The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  "She did?" Now I sound like a proud, but devastated father, like I've missed my own child's first steps. Like I almost did with Ryan.

  "She's really improving. I think you'll be amazed."

  "I'm sure I will be. Has she remembered anything else?" I'd mentioned the tie memory to Gail and to my mother, separately of course, so that there would be no surprises if any other memories surfaced. Gail is well aware of my previous lifestyle, and my mother knows just enough of it that she didn't cringe in shock when I told her what Krissy had remembered. I'm terrified she'll remember one of the other events while I'm not there to explain them. As the fates would have it, she'll probably remember one of the spankings next. Or the belt... I perish the thought before it stops my heart.

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  Thank you, Gail."

  "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

  "No, that's all. I'll be home in time for dinner tomorrow."

  "Understood. We'll see you then."

  I click the phone off, content to watch a fourth sun rise and stretch in its daily journey to the Arabian Sea. I really must bring Krissy one day. We have an entire world left to explore.

  ~ KRISSY ~

  "Go ouside, Mommy."

  "What, Ryan?"

  My mind has wandered again. I keep drifting back to a forty-page Charlotte Bronte comparison paper I was in the middle of writing. I'd gotten deep into dissecting Jane Eyre's flighty infatuation with Mr. Rochester, and now I don't even know where the file is to see what else I might have written. I wonder how well I did on it... Mr. Bearley was one of my favorite Literature professors, but he wasn't always my biggest fan. I'd like to think it was because he was pushing me to never settle for good enough, but now I may never know. Unless I have another flashback, and I'm not even sure I want to have another, if it's anything like the one I had a few days ago. I need to focus. My son is tugging on my good hand, making the charms on my bracelet rattle. I still haven't asked what they mean.

  "Go ouside!"

  "Okay, sweetie, give me a minute. Go stand by the door." For the first time all afternoon, Ryan does what he's told. He's been terribly contrary. I'm not sure what to do about it, having so little experience with children, but as I'm supposed to be his mother, no one interferes with advice on how to handle him. I find myself wishing Edward were here. It's strange how much I think of him, possibly miss him, even. I just met him, for heaven's sake.

  I use my good arm as leverage to help push myself up from the couch, which is difficult to do with only one arm in the first place, but to make matters worse the cushion is so soft that it sags instead of springs, and my legs are wobbly. I've only stood up three days ago, and just walked yesterday and for a while this morning, so this is probably a bit dangerous. The glass-top coffee table needles my better judgment.

  Carmen, my favorite of the nurses, is at my side in an instant. She's much stronger than she looks. "Let me help you, Mrs. King," she says, bringing a steadying arm about my waist and letting me lean on her.

  "Thanks, Carmen. Back door, if you don't mind."

  She helps me settle in one of the deck lounges near Ryan and an assortment of what appear to be his outdoor toys. They consist of an assortment of bright, primary-colored, vintage metal-frame miniature construction vehicles: a dump truck, a bulldozer, a backhoe, and a few others I can't identify. I have to assume that Edward bought our child these over-the-top playthings. I doubt the names Tonka or Fisher Price have ever been uttered in this house. Everything in Ryan's room is designer. Everything that's his outside his room might as well be, too. I sigh.

  The woman, Carter, has stealthily followed us out and stationed herself at the far corner of the deck, leaning against the railing with her arms crossed. Her eyes, so light ice-blue that they're almost white, sweep all around from beneath her feathery, cropped blonde hair. She's like a spy, petite, quick and silent. She gives me the creeps. She's also the only person Ryan's listened to this week, so I tolerate her. I don't think she's fond of me, either.

  My right arm itches. Grace took me for a checkup with the neurologist at the hospital yesterday, and as a bonus, I got my cast off. It smelled terrible. My arm looked and felt like a limp, wrung-out noodle, but thankfully I don't have to look at it except in the bath, as it's now in a rigid, Velcro-happy elbow sheath contraption hidden inside a hospital-blue sling. It's the latest in invalid fashion. It makes me feel just gorgeous.

