The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  I'm nowhere near yet. In a flash, her body slows. Hands are on her, softening her fall. "Mrs. King!" I hear. By the time I reach her side, there are more footfalls.

  "Krissy? Krissy!" My voice is raw. "Baby, please," I beg, my hands on her. Sawyer is cradling her head. I pull her into my arms and hold her to me, tapping her cheeks, stroking her face.

  "Is she breathing?" Taylor is pulling Sawyer up from the floor, taking his place. Gail is pacing not far behind.

  Krissy stirs with a groan, her brow furrowing. Her eyes crack, and she blinks slowly up at me. Oh, thank God.

  "Gail, please call my mother to come," I order, eyes not leaving Krissy's face. "Krissy, are you hurt?"

  "I don't think so," she mumbles. I pull her in close, gathering my legs underneath me and stand, carrying her against my chest through the throng of staff and into the adjacent living room, settling into the corner of the long sofa. I examine her face.

  Krissy's eyes are only partially focused; she looks confused as she has after the last episodes... Is that what this was? I press a kiss to her forehead. "Baby, did you remember something?"

  "I didn't know you played."

  I smile softly. "Yes." I suddenly have a novel idea... to suggest what she may have seen, and if I get it right, gain her immediate trust. It can't hurt to try. "You often come to sit next to me when I play. You've found me there so many nights when I can't sleep. I'm sorry I woke you, I did try not to." I wait. A few long moments pass; it seems she's gathering her thoughts.

  "I remembered sitting by you, it was here, but then it was somewhere else, a white room, like a museum. And I was sitting on the piano... Did that happen?"

  My stomach turns to ice. The one time I put her on my piano, of the countless times she's sat by me, listening. She had to remember… that. I'm glad the staff has disappeared. I hear Gail on the phone, it distracts me from the panic long enough to get the notion that she's reached my mother and set her on her way. I can't avoid the question. She'll not trust me if I do, and Flynn said to be straight with her.

  I swallow. "Yes, that happened, at the apartment downtown."

  Her breathing increases. "And… what happened next… did that happen as well?

  Shit. She means the impeccable piano sex. I lower my eyes. Never before have I felt discomfort over my commonly unorthodox methods of seduction, especially regarding the act leading up to my joining her up there… well, especially for her virgin mind. I meet her eyes and nod, the heat rising in my cheeks. Am I fucking blushing? That's a first. Well, Mrs. King, it seems there is no end to the firsts we've given each other. I smile slightly, and her cheeks also pink, quite a feat for someone so pale.

  She looks somewhat uncomfortable. "That wasn't... the first time, was it?" she asks, hesitantly.

  "First time? On the piano, or ever?"

  Her eyes widen. "Ever."

  I smile. "No, our first time was strictly vanilla.

  "Vanilla?"

  "Traditional."

  "Oh." She pauses. "Did I like it?"

  My smile broadens. "Very much, I think." Are we really discussing our intimacy?

  My whatnot twitches. Shit. No, this can't happen, not right now. She's not ready, I'm not ready... wait, I'm not? Impossible, I'm always ready. I need a distraction, big time. Krissy is staring at me, curiously. She must see how uncomfortable I am, no one sees that but her. I press a kiss to her forehead. Taylor enters the kitchen with a grumpy little boy in his arms. I feel terrible, in the last ten minutes I'd forgotten all about Ryan. I'm fortunate that my right hand man is always on top of things when I can't be. I return my focus to Krissy. "How are you feeling? Are you hungry?"

  She nods, and I'm grateful.

  "You're not wearing your cast," I notice. The blue wrap and sling are gone.

  "Your mom said I could stop wearing it; it actually feels pretty good." She lifts her somewhat more slender arm and turns it over, showing me.

  "I'm glad," I tell her, and I'm actually relieved. Aside from her body's reactions to these random memory flashes, she's improved by leaps and bounds every day. "Are you tired? These episodes seem to exhaust you."

  She nods. "A bit. I'll sleep tonight, though. I'm actually a little hungry."

  I don't bother asking if she'd rather walk. I'd rather she didn't. I stand, lifting her into my arms and carry her to the dining table.

