The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  She nods.

  I swallow. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  She nods sleepily, but without hesitation. Her free hand reaches up toward my face, and I lean in closer, feeling her fingertips brush my cheek, and then she begins a dedicated study of my features, tracing across my forehead, my nose, the line of my jaw. My eyes close of their own volition, and I inhale deeply. I feel her palm come to rest against my cheek, and she guides me down to her. I have never felt such beauty in a simple touch, so innocent and pure as she is at this moment. I couldn't rightly appreciate what I had the first time I'd ever touched her, not when my thoughts and plans for her had been so shrouded in darkness. This is my second chance.

  Our lips touch, and a brilliant light bursts forth behind my eyes, blinding my brain from reason. She wants me. Her fingers weave into my hair, lips parting against mine, inviting me. She tastes of sweet lemonade, of late summer strawberries, and of... Krissy. My love, so familiar and yet, so new and untainted. Our brief kisses of the last few weeks hold nothing over this meeting of mouths and tongues, of gentle hands in soft hair, our bodies pressed against one another. I indulge our appetites a while longer, then pull back to run my nose along hers, smiling.

  "I thought you wanted to talk," I whisper.

  "I did," she breathes. "I changed my mind." She pulls my mouth back to hers.

  Ohhh... this is so monumentally unfair. My lips respond, and hers, warm, soft and willing, melt my insides. I. Want. Her. So. Much.

  But I can't... not like this. Not yet. Like throwing a crowbar into rapidly spinning gears, the steam train that is Edward King's libido comes to a clunking, grinding, metal-tearing halt, the devil within me throwing a ripe tantrum. I hover over her, panting. "I don't want to stop," I tell her.

  "Then don't," she whispers, tugging at my hair. She raises her lips toward mine. Every cell of my being pulls me in, but I move back instead, just out of range. Her eyes are dark with want, a twinge of confusion lurking behind.

  "Baby, let's talk, all right?"

  Krissy's brow furrows. She opens her mouth to protest, but I bring my finger to her lips. "I know you're over-thinking, and you shouldn't. I. Want. You." I raise my eyebrows, hoping to drive the message home. "I want you so much that it hurts me; I'm in pain this minute from wanting you."

  Krissy swallows, watching my face. She blinks a few times. I don't think she knows what to make of me, or of herself, at the moment. A wave of disappointment creeps into her features, subtle and guarded.

  "Your episodes thus far seem to confuse and exhaust you," I continue. "I don't want to push you further than you're able, and I refuse to waste any chance we have to help your memories resurface, to help you connect them to our life, but moreover, I'd be devastated if I allowed something we did in haste to bring you to harm."

  "But... I feel fine."

  I roll onto my side and gaze down at her, knowingly.

  She scowls right back. "I'm not going to get my way, am I." It isn't a question.

  "Neither of us is getting our way at the moment, love. If we were, we wouldn't lying here debating the point. I am truly elated that you want me." I brush her temple with my lips. "Talk to me, baby. Describe for me what you remembered."

  Krissy flushes. Oh, this is going to be good. The remnant libidinous demon within me greedily rubs its scarlet hands together, and I poke it through cage bars with a spiked cane. I must remain open and understanding.

  "You can tell me anything, baby."

  She nods. "It's just flashes. Being on a boat, taking pictures, then we, um..." she pauses. "But after, you looked sad." Her eyes widen suddenly, and she looks shocked. "Was it me?"

  "Of course not, baby," I soothe. "As long as we've been married, you've never made me sad, at least, not by your own fault." I swallow, wondering how exactly to word what I should tell her, fighting the urge to skirt the issue entirely. I don't endeavor to re-establish the control freak persona she sees in me, not after what happened Thursday morning. I readjust so that I'm sitting, my legs folded under me, hands clasped in my lap. Almost the submissive pose, but not quite; it's far more sincere than that. "Krissy, do you remember when I mentioned that there had been past threats against us?"

  She nods.

