by Naima Simone
Would her mother be proud or further dismayed if Sydney told her this marriage wasn’t about happiness but sacrifice? She honestly didn’t know.
“Sydney, I’d like to introduce you to Ramon and Valeria Narvaez.” He paused, and a curious tension filled the heartbeat of time. “These are Tonia’s parents, my in-laws. Ramon, Mamá, this is Sydney.”
God.
The pain damn near blindsided her, and she struggled to breathe past it without cluing in everyone standing there that she’d been dealt a blow. But something told her she’d failed to fully conceal it when Ian winced and Moe’s eyes softened, even as she gave Sydney a tiny shake of her head.
Sydney got what Cole’s mother was trying to silently convey. Oh, she got it. That had most likely been a slip on Cole’s part; she had no doubt it hadn’t been deliberate. But that somehow made the slight more hurtful. Hurtful, hell. Devastating. If she glanced down, she might glimpse jagged shards of her pride littering the ground around the hem of her long, pale yellow dress.
My in-laws.
Because Tonia would always be his first and true wife.
Sydney was a watered-down substitute.
Stupid of her to be so wounded. She’d gone into this union with her eyes wide-open, acknowledging her place, her role. And did she really expect him to stop considering Tonia’s parents as family just because their daughter had died, and he’d remarried? No. Of course not.
But logic and reason still didn’t prevent her from seeking Patricia like a little girl instinctively crying out for her mother when in pain. A crinkle marred the bridge of her mother’s nose, but quickly disappeared when she noticed Sydney looking at her. Patricia notched her chin a shade higher, and the pain dimmed, ebbed. You hold your head up. Message received. Though a minefield of issues cluttered their relationship, warmth eddied inside her. And Sydney did just as her mother instructed. She hiked her chin, fixed a smile on her face and switched her attention to the older couple.
“It’s a delight to finally meet you, Sydney,” Valeria greeted, stepping forward with both hands outstretched. She clasped Sydney’s in hers and leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. It’d been years since Sydney last saw Tonia, but she saw the other woman in Valeria’s kind brown eyes, thick eyebrows and wide mouth. Tonia had been a beauty, just like her mother. “My husband and I have heard so many good things about you. We’ve been excited to meet you.”
Sydney’s smile warmed despite the ache that continued to pulse in her chest. Sincerity and a genuine friendliness emanated from Valeria. And as Ramon moved forward and kissed her other cheek, murmuring, “Welcome to the family, mija,” she understood why Tonia had been such a loving person. With parents like these, she’d had no choice.
“Thank you. It’s wonderful to meet you both.” Sydney hesitated, unsure if she should continue but... Forget it. If there was an etiquette for this kind of situation, she’d never read that Emily Post covered it. “I was younger than Tonia, but I remember her well. She was a beautiful person, inside and out.”
“Thank you,” Valeria whispered, squeezing her hands, then releasing them. “Now I expect you two to come around the house for dinner soon. I need to start fattening up you and this little one as soon as possible. You’re so tiny. May I?” Valeria’s hand hovered above Sydney’s stomach, waiting for permission. Sydney nodded, and the older woman laid a gentle hand on top of the bump. “Cole told us you’re having a girl. I would’ve adored a boy just as much, but there’s something about girls. Sweet. Angelic. And so much fun to shop for,” she added with a sly smile.
“I think you’re going to find competition in the spoiling department,” Moe drawled. “Between you, me and Patricia we’re going to have one hell of a race for number one nana. You up for this, Patricia?” Moe grinned, extending her arms and cracking her knuckles.
“Oh God,” Ian muttered.
“I didn’t want to mention that the dress my daughter is wearing came from my shop—one that I specially ordered for her. And I have a matching infant-sized dress on the way. So you ladies have some catching up to do.”
Sydney laughed, astonished and...delighted. It’d been a while since she’d witnessed her mother’s dry sense of humor. The woman had sarcasm down to a fine art, and it’d always been one of the things Sydney had enjoyed about her mother.
“Hmm. Atrévete,” Valeria drawled, arching a dark eyebrow. Sydney smothered a snicker. She couldn’t speak Spanish, but she sensed the woman had just uttered the equivalent of “come at me, bro.” And from the rumble of Cole’s chuckle, she didn’t think she was far off. Grinning, Valeria asked Sydney, “I don’t know if you’ve started working on the nursery yet. You’re five months along, right? If not, we need to get started. We can make a girls’ day of it,” she chattered, not giving Sydney a chance to respond. Her excitement was contagious, and Sydney found herself grinning. “We need measurements and colors. Where are you two living? Are you going to move into the—”
“No.”
Cole’s abrupt, flat interruption dropped an awkward silence between them. Awkward and tense. And vibrating with something unspoken but understood by everyone but her. Well, nearly everyone. Her parents seemed as confused as she was. But as the other two couples exchanged weighty, meaningful glances, she knew she wasn’t imagining this...whatever this was.
“For now, we’re going to stay in my cottage, until we find a place of our own,” Cole said, his voice smooth, but with a flinty undertone that brooked no further discussion.
“You two are welcome to stay as long as you need,” Ian murmured, his deep rumble carrying a hint of his native Ireland that hadn’t abandoned him even after decades in the States.