  ~oOo~

  Thank you for stopping by again," I say, holding the car door for my mother. She'd looked Krissy over, deemed no permanent damage, and made another probably pointless appointment with the neurologist, most likely to placate me. I think she senses my frustration, and pats my hand in reassurance.

  "You're handling things fine, darling. I know it isn't easy. She's remembering, that's the important part."

  "Tell Dad I apologize for keeping you," I add.

  She snorts. "Your father doesn't mind one bit; he'd have come also, if it weren't for this series of suits he's been involved in; they've kept him late most nights and he has a few other clients keeping him busy."

  Yes, I can think of one in particular.

  She kisses my cheek and climbs into the car. "We'll see you a week from Saturday for dinner. We'd love for you to stay the weekend, if Krissy is willing."

  "I'll mention it to her," I promise, closing the car door. I watch her Mercedes disappear down the driveway with my hands stuffed in my pockets, wishing again that she'd finally permit me to buy her a safer vehicle.

  I rush a bit through Ryan's bedtime story, eager to say good night to Krissy before she falls asleep, and then I feel guilty. I've hardly spent sufficient quality time with my son since Krissy woke, and almost no time at all a month before that.

  "It's a special night, did you know?" I bring a quiet excitement into my voice. Ryan's eyes grow wide. I set down his book and gather him into my arms, inhaling his sweet baby scent. He's grown to dislike being regarded as a baby, but he'll always be mine, and will just have to live with that. I carry him from the bedroom and down the stairs, exchanging a fleeting glance with Gail as we pass the kitchen, and I scoop up a chenille blanket from the basket by the back door. Sliding the glass door aside, the moonlit sky welcomes us.

  "We're going to fall asleep watching the stars, would you like that?" I ask Ryan.

  "Uh huh," he answers with wonder. I smile and kiss his cheek.

  "Do you always know what I'm thinking?" a sweet voice startles me. My eyes dart around, finally falling upon the deck chaise, and Krissy, curled upon it.

  "I endeavor to," I say, moving to sit beside her. "May we join you?"

  She smiles. "Of course." She scoots over, and I settle against the reclining back, pressed against her side. She's awfully chilled. Ryan scrambles into her lap and I shake the blanket out over the three of us. She snuggles into my side.

  "Baby, you're freezing," I say, bringing my arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

  "I was about to get up for a blanket, but you beat me to it."

  I hope she's not just humoring me. Krissy's rarely shown that she has any sense of self preservation. We lay in silence for a while, the three of us, taking in the view, marveling at the crisp, clear starscape, listening for Ryan's gasps as he spots the occasional spark of a rogue meteor.

  "I was thinking about what I remembered," Krissy says softly.

  "Later, baby," I deflect her, gently, indicating to our oblivious child.

  Krissy becomes silent, but nods once against my shoulder. We're all quiet for a while, and eventually, Ryan drifts to sleep on his mother's chest. I could live in this moment forever, my family safely in my arms, but it's getting cooler, and I'd prefer the safety of the indoors for those most precious to me. I shift, and she gets the idea, sitting up slowly as not to disturb our sleeping boy. I drape the blanket around them and walk them slowly up to Ryan's room, watching as Krissy puts him to bed. She's a natural, though it feels new to her.

  She switches off the lamp and we back out of the doorway, clicking his monitor
on and shutting the door softly. Krissy turns to me. "Stay with me tonight?"

  My heart sputters. "Are you sure?"

  She nods. "I wanted to talk for a while."

  "You're not too tired, after what happened?"

  She sighs. "I just really want to talk to you."

  I smile, shyly, not sure where this bashfulness is coming from. I feel like a lovesick teenager, and since I never was one, I must default to my imagination.

  Krissy takes my hand and pulls me after her, into our suite. I feel the static connection between us, the current exchanged by our fingers, and it lights me up inside. It's as though, somewhere deep down, my Krissy is still in there. She escapes to the bathroom briefly, and I take the opportunity to quickly change into a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. They're still a bit loose, though my eating habits have improved; they have for all of us over these last weeks. Has it really been so short a time? She emerges from the bathroom in her lilac silk gown, sans robe, and my eyes widen. She's far too thin and pale, but she's ever my beautiful wife.