  "Well, there was one in particular that arose at King House after we married, while we were overseas. It upset me a great deal, because I was worried for you, that the perpetrator might target you to get to me. Things turned out all right in the end..." skirting, King, skirting, I chide myself, "but it made me considerably paranoid and emotional at the time." No, it's not skirting. I'm not going to feed her anything that might frighten her needlessly. And most importantly, nothing I said was an outright lie.

  "King House?" Krissy frowns, confused. Always stumped on the minor details, my little missus.

  "Just a nickname for King Enterprises, fewer syllables, you know." I shrug.

  "King Enterprises?"

  "And Holdings."

  "I saw your email signature… what does all that mean?"

  I raise an eyebrow. She's stumped me now, I realize I haven't gone into any detail of what I do. "It's just the name of our company, baby."

  "Our company?"

  "Ours." I lean in and kiss her briefly, chastely. She still looks confused. "Back to the issue?"

  She blinks. "You're not into anything illegal or immoral, are you?"

  Wow. "Of course not," I say, stunned. "Have I given you any reason to think so?"

  She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, really. That just spilled out, I don't know what came over me." She worries her fingers together over her belly. I clasp them and they still.

  "No need to apologize. You've been doing so well and learning so much, it's easy to forget that there are some everyday things you don't know."

  She nods, but remains silent, her eyes cast downward to our joined hands.

  "Krissy?"

  She swallows, and then looks up at me.

  "How are you feeling?"

  She sighs. After a beat, the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "Overwhelmed. Again."

  I nod, returning her smile, hopefully. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure you'd say you've been overwhelmed every day of our life together. And I hope," I say, bringing her hands to my mouth and kissing them, "that you might also say that you'd not trade it for anything in the world. It seems the impression you've always given me."

  She smiles. A genuine, you-really-do-know-me smile, reflected in her tired eyes.

  "You should sleep, baby." I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead.

  "Will you join me?"

  Her invitation warms my heart. "I'd love to. But after a while. I'm going to look in on our son and answer a few emails first, is that all right?"

  "I can look in on Ryan," she moves to get up. It doesn't take much strength at all to discourage her.

  "It's all right baby, I'd like to. You rest. Our bags are by the dresser. Get comfortable and I'll be back in a while, all right?"

  She nods again. I lovingly brush her cheek with my fingers. With my hand on the doorknob, she stops me.

  "Edward?"

  "Hmm?"

  She offers me a shy smile. "I like kissing you."

  My grin hasn't been so joyful, so fulfilling, not in months. "And I you, Mrs. King. I'll be back soon."

  I softly close the door behind me, praying that she'll not fret over our discussion, that she'll indeed rest, but this is Krissy. She does exactly as she pleases. I sigh. Descending the stairs, I go in search of my father. We have some business to discuss.

  ~ KRISSY ~

  The ambience of a gray Seattle morning floats lightly through sheer window coverings, and for a moment, I don't remember where I am. I recall a similar experience from my junior year; Kate had finally turned twenty-one and begged Jose and I to take a road trip to Napa that summer. We stayed in this little bed and breakfast next to a vineyard where we drank wine all day and sat around in the sun, and the next morning I woke up wi
th a momentary lapse of what I was doing there, and a monster hangover to boot. I sigh, as the creeping feeling of my amnesiac excuse sinks in. I don't even know what part of the house I'm in.

  The other side of the bed is mussed, but empty. My fingers run absently over the creased linens. A passing impulse has me rolling closer, and I breathe in the unoccupied pillow. Yes… he was here. The delicious scent of Edward's shampoo activates the synapses of my brain, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with an irresistible urge to find him and... I don't know what. I've never felt this way about anyone before. The feeling of being jilted by the familiarity of our intimacy is, in a word, unnerving. We have a child, for heaven's sake. I saw a flash last night of what might very well have been his conception, but it was like watching a memory through someone else's eyes, like it wasn't mine to see, and the thought is sour and strangely embarrassing.

  I need to get up.

  I must have fallen asleep without changing clothes; I don't remember putting on pajamas but here I am, in a blue silk nightgown. No bra, yesterday's panties... did he undress me? The wave of realization is brief, disappointing but not unwelcome. I would like to have been awake for that. I set the thought aside, pulling the more feminine of the two overnight bags onto the bed and dig for something to wear. I can't find my brush, so I give up and go hunting for a bathroom.

