The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  He sits back, unsure what else to do. "It's your medication, isn't it?"

  I nod. Dr. Grace picked up my new prescriptions the day Edward left for his trip. It's a cocktail of anti-coagulation agents to break up clots that may have formed during my month-long unconscious vegetation so that they don't dislodge and create blockages, and preventative anti-seizure drugs, standard procedure after a head injury like the one I sustained. Apparently, it's not extremely common to have seizures after one head injury, but she told me that I had another during the blackout years, so they're just being cautious. I must still be a real klutz to be knocked over so easily. It's a wonder Edward ever had an attraction to me... maybe he just likes the plain, dorky, clumsy type.

  He leans forward again, curling my fingers with his. "Krissy, it's very important that you accompany your meds with something to eat. You need them to absorb properly so they can do their job. Please, tell me what I can do."

  I'm desperate not to put any more of this dish, which to anyone else would be delicious, into my stomach. But then, I'm sure Edward isn't going to drop the matter, and that makes my stomach churn more. I hunt for some middle ground. "Maybe I can handle some crackers," I suggest timidly.

  "Of course, I'll get some for you," Edward's face alights, as though he'd never thought of this. I wonder how he placated my nausea during pregnancy, if I even had any. He glides away from the table, taking my barely eaten pasta back to the counter, then disappearing into the walk-in pantry and returning a moment later with four boxes and a bag, a variety of cracker-looking products with gourmet brand names I'd never heard of before. "Which would you like?"

  I opt for the most harmless, a hexagonal flatbread cracker sprinkled with pink sea salt. He watches closely as I nibble on one. Remarkably, my stomach begins to settle.

  "Better?"

  I nod, taking a small sip of the sparkling juice. It's surprisingly refreshing. My eyes start to droop. Not only do the meds make me sick, but they also make me sleepy.

  "It's bedtime for you, isn't it?" Edward cocks his head to the side, watching me.

  I nod again. "I'd like to say good night to Ryan first."

  "I'm glad you two are getting along so well, I was worried," he says. "May I come with you? Or would you like some time alone with him?"

  "Of course you can come." I yawn, my sleepiness becoming blatantly obvious. Edward rises and slowly pulls my chair back, then carefully scoops me into his arms. How he just knows I can't handle walking at the moment I have no idea, but I'm grateful. He really is the dedicated caretaker type. He buries his nose in my hair for a moment, and then carries me toward the stairs.

  ~oOo~

  I left Edward and Ryan in bedtime-storyland. James, the evening and overnight nurse, accompanied me to get ready for bed. Accompanied is too soft a word, actually... he carried me into the bathroom, helped me into my pajamas, helped me stand at the sink to brush my teeth, and then carried me to bed. The ritual is exhausting. All the while, my brain nagged me. According to Kate, Edward can be very possessive, controlling, and very, very jealous. She was careful to use nicer words, but it wasn't hard to get her general drift. The last description has me wondering how, if this is true, did Edward consent to a male nurse?

  My eyes droop. I roll onto my left side, dragging my knees to my chest. It's about all I have any energy for.

  "Good night, Sleeping Beauty," I hear Edward whisper, and his lips brush against my forehead. My eyes spring open.

  "Mmm..." I groan.

  "Everything all right?" he worries, pulling the duvet over me.

  I sigh. "I have so many things to ask you."

  He smiles. "Such as?"

  Where do I even begin? "Why did you hire James?"

  "Your nurse?" Edward's brow furrows. "Does he make you uncomfortable? I can have him replaced immediately."

  He's serious! "No, nothing like that. I just... I mean, he helped me change clothes. You're okay with another guy seeing me undressed?"

  "Are you going where I think you're going with this?" Now he's smirking. "Krissy, James is gay. He'd not be caring for you in that capacity otherwise."

  "Oh." Now I'm a little embarrassed, and feeling really, really slow on the uptake.

  "His partner works at my mother's practice," he explains further. "She trusts him, and therefore, so do I."

  "I'm sorry," I mumble.

  "For what?"

  "Assuming, I guess."

  He chuckles. "Well, you assume correctly on one point; I am quite the jealous type. You'll have to forgive me for that."

  "Oh." It appears my vocabulary has taken its leave.

