The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  How dare he? When you're mine? Well, I'm not his, at least not in the property sense that he seemed to indicate. Is this a new protective-possessiveness since I lost my memory, or was he always like this? If his list of descriptives is any indication, I think it's safe, albeit cringe-worthy, to assume the latter. Then why in God's name did I consent to eternal matrimony? This is so ridiculously fucked up. He has some explaining to do, and so does another friend of mine.

  My Blackberry pings.

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  From: Edward King

  Subject: Forgiveness

  Date: August 17 2014 16:03

  To: Kristina King

  Krissy,

  I beg you to forgive my behavior toward you this morning. I was out of line.

  There is so much you don't understand. I love you, and with the depth of my affection is an exceeding need to keep you safe. Your assumption was correct; I haven't been entirely forthcoming with you, and I would like to be. But some things are largely unexplainable. They need to be felt. I'm not sure how, or even if, I can portray certain events from our past in a way that won't bring on some very uncomfortable misunderstandings. That aside, my handling of our conversation this morning was atrocious, and for that, I sincerely apologize. You are in no way my property. Rather the opposite... I am yours. Always and forever.

  I would like to make it up to you, in whatever manner you choose.

  I have a gift for you. A peace offering, if you will. I'll see you in a little while.

  xx

  Edward King

  CEO, King Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

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  I read it three times, reeling at his apology, and frowning at the formality of his signature. What? There are things he won't tell me, because no matter how he tells me, I'll misunderstand him? He can't find a way? He's so strange. There's just something about him, something I can't put my finger on, something I can't let go of. In the short time I've known him he's managed to draw me in, like "moth, meet flame… ZAP!" But then, he has this uncanny ability to drive me nuts at the same time. I shudder at the negative side of my emotional spectrum, and hope that it's just in reaction to his actions, and not his personality.

  I lean to the right and rest my forehead against the glass. Rain droplets pelt and streak across the tinted windows, shining like beads, lit up by the halogens of swiftly passing cars.

  My vision suddenly blurs. A pair of square truck headlights approaches in slow motion, seeming to almost stop, a moment suspended in time. A chill runs through me, and I feel the spray of shattered breakaway glass, the stench of oily, wet asphalt. The sensation of blood rushing to my head, being suspended upside down. Numbness. So tired...

  "Mrs. King! Krissy!"

  I blink, blessed air rushing into my lungs. The vehicle is stopped, my door flung wide open and Sawyer's hands are at my shoulders, bringing me back to the present.

  "Luke?" I murmur.

  He sighs with relief. "She's back, T."

  Taylor is turned toward me, and he's on the phone. "She's all right, Sir. Yes, Sir." He presses a button on the handheld and holds it out. Edward's disembodied voice rises from the device.

  "Krissy? Baby, are you all right?"

  I struggle to find my voice. "Um... I think so." I pause. "I think I just saw the accident."

  "Oh, baby, no." His voice is laced with despair. "Everything's going to be fine. Taylor is going to drive you to the hospital. I'll meet you there."

  Oh, please… not there again. The thought of returning to the hospital, or any medical facility for that matter, is thoroughly unpleasant. "No, I'm fine, I don't need to go," I say quickly. "I'm just a little shaken up, that's all."

  "Kristina, please, you should be looked over."

  "I really don't want to go to the hospital, Edward... this happened before and I was fine, right? Your mom said so herself."

  He sighs. "Fine. I'll call my mother to come have a look at you."

  I nod. Stupid, he can't hear your head rattle. "I'm not hurt... I just want to come home." Home. When did the big house become home?

  "All right. You're only ten minutes from home, baby. I love you," he says tenderly, and then his voice changes. "Luke."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Sit in back with her. Keep her awake and talking. Make sure she stays warm."

  "Understood."

  Taylor takes the phone off speaker, and Sawyer shuts my door, moving to the other side and sliding in beside me. His hair is beaded with rain droplets, his jacket splotched with water stains. "Can I do anything, ma'am?"

  I shake my head, eyes still dazed. "Make me forget?" I suggest.

  Sawyer shakes his head. "I would if I could, ma'am. I can't forget it either."