  Showered, dry and dressed and having found my brush neatly aligned on the bathroom sink with my toothbrush and an assortment of other bathroom implements, I venture from the high-arched hallway to a winding stairwell. I'm thankful for the fact that I haven't put on shoes, as I can be a little stealthier in my descent. I must have been in a finished attic or somewhere, these stairs just keep going. My senses are heightened, absorbing everything, but most distinctly the sound of voices, and the gentle argument of strings and a piano. The smell of something delicious invades my nostrils, of warm peaches and nutmeg, but it's secondary to the music. It draws me in, and I follow it.

  "Read it again."

  "I am reading it, you're not coming in at the right part; I'm telling you."

  "Look there, the second line. The A-flat leads. You're not following, you're leading."

  "You're not listening. Would you like to handle both instruments yourself?"

  "Don't be like that, Mia."

  "I'm not being like anything."

  There's a pause. "Just try it this way, please."

  "I thought it sounded fine the first seventeen times. If you want to mess up a good thing, be my guest."

  I lean in the archway of the formal living room. Mia is cradling an enormous cello, dragging a bow back and forth; her long fingers nimbly press this string and that, a brilliant engagement ring glinting upon her left hand.

  Edward is a sight at the dark wood piano, even with his back to me. His hair is tousled wildly, and though I can't see his expression, his body radiates deep concentration, shoulder and back muscles rippling through his fitted white t-shirt. I now understand what it means to drool over a man, and to my great delight, this one is already mine. Why on earth he wants me is quickly becoming the second biggest conundrum of my life.

  "Now you're skipping notes." Mia has stopped and glares at Edward.

  Edward lifts his fingers from the keys and runs them through his hair, making it stick up further. "You're truly exasperating. How Ethan is going to keep you in line is beyond me."

  I giggle.

  Edward spins on the antique piano stool, and his face lightens immediately. "Good morning, love." He strides purposefully to me and gathers me in his arms. "I'm so happy to see you. Did you sleep well?"

  I nod against his shoulder. "You play beautifully. Don't stop on my account."

  "Thank you, baby." He releases me, bringing his hands to rest on my hips. "Did you recognize the song?"

  I shake my head. "I should, shouldn't I." Once again, not a question.

  A flicker of sadness passes over Edward's expression, but he quickly recovers. "You've heard the piano solo a number of times. Come. Listen to my sister screw it up."

  Mia's jaw drops, and the indignant glare is back. Edward deposits me on an elegant wingback sofa and retakes his seat at the baby grand.

  "Good morning, Mia, and congratulations," I greet her.

  "Good morning yourself, and thanks. Don't listen to a word my brother says. He's still sour that I beat him in the guild competition that one time."

  "Mia," Edward warns.

  "What? It's the truth."

  They pick up from what I assume is the beginning, and even if one of them misses the argued cue, they don't stop this time. I get lost in the music. I'm not sure how much time passes, but the cushion suddenly shifts, and Kate is scooting silently toward me, snaking her arm around my shoulders.

  "Are you okay?" she mouths. I nod, snuggling into my best friend's hold and dropping my head to her shoulder. Edward looks up briefly from his playing and smiles softly at us. I'm not sure what the deal is between my best friend and my husband. Sometimes they needle each other playfully, other times they're downright broodingly hostile, but it's times like these, when I see the mutual respect, that I wonder most what might have transpired to breed such a dynamic.

  The melody ends, and Kate and I both clap admiringly. Edward rises and takes a dramatic bow. Behind him, Mia rolls her eyes.

  Kate pats my knee and rises. "I'm sent to bid everyone, come in to breakfast," she recites in the English tongue of Emma Thompson.

  Mia giggles. "You did that a little too well."

  "Why thank you." Now it's Kate's turn to take a bow.

  Edward looks between us, perplexed.

  "Shakespeare, big brother," Mia verbally jabs him. "Much Ado About Nothing was on while you men we're off doing Lord -knows-what in the boathouse."