  Sarcasm aside, I am feeling better, at least physically. I'm not sure about everything else. I've defaulted to going along with everything. I talk to Ray every day for a little while, and Mom calls every few days; they try to encourage me as best they can. Spending time with Kate has been the most helpful, I think. She's told me all about her wedding, our family vacations to Colorado and Montana, some things about Edward and his stalker-protector tendencies, and all about Ryan and Ava. She swears if they weren't cousins, they'd end up married one day, and I can see it; the two little ones just love each other.

  She started to talk about her pregnancy with Ava one day, but changed the subject rather quickly. She seemed flustered after that. I wonder if it's because of the baby I lost, but not remembering any of that, I'm not sure how to feel about it. I think I should be upset. I feel ashamed that I'm not grieving. I don't know what arrangements were made, where or even if she was buried. Nothing. And I don't feel right asking anyone, especially not Edward. I don't want him to have to relive the pain again, just so I can have closure. Maybe it's better left alone, unless or until I remember on my own.

  I shudder at the thought. After that single, short-lived, monumentally confusing and potentially dark flash into this whirlwind fantasy of a life, I'm not really sure if I'm ready to remember anything else, or if I ever will be. Edward's quick explanation could hardly have been rehearsed, but it has me doubting myself. Regardless of what I saw, he has this subtle way of disarming me completely. I don't know if it's practiced or if he doesn't realize the effect he has, and I'm not sure how his "rough start in life," the neglect and malnourishment, could lead him to fear being touched. So what changed? Did it just take time?

  Flynn wasn't much help, and now I regret telling him what I saw. He knows something. He redirected the conversation too quickly not to have some insight. I'm worried that it's bad, but then I worry about any number of things. Still, what I remembered is just too unusual to ignore. So how is it, in his absence, that this one thing I can't seem to ignore slides so effortlessly, almost unconsciously from my mind, and the swell of a certain longing for this man I hardly know takes its place? No matter what I do, the longer he's gone, the more this desire grows.

  "Theodore, no!"

  Carter has flown across the deck and launched herself onto my son, swatting him on the back so hard something flies out of his mouth. I've been oblivious the whole time.

  "What happened?"

  "He tried to swallow a pebble, Ma'am." Every time she speaks, I want to shudder. Even her voice is creepy. Ryan is crying with wild abandon from the shock of her assault. His chubby toddler arms are reaching for Carter, and she swings him up onto her hip. My son must be part chimpanzee.

  "Maamaamaaaa..." he wails.

  Carter brings him to me and carefully places him in my lap. Great, she gives him everything he wants, too.

  I feel like a terrible mother. I sat there, daydreaming, while my son proceeded to choke himself on a pebble he took from a potted plant. I'm unfit. I just hold him awkwardly, as he cries pitifully into my neck, a stream of tears and snot sliming down to the rim of my t-shirt.

  "Hey," I try to get his attention. "Hey, Ryan. Look at me. Look, Ryan."

  His tears continue to flow, but he raises his face to stare at me. "You shouldn't eat things that aren't food. Okay? Ryan, okay?" I shake my head for emphasis.

  He nods, his face still crinkled, his mouth still wide, mid-cry.

  "Everything okay, Ma'am?" It's Sawyer. He's been hanging around a lot since Edward left, and I don't think it's becau
se he's my personal security detail. I think he's a little paranoid, or just obsessed with the job. Maybe a bit of both. I'd guess he's bored also; so much security and so little to actually protect. Right now, he looks guilty.

  "Think so. You don't happen to have a tissue, do you?"

  He whips out a handkerchief and hands it to me.

  "Perfect, thanks." I mop Ryan's face and clean the slime from my neck. "You're not going to want this back." It's practically sopping.

  He holds out his hand anyway, amused. "I'll toss it in the laundry for you."

  Security that also does laundry... the staff sure is multipurpose. I wonder if Gail has rescue diver certification in addition to her mad chef skills. She interrupts my thoughts by poking her head out of the sliding glass door.

  "Mrs. King, Mr. Taylor called. They're about twenty minutes out. Would you like to get ready?"

  Oh yes, my surprise. "Right, thank you Gail."