  "What?" I startle. "You saw it too?"

  "I was there, ma'am."

  "You were?" I'm still so unfocused. Of course he was, he just said so.

  He sighs. I'm vaguely aware that Taylor has pulled back into the flow of highway traffic. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for what happened that day." He fishes in the rear of the SUV and drags out a travel blanket, draping it around my shoulders. I don't remember unbuckling my seatbelt; Luke must have done it. He wraps me securely and re-fastens the nylon strap, clicking it into the buckle.

  "Were you driving?" The thought comes unbidden into my brain, but bypassed the filter. I'm sorry the instant I said it.

  "No ma'am, I wasn't," he looks so utterly guilt-ridden.

  I can't seem to find any words in me.

  "Please keep talking, Mrs. King."

  I inhale deeply. "Are you okay?"

  "Me? I'm just fine. Why do you ask?"

  "You were there, too." I reason.

  "I was, but I wasn't as badly injured. Just a ruptured spleen and some bruising."

  "Oh, just," I mumble sarcastically. My eyes are dragging. I feel so sleepy. I have to keep talking, Edward said to stay awake. I'm not sure why. "Did they let you keep it?"

  "Keep it?"

  "Your spleen."

  Sawyer chuckles. " No, ma'am. I wasn't aware that was an option."

  "Oh."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. My cousin got to keep his appendix in some smelly preservative. Put it on a shelf like a trophy. It was creepy."

  He chuckles again. "I can imagine."

  "We're almost home, Mrs. King," Taylor says from the driver's seat.

  Sawyer's eyes are on me, like he's not sure what to do with me. "Can I ask you a question, ma'am?"

  "Sure."

  He swallows. "What's it like?"

  "What, remembering?"

  He nods.

  I sigh. "Like getting the wind knocked out of me. I see it, I think I'm supposed to recognize what's happening, to know what it means, but it doesn't connect."

  "Sounds uncomfortable," he says after a moment.

  "Just confusing. Frustrating too, sometimes." And exhausting. I don't think I have the energy to continue the earlier fight with Edward now. I was so looking forward to giving him a piece of my mind, but the email and now the resurfaced memory fragment have numbed me, my rehearsed rant falling away.

  "Forgive the question, ma'am. It was out of line."

  "It's okay, Luke. You care, that's a good thing."

  He nods once.

  Taylor brings the vehicle to a stop at the side entry. In a second, my door has been flung open again and there he is, in all his copper-haired glory, gray eyes shining. His hands are on my face, unbuckling my safety belt, lifting me into his arms. "Are you all right?"

  I nod, pressing my forehead to his neck as he carries me. I want to resist, to remind him that I can walk, but I don't have the energy. "I'm still so mad at you."

  I feel him swallow. "I know, baby. I'm still so mad at me, too." He carries me into the suite, but instead of bringing me to the bed, he settles me on the sitting room c
haise lounge and pulls a nearby blanket over my legs. He drops down beside me, eyes searching my face. "My mother is on her way to look you over. Can I get you anything?"

  I shake my head. I'm not sure what to say to him.

  "Did Jose feed you?"

  I nod, and he seems satisfied, and then hesitant.

  "Did you get my email?"

  I nod.

  He sighs. "May I ask what you remembered?"

  Yes you may, I want to say, but I think better of it. He's being so contrite and caring, the Edward I've grown so fond of, and I don't want to be the cause of another of his mood swings. "Headlights, broken glass, rain... I think I was upside down. Sawyer was there."

  Edward blanches. "You saw Sawyer?"

  "No, we talked about it on the way. He was there that day; I guess I just mentally placed him." I see Edward's expression, and I think I can deduce that he's hoping his face would be the only one I'd see in a resurfaced memory. It sure would help things make sense, I can definitely admit that.

  "Do you remember anything else?" he asks gently.

  I shake my head. "I'm sorry."