  "You're exceptionally annoying. You do know that, don't you?" Edward's eyes flash mischievously. On a whim, he scoops her swiftly over his shoulder and carries her out of the room, with Mia squealing upside down.

  Grown siblings, acting like children. "I think they've filled our extended family entertainment quota for the week," Kate snorts. "Come on. We're not missing this." She grabs my hand and drags me toward the kitchen.

  Edward and Mia in turn swat one another's behinds. From the breakfast bar, Elliot snickers, baby Ava flailing in his arms. Ethan is wide-eyed as Edward deposits his burden in the younger man's lap.

  "You'll want to tame your fiancée, Kavanagh. She's becoming a little too mouthy for my liking."

  Mia giggles, and Ethan pulls her close, kissing her. "Oh no, she's just fine as she is," he smiles, keeping eye contact with the object of his love.

  Edward rolls his eyes and retreats to my side. Playful Edward is darling; I had no idea.

  "Nobody panic, we found Mr. Leo," Carrick announces behind us, bouncing a sullen Ryan on his hip. His cheeks are pink from crying, his chubby arm clutching the raggedy stuffed lion, thumb deposited firmly in his mouth. My arms open immediate to take him.

  "Did you lose your friend again, baby boy?" I ask him.

  "Hmm," Ryan grumbles and buries his face in my neck. Somebody's grumpy this morning.

  Edward watches like a hawk as we eat. I'm not put off by the gesture like I used to be, it seems part of the package. The large-family dynamic is spectacular; overwhelming, but adaptable. Only-children really do miss out, I think. I look to Ryan, who's watching Kate and Ava intently as Kate expertly breastfeeds her daughter under the cover of a blanket while eating her own breakfast. I wonder, was I so brazen when Ryan was an infant? It doesn't seem like me. But he watches, fascinated at the wriggling bundle under the blanket, and I wonder what he's thinking. Will Edward want more children, after what happened? How many did we talk about having? Do I want more? I think so, seeing the family dynamic around me and wishing I'd have grown up with such quantities of different but loving support. I sigh, meeting Edward's gaze. It's hard enough, dealing with an awakening of feelings I've never had for anyone, and integrating them into a ready-made life, comple
te with complications, secrets and drama. I'm running to catch up.

  And what about the 'vanilla' thing? He took a pass last night and I went along, if only to save what I sensed could be a long and uncomfortable discussion better had in privacy. What kinds of experiences could he possibly have had? And with how many women? We're they all women? My stomach sours on the last two thoughts, and I'm apprehensively grateful that I don't have any experience to speak of for a basis to let my imagination run wild.

  I'm suddenly aware that Edward and I are still fixed on one another's expressions, and he's just watched mine turn from pensive to downright fearful. His brow is furrowed. I blink rapidly to bring myself into the present, and he cocks his head to the side, reaching for my hand, brushing my knuckles with his thumb.

  "Later," I mouth.

  Edward nods reluctantly.

  ~oOo~

  "Why don't you put Ryan to bed and then join me for some tea?" Edward whispers, holding the front door for me. Our boy snoozes obliviously on my shoulder after a long, hard day of rough-housing with his father and Uncle Elliot. I think Grace was relieved to see things wind down after a planter in the yard was knocked over and broken. The ensuing debate over branding the guilty party proved quite entertaining. If something had been broken when I was growing up, there was no debate, because it was clear that I'd probably done it, the klutz that I am, or was.

  "Sure," I whisper back. Ryan had been bathed and dressed in pajamas before the ride home, so it's a short matter of arranging him in his bed and clicking on the night light and monitor before closing his bedroom door.

  Edward is taking a humming kettle off the stove when I return, and there's a soothing aria playing in the background. I lean over the counter, watching him.

  "Where are the puppies?" I wonder aloud.

  "Sophie has them tonight." A gentle smile plays on his lips. "Taylor assures me she'll part with them in the morning, willingly or not."

  I was looking forward to cuddling them this evening, but I hide my disappointment.

  "Come." Edward carries two steaming mugs to the black-hole couch, waiting for me to sit before carefully placing one in my hands. I sip tentatively. He sits next to me, not too close but not far at all, cross-legged and beautiful.