  "So, is that all?"

  "Hmm?"

  "You said you have many things to ask me," he reminds me.

  "Right." Something dawns on me. "He can't hear us, can he?" My nurse usually parks not far away in case I need anything.

  "Of course not baby, I would have told you. He's sorting your meds for tomorrow."

  I sigh. "Why do you call me that?"

  "What, 'baby'?"

  I nod.

  "A pet name, that's all. It started in jest and it just stuck. You don't like it?"

  "I didn't say that." I yawn.

  "You're exhausted. I should let you sleep." He brushes a few stray wisps of hair from my forehead.

  "Don't go yet," I beg sleepily.

  "You want me to stay?" His voice is hopeful.

  I nod, and he smiles. "All right. Just until you fall asleep. I have a few calls to make," he tells me, kicking off his shoes and moving around to the other side of the bed. He slides in beside me, on top of the covers. Tentatively, he curls his arm around my waist, and I press back into his chest. I feel him sigh in my ear, and he says something... but I'm already drifting.

  ~ EDWARD ~

  I'm unusually warm. My eyes shoot open, and I gulp a breath. The last image I remember was absurdly startling; Krissy was being carried away in another man's arms, a man without a face, to be quite vague. It takes several seconds to remember a conversation from the night before, and to associate my false assumption with what I dreamt.

  Shit, I must have fallen asleep. Krissy is still tucked against my chest. It's no wonder I'm so warm; it's been over a month since I felt her in my arms when I woke. I inhale, the scent from her hair filling my soul, comforting me. I relish the feeling for a moment, knowing full well I should get up and take care of a few things. Krissy suddenly shudders.

  "Sam..." she mumbles.

  I freeze. What the hell? I wait a moment, and she says the name again, somewhat more distressed. Who the fuck is Sam? Her breathing has increased, and she shivers again. "Krissy," I whisper to her. "Baby, it's all right. Wake up, Krissy."

  I feel her still, and her breathing slows. A moment passes, and she rolls back against me. I scoot back to give her room, my arm still draped over her waist, and she stretches out onto her back. Her eyes meet mine, the ambient light from the dim night lamp just enough for us to see each other. "Are you all right?" I ask.

  "You're here," she whispers.

  "I'm sorry, I fell asleep as well," I apologize, resisting the urge to bombard her immediately about her dream.

  "S'ok," she mumbles, stretching weakly. "Something happen?" She's blinking at me. My expression must be giving me away.

  "You were talking in your sleep."

  "Oh... happens sometimes. Kate thinks it's a hoot, tries to get me on tape. What'd I say?"

  I shake my head.

  She frowns at me. It's adorable, and I want to kiss that 'v' between her eyebrows, but I'm too busy trying not to be upset about this fucker named Sam.

  "Don't do that, Edward. Tell me what I said." Her face is serious.

  I sigh. No easy way to avoid. And besides, I really, really want to know. "Who's Sam, Kristina?"

  Krissy's face becomes suddenly sad. Great. I made her upset, just what I was trying to avoid. She bites her lip, but it's in an effort to keep from crying, I think. What the hell did this Sam do to hurt her?r />
  She sniffles. "Sam's... he's gone."

  Oh, no. Who was he? A member of the family I didn't know about? A friend? More than a friend? She would have told me. She never mentioned him before. Who the fuck was he?

  "I'm sorry baby," I tell her. And I am, despite my raging curiosity. "Tell me about him."

  She sniffles again. "I haven't thought about him much, with everything that's happened. I feel so guilty. He died back in January... well, my January, I guess," she rambles. "Ray took such good care of him. He called after classes started to tell me, I'd just seen him a couple days before. I wasn't with him." Her face crinkles. "I promised I'd be there when it... happened, and I wasn't with him." Krissy begins to sob.

  All I can do is hold her. Who was this? A brother? Was my information wrong? Did she have a sibling I didn't know about? Now I'm the one feeling guilty. She'd suffered a great loss just before I met her, she'd never mentioned it, and I'd jumped to improper conclusions. My mind is running wild.

  It's quite a while before she calms, but she does, eventually. I pull a handkerchief from my pocket, vaguely aware that I'm still wearing my suit pants, and wipe her tears away. "I'm sorry," she mumbles.