  "Oh no, baby, don't be." He folds me tenderly into his arms, smoothing my hair, rubbing circles over my back. I push my arms out of the blanket and grip the lapels of his linen shirt. I want to shake him for earlier, but I'm content to hold him to me, so he can't escape into his master of the universe persona, but he smells positively delicious, like fabric softener and his expensive shampoo. Maybe this is how to do it: keep him close and he's the Edward I like to be with; approach with hostility and he puts up the forcefield and opens fire. I'd do anything to avoid option two again. Anything, except giving into his will and losing myself, that is... this was my fear from day one.

  "Thank you, Gail," I hear Edward's mother's muffled voice from the hallway. She pushes the door open and Edward releases me, tucking the blanket around my shoulders again. "Hello, Krissy, I heard you had another episode today. How are you feeling?"

  "I'm fine. It's actually thanks to Edward I'm not being scraped off the highway... I shouldn't be driving," I say.

  Dr. Grace gasps. "You weren't, were you?"

  "No! No, I wasn't," I explain what happened, and she nods her assent.

  "I'll make another appointment with your neurologist; I think we'll want to make that a regular thing for a while," she decides, taking a penlight from her purse and shining it first into one eye, and then the other. "It's rare but not unheard of for resurfacing memories to cause short lapses. You feel all right, otherwise?"

  I nod. "Just confused that I can't place what I saw, that's all."

  "Totally understandable. Have some dinner and relax, and call me if you need anything, all right?" She kisses the top of my head and stands.

  "Okay, thank you for coming," I tell her, and she smiles.

  "Edward, walk me out?"

  "Of course, Mother," he rises. "I'll be right back, love." He kisses my forehead and exits, pulling the door halfway closed behind him. I lay my head against the back of the lounge, breathing deeply. In what feels like only a minute, he's returned, sitting beside me and tucking a stray lock behind my ear. "Aside from the obvious, how was your day?" he asks.

  "It was good," I breathe. "Nice to see a friendly face. Jose told me a lot. Even admitted a few things, I think I understand better why you're not sure about him. He's real sorry about the baby. He sends his condolences."

  Edward gulps, and his eyes take on an old sadness. "That was thoughtful of him."

  I sit up a bit and spontaneously wrap my arms around him. He hesitates, but then leans into me, holding me as well. "I'm sorry, Edward... I didn't mean to bring that up again."

  "It's all right, baby, nothing to be sorry about. While we're on the subject of apologies though, I have one of my own, and I do owe you an explanation." He releases me, gently pushing me to lie back, and brushing my cheek with the backs of his fingers.

  "You don't have to..." I start, but Edward interrupts.

  "Yes I do, Krissy. I've gotten my way, every single day of my adult life. I still expect it, and when you entered my life, I instantly felt the irresistible urge to protect you from all manner of things," he explains. "These two tendencies double down on your free will, and we've clashed rather viciously, as you experienced this morning. In the end, I'm glad I got my way today, as things could have turned out very differently, but I was wrong in how I went about it." He sighs. "It's devastatingly hard to admit, but I was an... arse, as you've so finely put it in the past. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

  "An... arse?"

  "Yes."

  "I've called you an arse?"

  He smiles. "Yes."

  I blink. Name calling really isn't my thing. "Have I really called you all those other things?"

  "Most of them in print, but yes."

  "In print?"

  "Email banter is one of your specialties, Mrs. King."

  I snort. "I'd like to see some of those."

  His smile fades a bit. "I'll see what I can dig up for you." He kisses my lips briefly. "Are you hungry?"

  I nod, a little less enthusiastically than he probably expects, but more so than I feel.

  "Good. But first, would you like your gift now, or after we eat?"

  "Gift?" I eye him warily. "Is it meant to placate me?"

  "Not at all, baby. It just rang out as something you'd really like. So... now?" He studies me expectantly.

  I nod, giving in. Whatever it is, I'd better make it look like I like it. He's so happy to give to the people he loves, this much I know. A grin spreads across his face. He pecks my lips again. "Wait here."

  He leaves, pulling the door mostly closed behind him again, and shouting for Mrs. Taylor. So apparently, he has an accomplice in his plotting. The thought makes me smile.

  It's several minutes before I hear him bump the door open again, his arms laden with a large, wicker picnic basket covered in a tartan blanket.