Cole nodded. “Thanks, Dad.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the tent with the huge grills and tables. “I think we’re about to serve dinner then cut the cake.”
With more hugs, the three couples made their way across the field, leaving her and Cole alone.
“What was that about?” Sydney asked quietly. “And don’t tell me nothing,” she tacked on.
A beat of silence. “Let it go, Sydney,” he murmured. “We’re supposed to be celebrating our wedding. Let’s just do that and let everything else...go.”
The protest backed up in her throat. A part of her wanted to stand her ground. But they stood in a field full of family, friends and rally goers. Now wasn’t the time. He won this round. But later? She wanted answers.
“Okay,” she conceded. “Let’s go join our guests.”
* * *
SHADOWS DRAPED THE small front yard of Cole’s cottage as he parked in his driveway.
Home.
As of yesterday, she’d moved the last of her belongings into his place, and this was now their home. There was no going back. As the hours of the day passed, and the sun sank behind the mountains, her nerves had climbed. Maybe the same had been true for Cole, because he’d become more and more subdued, distant.
Was he regretting his decision? Regretting her?
She wished she had the courage to ask him. But getting married today after a week’s notice had sapped every last ounce she had in reserve. Maybe tomorrow. That had become her mantra lately.
Cole exited the car, and she pushed her door open. Before she could step out, he was there, his hand extended toward her. Her heart thumped against her chest, and she shot it side-eye before sliding her palm across his. Long, capable fingers folded around hers, and he guided her out of the vehicle, leading her up the walk to his house. Correction. Their house.
Yeah, that would take some getting used to. Because right now, she still had to acclimate to being someone’s wife again.
Not someone’s.
Cole’s.
She stared at his broad, powerful back and shoulders as he opened the front door. As always, she admired his width and build. But she also noticed the taut set of his shoulders. The almost s
tiff gait that had replaced his normal fluid, sensual grace. The tension that radiated off of him.
The anxiety that had been steadily building crept up her own spine and twisted her stomach. She stood on a fragile edge. On one side loomed her own uncertainties and insecurities. On the other, Cole and her complicated, messy feelings toward him. Both felt like deep plunges into an abyss that offered her no safety net.
Locking her fingers together in front of her, she turned to face him. And took that step off the edge toward him.
“I’m going to get ready for bed, unless you’d rather stay up and watch TV or talk...” God, she had no idea how to maneuver this. Most newlyweds couldn’t wait to dive into bed. But they weren’t most newlyweds.
“No,” he said, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his suit pants. The rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt gathered underneath his elbows, and even that small movement set tendons flexing. Restrained power. Rigid control. She’d experienced how overwhelming that power could be when he loosed just a little of it. The greedy part of her wanted him to let the leash off. To let go with her. “You go ahead.”
“I don’t mind.” She moved toward him. “Really, we can—”
“I can’t, Sydney.” The words, though quiet, cut through the room—through her—like a scalpel, halting her midstep. “I thought I could...but I can’t do this. Not right now. Not—” His lips clamped shut, and he lifted his arms, scrubbing his hands over his short hair.
“Cole,” she breathed.
You can’t what? Have sex with me tonight? Lie next to me? Can’t do this marriage?
Panic scoured her throat, and every breath felt abraded. No matter how she wanted the answers to those questions, she couldn’t shove them out. Because a smaller part of her didn’t want to hear them. Didn’t want the pain the answers would inflict.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry. I need—” He glanced over his shoulder at the front door. Reminding her of a trapped animal desperately seeking escape.
“Go.”
His head whipped back around, and she almost softened at the obvious torment that darkened his gaze, drew his skin taut over sharp cheekbones, carved lines on either side of his flattened mouth. Almost. Because the pain tearing through her demanded she clutch the remaining shreds of her pride.
Rejected on her wedding night. Jesus.
“Sydney, I—”
“Don’t say it again,” she ordered. “Just go.”
He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he would come to her, hold her. Tell her he had no intention of walking out that door. And fool that she was, she would allow him to.
But he didn’t approach her.
He wheeled around, jerked open the door and disappeared through it.
She still stood in the same spot moments later when his engine rumbled to life and headlights swept across the living room.
Only when she’d convinced herself that he wasn’t returning did she unglue her feet and move toward the bedroom.
Alone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
COLE DELIVERED ONE last brutal blow to the punching bag. When it swung back in his direction, he caught it between his wrapped hands, leaning his sweaty forehead against the leather. Harsh air burst from his lungs, and his bare chest rose and fell on the labored breaths.
Tired.
He was so damn tired.
Sleep had been like a game of finding fucking Waldo. Elusive and with so many other thoughts crowding into his head he couldn’t locate it.
Pushing away from the bag, he strode on heavy legs to the weight bench and lowered to it, unwinding the black wrap from his hands. He’d been running, then working out in his garage, since the first hints of dawn. And yet none of the exercise had cleared his mind or eased the restless energy that crackled inside him like a live wire.
But staying inside this garage to punish his body wasn’t an option. At least not a long-term one.
Not when his new wife slept inside his house.