  "You're quite a sight, Mrs. King."

  She blushes, looking down at her hands, clasped by her belly. I close the distance between us and lift her chin with my fingers.

  "Hey love, don't be embarrassed. I love looking at you, and I want you unashamed of your appearance. Do you understand?"

  A flicker of defiance flashes in her eyes, but then she nods. I barely begin to wonder if I've intimidated her, when she throws her arms around my neck and her lips meet mine. For barely a second, I'm not sure what to do, how to react, but then my body takes over. My hands curl around her back, my left running up her spine to between her prominent shoulderblades, and my right coming to twine in her hair. Her tongue pushes into my mouth, brazenly, and mine comes to meet hers. Her breathing is fast, warm, blowing in my face. She makes my body want her, need her. The fire builds in my belly, searing up to my heart, and straight down. God, this is too much. "I can't," I whisper against her lips. What? Of course you can! She's offering herself freely, and you're her husband! My subconscious, the part of me that's had most of the control over this aspect of my life, berates me.

  "What, why?" she breathes.

  Because I want my Krissy. "It's… too soon," I tell her. "I don't want to take advantage." Well, at least that's also true.

  "You… don't want me," she assumes.

  "Oh but I do," I tell her fervently, pressing a short, sweet kiss to her lips. "I do, so much, baby. You have no idea how much." I pull her to my chest, cradling her there. "It's just not the right time."

  "You mean it's not the right time… for you." Her voice trails off and she looks down. Somehow, I've managed to cut her deeply. The rejection washing through her is visible, cold and final. She steps back.

  "Baby, it's not what you think," I say, moving tentatively toward her, trying to quell the panic in my voice. She raises her hand and I stop, her palms mere inches from my chest. I feel the spark between us, and it's pure agony. My breaths are suffocating.

  "What is it, then?" she demands.

  I blink. How do I explain my fear? I hardly understand it myself. I swallow the rising sour in my throat. "Krissy, you're my whole life," I tell her. "I'm not good at expressing my feelings, and frankly, how you feel is so much more important to me." She frowns, and I continue. "I'm so glad that you want me. I want you as well, you have no idea. But I spent a month worrying that you'd never wake up, and now just a few weeks trying not to break you, and I'm afraid."

  "You're afraid of me?" She stares at me, aghast.

  "No, baby, you don't understand," I reach. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you. I can't, I won't do that." There's more resolve in my voice than I intended.

  "So you won't touch me." It's not a question.

  "Well right now you're not letting me. What do you want Krissy? Seriously, what do you want from me?" My eyes are wide, my temper seeping through the cracks in my resolve. I'm buzzing with misdirected fury, at myself, at this abominable situation, but it has nowhere else to go but right in front of me. Her face crinkles.

  "Oh Krissy, baby I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you." I move through her wall of resistance and wrap my arms around her, and at first she lets me, her hands grasping the front of my shirt, but then she shoves against me with a strength I've not felt in so long and had no idea she was still capable of. I stumble backward, stunned.

  Krissy backs to the edge of the bed and sits, letting her head fall into her hands. Is this her, or the depression? I'm at a total loss, and stand there like a fool.

  "Just go away," she whispers.

  "Baby..."

  "Go! Get out! I don't want you near me!" she yells.

  She's throwing me out. She's really throwing me out of our bedroom. She just doesn't understand, and at the moment, I'm not sure she wants to, either. I find myself dazed in the hallway outside my office with no recollection of how I arrived there. My mind must have been on auto pilot. I thrust the double doors open; they hit the walls with a bang. I should call my mother because I know she'll be up, to dredge some insight. I should call Flynn at this hour, just because I can. But I do neither. My brain spasms in my skull, unable to grasp my anger, my fear, or whatever this emotion is. I can't name it. I really can't even properly feel it, but it's there, stabbing me in the temples. It hurts.

  "Sir?"

  Taylor. Shit. I don't know how I got to my desk either, but my head is resting on my arms. I look up at him bleakly.