  "A picnic? For dinner?" The thought is pretty nice actually, but the weather outside would disagree.

  He laughs gently, setting the basket down on the floor beside me. "I don't think you'd want to eat these." These? I swing my legs over the side of the chaise and tentatively pull back the blanket.

  My heart melts.

  Two miniature Sams climb over each other, struggling to escape from their wicker prison. Edward lifts them out and sets them in my lap. I choke on a sob. Wagging tails whip my forearms, tongues caress my skin, and warm, wiggling bodies, one slate gray and one fawn brindle, bump against me, stumbling over my legs, rearing up to reach my face. My arms come around them immediately.

  "Oh Edward," I gasp.

  "Do you like them?"

  "I love them," I sob, laughing at the same time. "They're like my Sam." The memory hurts, wrenches my heart, but these new lives in my lap return my old friend to me.

  Edward grins like a little boy. "Good. Because I'd hate to have to explain to Ryan why we couldn't keep them."

  "He's seen them already?"

  Edward nods. "Helped me name them, too. I'd like you to meet Ludwig and Tess," he introduces the gray and fawn respectively. "A neighbor's whippet had puppies; I saw an advertisement when I went running this morning. The Avery family was only too pleased to have them come live with us, a good home close by and all that." He pats the gray one fondly.

  I regain my composure, cuddling the little ones. "Why not Beethoven and Durbeyfield?" I tease.

  Edward laughs, amused that I made the connection. "If you'd like. Though you can explain that to our son, and teach him to pronounce them."

  I smile fondly at him. "I love them, Edward. And the original names too. Thank you."

  ~ EDWARD ~

  White walls. Damn these white walls, in all their sterile coldness. The squeaky oxford sneakers, white coats, bright fluorescents. They're all distracting me, keeping me from my love. From Krissy.

  "Krissy!" I call to her, the white laminate tiles slippery under my bare
feet. The janitor in a navy jumpsuit sneers coldly, pushing his filthy mop in my path, his sharp, jagged, grimy teeth bared. The floor tilts and I slide down the long hallway. It's getting dimmer, more crowded… I have to elbow my way through a throng of brittle, elderly nurses in silly white hats. They smell of medicine, and I don't think they can hear me. They're blocking me on purpose. "No! I need to get to my wife! Krissy!"

  "Edward!" My mother spreads her arms, and there is no one else. She holds out her hand for me. Her eyes are sad.

  "Mom? Where's Krissy? Where's my love?"

  She brings a finger to her lips and pulls me forward, into a dark room. The room. The one we spent thirty days in, consumed with grief and worry. My heart pounds. She's there, in the bed, pale, skeletal and frail, more than she ever was. No…

  "Krissy?" I pick up her cold hand. Her skin feels like crepe paper. "Oh baby… no…"

  "It's time," my mother says.

  Time? Time for what?

  A machine beeps. The tone dulls and lengthens, as with a low battery, and then another joins the first.

  "What's happening?" I demand? I look from my mother to Krissy, and see her chest fall once more.

  It doesn't rise again. My blood runs cold.

  Oh God…"No! Krissy! Baby, no!"

  The light is everywhere.

  "NO!"

  My eyes burst open. Chocolate walls… this is our bedroom. The familiar color pulls me back into some semblance of reality; I'm drenched and freezing, tangled in satin bedsheets. My arms shoot out frantically. I'm alone in our bed.

  "I'm home. It was just a dream. Not real," I tell myself, violently kicking off the sheets and swinging my legs over the side. I need to find her. I have to make sure she's all right. My legs carry me, barefoot and dressed in damp pajamas, bursting through the master suite doors and striding across the house. "Krissy?" I call. My heart pounds. The kitchen is deserted. So is the great room. "Krissy!"

  And then I see her.

  A gathering of the staff, plus Ryan and Taylor's daughter Sophie, are surrounding the deck, watching the children play with the puppies, but in this moment, my eyes are only for Krissy. She's sitting further back, curled in one of the deck chairs, just watching. I move through the sliding door, come behind her and, without warning, curl my arms around her shoulders. She jumps a little.