He flattened his hands over the black sweatpants covering his thighs, staring down at the concrete floor. He’d fucked up. No other way he could put it. He’d abandoned Sydney on their first night together as man and wife. Hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t wanted to. But as he stood in his living room, her wearing that beautiful yellow dress, her gorgeous, thick curls framing her lovely face and brushing her bare shoulders, he’d failed in battling back the grief, the guilt that had slowly been strangling him since the reception.
More accurately, since his mother-in-law had asked him about moving Sydney into the home he’d shared with Tonia. The home that stood silent with a fully furnished nursery that had never been used.
Panic had seized him by the throat, locked its jaw and refused to release him. And it’d been either escape or break down right there at Sydney’s feet.
So, he’d left. Even though he’d glimpsed the confusion, the hurt and finally the devastating resignation that entered her gaze. As if someone leaving her, disappointing her, didn’t come as a shock. As if, on some level, she’d expected it.
Maybe she had. But she hadn’t failed him. He’d failed her.
Still didn’t stop him from driving through Rose Bend, blowing past the town limits to the road and mountains beyond, only to return hours later and collapse at his wife’s and son’s graves. There, knees buried in grass, he apologized for marrying another woman. Told Tonia about Sydney and the situation with her ex-husband. Promised he’d love Tonia forever. Her and Mateo.
He hadn’t confessed that he desired Sydney. Desired, hell. He craved her. In the past two years, his dick had only throbbed for her. He couldn’t admit that. Not when guilt spilled through him unchecked, a landslide that buried his heart under its burden. Guilt because while he’d stared at Sydney last night, lust for her seething under the grief and panic, he couldn’t remember Tonia’s scent. Couldn’t recall the exact lilt of her laugh. Couldn’t evoke the timbre of her voice. He was losing all he had left of her, and that felt like the cruelest betrayal of her and their love.
But how could he explain all that to Sydney without sounding like a complete asshole? In the end, his silence had damned him as much as if he’d opened his mouth.
Now, he had to make amends. And if she didn’t want to hear his apology? If she didn’t want anything to do with him? Well, he couldn’t blame her.
Sighing, he rose from the bench and made his way into the silent house, heading directly for the bathroom and a much-needed shower. Thirty minutes later, clean and dressed in a white T-shirt and black jeans, he padded on bare feet to the kitchen. When he’d gone into the bedroom to grab clothes, the bed had been empty and freshly made. Or maybe it hadn’t been slept in at all.
What if she’d left him and returned to her place? Alarm had crackled inside him, sliding toward dread. He’d fucked up last night, but even as he’d driven back home, he’d feared her leaving him. He hadn’t bothered to analyze the emotion twisting his gut. Yes, he’d married her to provide protection, but it hadn’t been those arguments he’d presented a week ago at the forefront of his mind. No, he’d wanted her there. With him. Filling his space. Making him feel...normal.
But as he’d turned toward the bedroom door, the aroma of brewing coffee drifted toward him, alerting him that she hadn’t abandoned him as he’d done to her. Selfish relief had flowed through him then, as it did now.
“More active this morning, aren’t you?” she murmured.
Cole frowned, pausing just behind the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. Was she on the phone? He didn’t want to interrupt, but no calls this early in the morning were good ones. Maybe she needed him...
He resumed moving forward, but then halted as she started talking again.
“You were probably feeling my emotions, and I’ve disturbed your sleep. In about four months, you’ll pay me back, won�
�t you?” She chuckled, and it hit Cole that she wasn’t on the phone; Sydney was having a one-sided conversation with her baby.
On silent feet, he carefully eased around the wall, pausing at the edge of the breakfast bar. Clad in another sleep set, this time an emerald green tank and ass-hugging shorts, she stood at the counter next to the coffee machine, her back to him.
The soft joy as well as the thread of sadness in her voice held him transfixed. If he possessed the barest of manners, he would announce himself with a cough or retrace his steps and let his heavy footsteps declare his presence. But he did neither. He remained there, eavesdropping. And drinking her in.
“I’m sorry, jellybean. But I promise you this. Every time you wake up, I’ll be there. Every time you cry, I’ll hold you, do everything in my power to fix what’s wrong.” She shifted to the side, and he caught her hand gently rubbing the small bump. She bowed her head, speaking directly to her stomach, and in spite of the heartbreak in her words, he smiled. “You’ll never be alone in this world. Not as long as I have breath in my body. I promise to tell you every day how much I love you. You’ll never doubt it. And not just because of what you can do for me or if you make me proud. No, I’ll always be proud because you’re you. There aren’t any conditions attached to my love. If there’s one thing you will always be able to count on, it’s that.”
Cole closed his eyes, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. To avoid punching the nearest wall? Or to prevent himself from reaching out for her? He didn’t know. It was a toss-up.
It didn’t require Sherlock Holmes–level skills to deduce what she referred to. Her parents. Her ex-husband. Didn’t matter if it was true or not, Sydney believed their love for her was conditional.
How could she not see the selfless, brave heart that rendered her priceless? The beauty that tied tongues? The kindness that a blind man could see? And last night he had trampled all over that heart, humbled that strength and probably dented that pride.