  Seventeen minutes later, I'm changed, hair brushed, and standing in the foyer. Well, leaning on the entry table for balance, actually. I can handle a few minutes of standing on my own. I hope.

  My heart picks up a fluttery rhythm as the form of the black Audi SUV bends and curves through the thick, inlaid glass of the heavy oak front door. The next moment is one of those times when you don't know exactly how you got somewhere, but suddenly, you're there, and suddenly, I'm staring into one of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen. And the molten gray eyes, they have me pinned, weak where I stand, from the depth of emotion radiating behind them.

  "Hi," I murmur.

  "Hi." The corners of his lips turn up, and he steps toward me.

  I feel my cheeks flush, and I look down the length of my blue sundress to my white patent leather flats.

  "Hey," he softly recalls my attention, his finger moving to lift my chin. "You look beautiful, Krissy."

  I sway on my feet a bit.

  "Whoa," he whispers, curling his arms about my waist, steadying me. My good hand moves to his upper arm. I can feel the muscles flex through his suit jacket. My sling rests between us, but the soft cast is so much thinner, it's hardly in the way. "You're doing so much better." He smiles with wonder.

  "Surprise," I say, habitually biting my lip and almost immediately releasing it, remembering what he said to me about that. The move isn't lost on him however, and his pupils dilate.

  "I would really like to kiss you now, Mrs. King."

  He's asking permission! The mix of feelings is so confusing, so raw, shooting straight to my belly and zapping out to my extremities, and in that moment, I want his mouth on mine. I. Want. Him. I nod, almost imperceptibly.

  His hesitation is brief, but also endless in sustaining my anticipation, and then his warm lips brush mine, ever so lightly. His sweet breath blows warm against my face, our noses touch, and the aura is intoxicating. I'm so thankful that his arms are around me, because I'm about to fall. In a move of sheer impulse, I lean into him, pressing my lips fervently against his, unrestrained. He falters for only a half second, and then responds, holding me tighter, molding his mouth to mine. Bravely, I run the tip of my tongue along his lower lip, and he moans into my mouth. Oh, what a delicious sound.

  My legs choose that moment to give out. Edward seamlessly lifts me into his arms, and parts his lips, allowing my tongue access. I lose my nerve. He presses his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed, and smiles. I've never seen this smile before.

  "Welcome home," I whisper against his lips. Edward kisses me chastely once more, and then carries me to the wraparound sofa, not bothering to set me down but instead settles me into his lap. I think he likes this.

  "I should go away more often, if it means coming home to a welcome like this."

  Oh, please don't, I want to say.

  Edward senses my timidity. "Did you miss me?"

  I blush again, and nod.

  "Really?" He looks relieved, and delighted. I nod again. He presses his lips to my cheek, and then looks me over. "You look so much better, Krissy. How are you feeling?"

  "Stronger. Less freaked out, I suppose." Flynn said to be honest, and not to sugarcoat, so these are the best adjectives I can offer.

  "That's good. Really good." He continues to gaze upon me in wonder. His eyes must have been implanted with rose-colored lenses, because I personally think I look a few steps away from gaunt, pasty and miserable, but the way he looks at me... there's a primal hunger in his eyes.

  "Daddy!" Ryan bounces off the bottom step and runs headlong around the sofa toward us. He crashes into Edward's legs, and I'm not sure how, but Edward is able to heave Ryan into our collective lap without jostling me at all.

  "Easy there, baby boy," he coos to our son, one arm wrapped around Ryan and the other around me. "Were you good for Mommy?"

  Ryan nods. I decide not to inform him of the pebble incident.

  Edward buries his nose in Ryan's hair and inhales, closing his eyes. The arm around me tightens, and I lower my head to his shoulder, snuggling in close. It feels so new, so different, and yet, so right. Why the hell can't I remember any of this?

  "I love my little family," Edward murmurs. "You two make me so happy."

  Fuck the laws of physics; I melt into this man. What did I ever do to deserve him? All I did was inherit the clumsy genes that caused me to stumble into his office, or so the story went. My low self-esteem won't let me entertain the possibility that he really was attracted to me from the start. Surely he could have had anyone he wanted, so why me? Why was I The One? What did I have to do, say, or give up for this? The last thought fills me with dread. I quickly tuck it away, filing it for later pondering. Right now, I intend to relish this delicious moment with my... family.