  "Hush, baby, don't ever be sorry for sharing your feelings with me. You can tell me anything. I'm surprised you hadn't told me about him before."

  "I didn't?" she murmurs, and I shake my head.

  "Do you have a picture of him?" I ask gently, hopefully.

  She nods. "The book... Ray brought it while you were gone. I think I left it on the coffee table."

  "I'll get it for you." I press a kiss to her temple, rise carefully from the bed as not to jostle her, and stride across the hall and into the living room. Clicking the dimmer switch to the lowest setting, I can just make out a white, padded vinyl photo album with gold trim. In the corner are the words 'The Steeles' in gold lettering to match the trim. It looks homey, well-worn and loved. I resist the urge to flip through it, instead I tuck it under my arm and switch the light off as I leave.

  Nurse James is settled in an armchair just off the master suite, reading some thick novel. I appreciate his discretion in staying out of the sitting room while I slept with my wife. We exchange a polite nod, and I re-enter the suite. I set the photo book in her lap and naturally help her sit up, stacking pillows behind her before retaking my place at her side.

  She opens to approximately halfway through the book and begins flipping through the pages. Photos of different shapes and ages, tucked into plastic sleeves, a few with labels, most without. I can't see if there is anything written on the backs, for there is almost always another photo facing away on the next page. I hope she'll let me see the entire album, as many of the photos are of a younger Krissy, as a sweet child, then as a lanky but beautiful teenager, and with a multitude of my favorite expressions. I'm reminded of the canvas photographs Jose took years ago. I wonder offhand what her opinion of them is, now, and if she's seen them all.

  She stops on a page about two-thirds through. "This was Sam," her voice quivers.

  My heart melts. The center photograph is a six-or-seven-year-old Krissy, and in her arms is a gangly, wiggling puppy. Krissy is grinning broadly, her front teeth missing. A series of scenes of them playing in tall grass, chasing one another, sharing a slice of watermelon, dressed as a circus clown and lion for Halloween. Krissy slowly turns the pages, allowing me to absorb, and taking the time to reminisce herself. Krissy gets older, Sam develops into a sleek, beautiful animal. A greyhound, perhaps? His dark brindle coat shining in the sun, Krissy with her arms around him as they slept. Even a picture of him fishing with Ray. Then another page, and Sam is a bit gray around the muzzle, spread over a blue couch and looking quite pleased with himself. The last picture is blurred slightly; an Krissy I recognize with a thoroughly grayed Sam curled across her lap, sitting before a Christmas tree. I think this might be just before she lost him. She closes the book.

  I fold her into my arms, still in disbelief that I never knew. She must have been awfully upset by his memory to mention him, and the subject of pets never came up. "Thank you, for sharing that with me."

  "Thank you for listening," she sniffles, turning her head to gaze up at me. Her eyes... she has those 'kiss me, kiss me Edward' eyes, the same I first saw all those years ago after she was almost run down by that idiot cyclist on the sidewalk. I can't help it when she does that, when she subconsciously gives herself up to me. I lean down and brush my lips against hers. They're so soft when she cries. She doesn't try to take things further this time, but meets me equally. I'm only a little disappointed, but I understand. Before, it was in reunion, and this time it's a need for comfort and reassurance. I end the kiss before it has a chance to become uncomfortable for her, but keep her wrapped securely in my arms. Oh, how I've missed those lips.

  "Sleep now, baby." I pull one of the pillows from behind her so she can lie back, and she curls into my side. I marvel at how trusting she is, just as she was in the beginning. She drifts again, and after a time, I follow.

  ~oOo~

  It's not difficult to extricate myself at first light, but undesirable. I'd lay here with her all day if I could. But I need a shower, and she'll need breakfast when she wakes. Our son is still asleep. I dress quickly, brush my teeth, ruffle my clean-wet hair as usual and make my way to the kitchen, thankful that Gail isn't in here yet to shoo me out. She's well aware of my lack of cooking skills, but I can handle something as simple as what I have planned. I set out a breakfast tray, a glass of orange juice, and set two slices of wheat toast to brown while I go in search of Krissy's and Ryan's favorite crunchy peanut butter from the organic market. I spread the warm slices, cut them into triangles and arrange them on a plate, fold a cloth napkin and fill a small cup with her morning meds. On the way back to the bedroom, I pluck a pink rose from the arrangement off the hallway and place it on the tray.