  "Are you all right, sir? I heard some commotion on one of the monitors."

  I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. Shit, my eyes are wet. "I don't know."

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  I shake my head again. "You're up late," I observe.

  He nods. "Just getting something I left in the control room," he holds up a folder. "I don't mean to interfere. Heard a yell through the north monitoring station, wanted to make sure everything was okay."

  "She threw me out." The words escape my lips, unchecked. He might as well know; I can trust Taylor to be discreet. I wave toward one of the leather chairs, and he sits. After a while, I find my voice again. "I don't know what I'm doing. This is so far beyond anything I know. What would you do?" I honestly want to know. Jason Taylor is only a few years older than I am, has a daughter, is happily married, and has been my right hand for seven years. I respect his experience and value his opinion.

  "I'm not sure I'd be doing anything differently, sir."

  "Drop the sir, Jason. You can speak freely." I rub my face, irritated.

  He sighs. I'm aware that he's not generally comfortable speaking his mind; an early military career and then service to me would send most men into PTSD without ever setting foot near a war zone, and Taylor has that under his belt as well. "Honestly? I'd probably be in the same place right now. You're doing a better job than any of us expected and better than most similar people probably would. It's a very difficult circumstance."

  I laugh, unexpectedly. "You expected me to do worse?" Taylor blanches.

  "That's… not what I meant at all..."

  It's all right. I said you could speak freely. I want you to be straight with me." I wait for him to continue.

  He swallows nervously. "If I might explain better, part of my job entails making sure your daily life runs smoothly. I can only do that if I have a sense of how you handle what life throws at you. I admit that Gail and I talk, but never outside the limits of our Nondisclosure Agreements, and always within the bounds of making life easier for you and Mrs. King. We're both torn up that you're going through this."

  "I appreciate that. I do." It strikes my heart how he speaks of himself and Gail as a unit, as a 'we.' I want that feeling with Krissy again. "I have to tell you, your service to us has been exemplary. It's hard for me to express that. I know Krissy does... or did, in my stead. I hope that my sometimes inexcusable behavior isn't cause for either of you to think twice about continuing with us."

  "Not at all. It's the challenge I look f
orward to every day. This is where we want to be."

  I nod. Something Krissy said a long time ago plants itself in my heart. "My wife has long considered you both family. I make sure our family is taken care of. Is there anything you or Gail need? Anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask."

  Taylor swallows again. So, there is something.

  "Out with it, Jason."

  He sighs. "It's a doozy. Sophie wants a puppy. Her mom's allergic, and it's just not practical here. She's been begging me for at least two years. I hate disappointing her, but I can't think of a way to make it happen."

  I smile. Dogs really aren't my thing, but exceptional children often need certain things in their lives, and for reasons they can never properly articulate. I should know. Oh, the things we do for our children. "I'll think on that for a bit."

  ~oOo~

  I've seen Flynn once more since I've been back. Seen is the operative word. Phone calls don't count. His standing instructions are that I record my thoughts and... feelings... in written form. How one writes their feelings is one matter entirely. I still don't clearly identify most of mine with any true definition to give the multitude an order of descriptive names, and to write "I am angry today" is just plain fucking stupid. I'm not starting a diary, for fuck's sake.

  Krissy avoided mention of our spat the following morning, and I let it go, content to let sleeping dragons lie. My Krissy would want to talk about it, and now that I'm the one who realizes we have to discuss our disagreements, she's the one doing the avoid-dance. She won't hold my gaze for long. I'd give anything to see inside her mind right now.

  We pulled up outside Escala at ten to four. Gail had supervised a total redecoration of the "playroom" yesterday, and it's now a streamlined, off-white sitting room, or so it looked in the photos she emailed. I hope to God the Ozonator I purchased did its job of eliminating any lingering fresh-paint smell.

  "We lived here?" She asks again, her eyes taking in the shiny panels of the elevator. I've told her as much more than once, and in my agitation I'm almost short with her. We haven't really acknowledged our tiff from the other night. She's only trying to piece her life together, for Christ's sake.