kenneth, your mother, who loved you and cared for you, and lifted you up and supported you through everything, is dead.”
He pulled his hand from hers, finally put the coffee mug down, and leaned back in his chair, as if trying to get away from her. “I know.”
“She’s gone and—”
“I said, I know!”
There were tears in her eyes for the pain she was causing him, but she pushed on. “Your mother is dead, and she’s not coming back, Kenneth. You’ll never see her again. You’ll never hug her or—”
With a sudden jerk, he pushed himself away from the table and stumbled to his feet.
“I know!” he screamed. With one violent movement, he scooped the still-full coffee mug off the table and hurled it towards the sink. It shattered, splattering brown liquid everywhere. “I know!” he screamed again.
That’s when he turned to her, his chest heaving and his eyes tortured, and pointed one shaking finger in her direction. “You think I don’t know?” His breath hitched on a sob. “You think I haven’t woken up every day since her diagnosis, knowing I was losing her?” Another sob, half-swallowed. “You think I don’t know my mom—my Momma—is gone forever and I’ll never feel her hugs or get her advice or— Oh God.”
He stumbled backwards and collapsed into the chair he’d pushed away.
“Oh, God,” he repeated, his voice and his expression crumbling as his anger fled and he was left with only grief.
“Mom,” he wailed, burying his face in his hands and doubling over. “Oh, God, Mom!”
I did this. I broke him.
It was what she'd wanted; to make him acknowledge his feelings. But seeing him like this, seeing him so broken, made Katie want to throw up.
Before he had taken his second shuddering breath, she pushed away from the table and threw herself towards him. She ended up on her knees beside his chair, her hands blindly reaching, wanting to offer comfort, but not knowing how.
And maybe he understood, because without taking his hands away from his face, without halting his shuddering sobs, Kenneth leaned forward and buried his head in the crook of her neck. Overbalanced, she fell backwards, wrapping her arms around him to ensure they weren't separated as they both tumbled to the floor.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she repeated over and over again. Her tears mixed with his as she shifted to take more of his weight. She ended upright, cradling his head to her chest, with his legs sprawled out beside them. They huddled there, among the shards of mug and spilled coffee, as she stroked the back of his head, saying whatever she could think of through her tears. Anything to make his pain less.
“I'm so sorry, Ken
neth. So sorry,” she whispered as she rocked him.
It seemed like forever before his sobs finally subsided. They sprawled there on her kitchen linoleum, her still rocking slowly and stroking the back of his head, him hiccuping quietly into her t-shirt.
“I'm sorry,” she repeated again in a whisper. “I shouldn't have done that to you.”
He didn't respond.
“I needed to know…” No, that wasn't what he needed to hear. “I shouldn't have done that, Kenneth. I wanted to make you acknowledge your feelings. Bottling it all up inside the way you were doing wasn't healthy, but I'm so sorry I brought you this much pain.”
His arms were wrapped around her middle, but he pulled away just slightly so his words weren't muffled. “I hate feeling,” he sniffled.
He sounded so much like a petulant child, Katie couldn't stop the slight smile which flitted across her lips. “You shouldn't,” she gently contradicted. “Feeling is the best part of being alive.”
Slowly, as if it hurt to move, he pulled back even more. Wincing, he shifted so his weight rested on the floor, instead of her legs. He didn't let her go, but he stared up into her eyes. His were red and puffy from crying, and she imagined hers were as well.
But as she looked into his ice-blue eyes, she saw what she hadn't before. Whereas, for the last few days since his mother's death, his expression had been so businesslike...now, she saw everything.
Everything.
In his eyes, she saw love, and joy, and so much pain it made her breath catch. But there was acceptance, and anger, and fear as well.
“Feelings,” she murmured.
He reached up and touched her cheek with his fingertips.
That's when she realized he was making a joke, and she smiled. Rolling her eyes, she said, “No, silly. Not feeling like that.”
She took his hand and moved it to her chest, right over her heart. “Here. Feeling here is the most important thing. The best part about being alive.”
He was staring at where her hand held his over her heart. “The hardest, too, I think,” he finally said, his voice rough.
Very true. She nodded, and pressed his hand tighter. “Yes, but so worth it. You need to remember that. Look at me.”
At her command, the beautiful, broken man in her lap turned his eyes to hers.
She swallowed, knowing what she was about to tell him was so important.
“You hate losing control, I know that. But sometimes you have to. You have to lose control—you have to feel—in order to make beautiful things.” Surely he understood this? He was an artist. “Like your gowns. Or your love for your mother. And as much as I love you, I needed you to see that feeling can be wonderful for healing too.”
His eyes had gone wide, and she hoped he was understanding her meaning.
“Kenneth, you married me so that your mother would let go. You orchestrated all of this, you were in control...so she could find peace. You need to find peace now. That's what she would want.”
“What did you say?” he whispered hoarsely.
“I said you need to find—”
“No, before that. You said you…”
When his lips formed the shape of an “L” before he trailed off, she understood. She understood because of the fierce hope in his eyes, a reflection of the hope she felt in her heart.
Through eyes blurry with tears, she confessed with a smile. “I love you.”
With a noise which sounded suspiciously like a sob, Kenneth buried his face in her shirt again. “I don't deserve you,” came the muffled declaration.
There was nothing for her to do but stroke his head once more, and pour all the love she felt for him into her embrace. “Everything will be alright, I promise. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I love you.”