  Setting the tray by her side, I raise the roman shade, and morning light floods the room. Krissy stirs.

  "Krissy baby, time to wake up," I whisper, brushing my lips briefly to hers. She blinks delicately up at me. "Good morning, sweetheart."

  "Good morning," she smiles shyly.

  "I've brought you breakfast," I say, rearranging her pillows again and settling the tray across her lap.

  "This is so sweet, Edward. Thank you," she says.

  "My pleasure, Mrs. King." I unfold the napkin and tuck it into her nightgown. She picks up the rose and inhales it, closing her eyes for a moment.

  "Mmm, beautiful," she murmurs.

  "You certainly are, my love." I enjoy her blush, and then hold out her meds. Her expression turns to apprehension.

  "Can I eat first and then take those?" she asks.

  "Actually, after last night, I planned for this," I tell her. "This was your preferred breakfast during the first trimester. Apparently, peanut butter has some pretty strong anti-nausea properties, at least where you're concerned." I try to keep my face hopeful. Honestly, the mention of her pregnancy tears at my heart, but as she has no room to mourn, I'll keep it together until this afternoon when I see Flynn.

  She measures my face for a short time before opening her hand for the medicine. She downs half the orange juice. "I hope you're right," she says, setting down the glass and picking up the toast. She chews thoughtfully for a moment, and swallows.

  Then her eyes glaze over, and her jaw goes slack. I panic. Is she choking? Having a spontaneous allergic reaction? What?

  "Krissy!" The tray is out of her lap in a second, and my hands are at her cheeks. "Baby, talk to me, please! Krissy? Krissy, please baby... say something!"

  It's the longest thirty seconds of my life. She slumps over, unconscious for mere seconds, then blinks, and gasps. Her eyes refocus, and dart around the room.

  "Krissy?"

  "Peanut butter..." she whimpers.

  "What's wrong, Krissy?" God, this is killing me.

  "I was eating peanut butter with a spoon... in a white kitchen with dark wood... and
I was... big... and then the kitchen here, a high chair, and a mess of peanut butter... Edward! Where was I?" her breathing is erratic, and her eyes are still shifting.

  "It's all right, baby," I reassure her, unable to will my lips not to smile. The elation I feel is indescribable. She's coming back to me! "That was Escala, the apartment where we lived until a month before Ryan was born," I tell her.

  "Escala?"

  "Yes."

  She blinks rapidly. "I remember... it's almost familiar," she sounds a bit more confident. "Can we go there?"

  I panic, and I pray that I buried my reaction before she could see. I can work with this... have a team paint the former playroom and redecorate within a day. I believe I can stall at least that long. "Sure, love. Let's get you a bit stronger first, all right?"

  "I feel fine. Can we go today?"

  I sigh. "Perhaps one evening this week. I promise we'll go soon, all right?"

  She swallows, but doesn't look too happy. In fact, she looks rather dazed. "Okay."

  I take her good hand in both of mine and kiss her knuckles. "I'm so glad you've remembered something else," I tell her. "One step closer, hmm?"

  She nods, but there's a wall between us now. It's my fault. If only I could tell her everything, but then she'd run from me. I'd lose her forever.

  I can't bear to lose her.

  CHAPTER 11

  ~ EDWARD ~

  "Edward, you know I can't tell you that." Flynn continues to regard me passively. He does that whenever he thinks I'm being unreasonable. I'm desperate to know what Krissy's told him. I hate not knowing what she's thinking, especially now. How the fuck can I help her if I don't know?

  "Did she specifically ask you not to tell me?" I demand. This session isn't going well.

  "I can't tell you that either, and even if I could, do you think that knowledge would be productive?"

  Fucking Flynn. I'd be angry that she didn't want me to know, if that were the case, he's right. And if she hadn't asked him to keep her sessions private... well, I'd never know, because he'd never tell me. I'm fucked either way.

  He sighs. "Why don't we get back to the point? Her emotional swings, for one, are indicative of mild post-partum depression. She did say I could let you know that much."