  And then my stomach interrupts by growling rudely.

  "Mommy hungry!" Ryan squeals. His announcements are quite startling sometimes. I wonder if that's a more recent thing, or if he's always this way.

  "I think we'd better feed her then, don't you?" Edward tickles him, inciting more squeals. He sets his miniature on his feet. "Go find Gail and wash your hands."

  "No!" Ryan shouts, but runs off in the direction of the kitchen anyway. I get the feeling he just likes the word, whether he's in the mood to be contrary or not.

  Edward returns his attention to me, tentatively placing his left hand over my belly. "Have you been eating?"

  "Some," I tell him. The anti-seizure medication my neurologist prescribed has been messing with my appetite. This most recent declaration of need from the front line of my digestive system is uncommon. It's become more of a reminder that I need another dose.

  "You really must eat," Edward scolds. "Come." He lifts me as he stands. How he can so effortlessly rise from this black hole of a sofa is beyond me. He carries me through the kitchen to the more informal dining table and settles me into one of the chairs. I must admit, it's far cozier than eating in the dining room, more intimate, and the seating is much more comfortable.

  Edward brings me a rather generous bowl of shrimp fra diavolo over linguine, returns to the counter for a moment and then comes back over, holding out a handful of my meds, along with a glass of sparkling fruit juice. How the heck does he know what I'm taking?

  I hold out my hand, letting him pour the six pills into my palm, and I glare at him quizzically as I dump them into my mouth all at once and then take the glass and wash everything down. He returns my glare with equal fervor.

  "What?" he insists?

  "How do you know what meds I'm taking?"

  "It's my business to know. Now eat," he says, as though the discussion is over. Like heck it is. Where did the mood swing come from? And I can see why he'd be emotionally predisposed to ensuring that he and everyone he cares about is well fed, but the dictatorial manner isn't well received, at least not by me.

  Are you always like this? I want to ask him, but he's fastening Ryan rather securely into his fancy booster seat, and I may be new to this mothering thing but I know better than to have an adult discuss
ion around a child.

  I don't know whether the meds are having an immediate effect or if it's the sudden tension I've created by thinking too much about this, but my appetite has decided on eloping with my stomach, and they're off to some faraway land where they can poke fun at me in private. I absentmindedly twirl the pasta with my fork.

  "Krissy," Edward's voice has a warning edge to it. How can he go from being so loving and sweet to this rather unwelcome persona so fast? And why? A more pressing question might be, why does his despotic expression make me want to cry? Oh no, Krissy... you are not going to cry. Not over your noodles. Not where he can see.

  My chin disobeys and begins to tremble, my lowered eyes welling with tears. His hand is on mine in an instant, stilling my fork. What I'm sure are red-rimmed eyes rise to meet his, and I'm startled to see tenderness and contrition staring back at me. Edward's brow is furrowed. "Are you okay?" he mouths.

  I nod, blinking quickly to banish the tears.

  "Do you want something else?" is also uttered silently from his lips.

  I shake my head, and Edward's face changes again, to a look of utter defeat.

  "Please," he implores me. I swallow down this rising edge of nausea and nod, defeated as well. I force down a few, tiny bites. Our son is shoving broken noodles and plain shrimp pieces into his mouth, oblivious.

  We sit mostly in silence until Ryan directs his attention toward pulverizing his pasta rather than eating it, and Edward calls for Carter, who is inexplicably lurking around a corner, and takes the little one for his bath, leaving Edward and I alone with our tension.

  "You've barely touched your food, Krissy. It's very important that you gain some weight; I need you healthy."

  My heart has begun to pound forcefully in my ears. It's another side effect of the meds. I close my eyes and breathe.

  "Talk to me, baby."

  I'm so close to spewing all over my lap, and there's barely anything in my stomach to come up. "I can't eat any more," I murmur.

  "Please try," he implores me.

  "I think I'll be sick."