After a long minute, he exhaled mightily and sat up, pushing away from her just far enough to rest his forearms on top of his bent knees. He might be a billionaire, the founder of one of the world's most exclusive fashion houses, but sitting there on his butt on her kitchen linoleum, Kenneth Weston looked like nothing more than a little lost boy. She scooted closer to him and placed her palm on his forearm, just to let him know she was there.
He was staring intently at the kitchen table, and she realized he was thinking about the contract.
“Are you sure?”
She didn't understand his question, and wasn't sure how to answer it.
He turned his head towards her. “Are you sure? You said you're not going anywhere, but…”
It all made sense then. He was asking her about the contract.
She didn't hesitate. Nodding firmly, she promised him, “I'm sure. You need me, and I love you. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not letting you go anywhere, until you don't need me anymore.”
He looked as if he might want to say something in response to that, but he didn't. He just sat there, staring at her, a look in his eyes she couldn't quite identify. The pain and anger and love were all still whirling in those ice-blue depths, but she could swear there was something which looked suspiciously like hope there too.
Finally, he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and said, “Well, alright then.”
“What are you going to do?” Her next step would be to clean up this mess. But what about him? Was he even able to be in control?
He looked from her to the contract, back to her, then out the window at the beautiful spring morning. Somewhere out there, flowers were blooming, birds were chirping, and new life was pushing its way into the world.
“First thing I'm going to do…” He took another deep breath. “First thing, I need a fabric store. And some paint. And a sewing machine.”
He glanced at her, that spark of something in his eyes. “I've got work to do.”
CHAPTER TEN
Kenneth couldn't remember ever feeling so...fragile
He couldn't remember ever feeling so much.
He felt as if he'd been broken apart into a million little pieces there on the floor of her kitchen. But she’d put him back together again. With her caring and support, she'd collected all the little bits of him, and glued them together with her amazing confession.
She loved him.
Katie loved him, for real, not because some contract told her she had to stay by his side.
For as long as he lived, he didn't think he'd ever forget the way he’d felt when she told him he needed her, and she wasn't leaving.
She’d taken control, exactly when he needed her to.
She’d been right, that day after his mother's funeral. He did need to learn how to relinquish command, even if it hurt. He had to let himself mourn, to breathe, to feel.
But most importantly, to love.
The few days after that breakdown hadn't been awkward, but they had been quiet. She didn't push him, but let him know she was there for him in a thousand small ways. It was what he needed to start healing.
The other things he needed in order to heal involved fabric, and his sketch pad, and daily phone calls to Penny, and a way to upload his sketches to the cloud, and hours spent watching the movement of birds and flower petals swaying in the spring breeze.
At Mom's funeral lunch, Jaclyn had declared Easter the time of new birth, and in the days following the funeral, Kenneth felt as if she'd been talking about him.
By allowing himself to feel again, he'd let in the pain, but he would let out so much more. He emerged, blinking and squinting into the world after a long winter of careful control.
But he was here now, allowing his art to flow through him, and Katie was standing beside him.
Throughout the day, when she smiled at him, or brushed her hand across his arm, or allowed him to help with the latest batch of soap—he finally got to use Evangeline!—he knew it was her way of showing him she cared. And each little instance made his heart that much stronger, until he didn't feel as if he was broken anymore.
Easter was late this year, the fourth week of April. The snow had melted, although big patches
of grass were still damp. In Katie's small backyard, crocuses were shooting upward, declaring to the world that spring was finally here.
The world was full of new life, and Kenneth felt the same.
He had a surprise for her today. He’d been working on it since she'd broken him and put him back together again. Since she told him she loved him.
He loved her as well, but he needed a way to show her.
Easter morning, he woke up early and put his plan into motion. By the time she stumbled bleary-eyed out of her room, everything was ready.
“Do I smell bacon?”
She was so cute in the morning. Kenneth waved his spatula. “No, you smell Canadian bacon.”
“Ah.” Katie reach for the coffee pot. “You mean ham?”
It was a favorite debate of theirs, but this morning, Kenneth let it go. “I made you Eggs Benedict.”
She whirled so quickly, the coffee in her mug splattered. “You did?” Her lovely green eyes went wide. “What's the occasion?”
He smirked. “It's Easter morning, the time for celebration! We're not due at the church for another few hours, so I wanted to make this morning special for you.”
Katie hummed thoughtfully, but sat herself down at the table and allowed him to serve her.
“I had no idea you could cook this well!” she said, in between bites.
He shrugged modestly. “The hollandaise came out of a jar, and I got the rest of the recipe online. Although, it took me four tries to figure out how to poach an egg.”
She giggled, and the rest of the meal was filled with lighthearted conversation.
When they were done, she began to clear the table, but he stopped her and took over the task. From his place by the sink, he called back over his shoulder.
“Do you remember when we were talking about Easter traditions, and you said your all-time favorite thing to do as a kid was to hunt for eggs?”
“Yeeeeeahhh?”
He heard the anticipation in her voice, and didn't draw it out any longer. With a smile, he turned and winked.
“Well, guess what I spent this morning doing?”
She gasped and surged to her feet. “You hid eggs for me? Did you really?” She clapped her hands and bounced up and down. “Are they real eggs? Plastic eggs? It really doesn't matter! I haven't had anyone hide eggs for me in like a million years! Thank you so much!”
