The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  It's a while before she hangs up, but when she does, she rises from our bed and pads over to me. I close the laptop immediately.

  "Everything all right?" I swing my legs over the side to make room for her, and she sits, her expression mildly upset.

  She shudders a breath. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Of course, anything."

  She swallows. "Did you flood my dad's shop with orders to keep it from going under?"

  Shit. I lower my eyes. You're busted, King. "Yes." What the fuck? Since when am I ashamed of my business methods? When I look up again, she's staring at me with some unnamed emotion. I can't quite place it, and it scares me a little. I gaze back with sincere contrition, and an edge of pride. "I'd do it again. I take care of my family."

  "But he didn't ask you to do that."

  I sigh. "No, he didn't."

  Without warning, she throws her arms around me, knocking me off balance, and we fall together against the back of the chaise. I curl my arms around her tentatively, dazed. She isn't angry?

  "Thank you," she whispers against my neck.

  "You're welcome." I breathe in the scent of her hair, the familiar jasmine soothing my aching head. When she finally releases me, I tuck her under my arm, and we lie together. She runs her fingers softly over my chest. I marvel at the feeling, but our conversation still has me a bit nervous. "May I ask what he said to you?"

  She sighs. "He's not happy. It's his darn pride. He's not sure it's you, but he suspects. What's all that stuff for, anyway?"

  "A number of halfway houses in the area, and a few Habitat for Humanity projects. You and I support them every year through one of our foundations. Honestly it just made sense. Two birds, you know."

  "You might have asked him, though. He feels like a charity case."

  "He shouldn't feel that way. His work is helping people in need. I'd hoped to send a few recovering individuals his way as apprentices, if he'd be willing. He seemed interested a few months ago when I approached Elliot with the same."

  "I think he might like that, once he's cooled off a bit," she murmurs into my shoulder. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

  I kiss the top of her head. "No. I should have been open from the beginning. I'll do it."

  "Okay." We lie together awhile, neither speaking, allowing our breathing to synchronize. Her congestion has eased, remarkably.

  "You sound better," I murmur.

  She smiles softly. "The cold medicine is finally working. It's making me sleepy, though."

  "I'm glad you're feeling better, baby. It's hard to see you sick," I tell her, pressing my lips to her forehead. Her skin is warm, but not too warm. She feels like… Krissy. I leisurely run my fingers up and down her arm. Something dawns on me.

  "Krissy, where's your bracelet?"

  She tenses. "Oh…" her voice becomes tiny. "I think… I might have lost it."

  "Lost it? When did you notice it was gone?" I'm surprised, but try to keep my voice gentle. She ought not fear my reaction; it's just jewelry… I can always replace it.

  She shakes her head. "In the woods, but I don't know if I lost it there or took it off before…" she raises her eyes, hooded by long eyelashes. "I'm sorry," she squeaks.

  "No, baby, don't get upset. It's all right," I tighten my arms around her. "It's easily replaced." Pressing my lips to her temple, I tentatively release her. "I'll be back, all right?"

  She nods.

  There's a clinking coming from the kitchen, as though the dishwasher is being emptied. Never having done this myself, I'm offhandedly distracted by the sound. I sigh in the hope that Gail's mood has brightened, but remain pessimistic. She can be awfully hard on herself. Her back is to me.

  "Do you happen to know if…" I begin.

  Gail startles, dropping a glass. It shatters, shards skittering across the clay tile.

  Shit. I hope she's wearing shoes, because I'm surely not.

  "Oh!" she exclaims. "I'm so sorry, Sir!"

  "Are you hurt?"

  "I don't think so. My shoes saved me."

  "Good. Stay where you are. Where is a broom?" I insist.

  She points to the pantry. "Rear left corner."

  I'm mercifully out of range of the land mines, as is the entrance to the pantry, and I find a hand broom and dustpan rather quickly. I pass it to her over the breakfast bar. "May I help?"

  "No thank you. I'm so sorry," she says, kneeling down out of sight, and I hear the clinks and pings of glass as they're gathered in the pan. "I'll replace it tomorrow."

  "Don't worry about it. Sure you're all right? Please be careful down there."

  "Yes, Sir. I'm just a bit jumpy, that's all. I do apologize." She stands again and empties the pan into the trash. "I'll run the vacuum if the noise won't bother anyone."

  "Of course, good thinking. Please do." A moment of uncomfortable silence passes between us.

  "You had a question…" she prompts.

  "That's right," I recall. "Krissy's rings… did Jason pick them up?"

  "Yes, Sir. They're in the top drawer of your desk."

  "Thank you. Also, have you by chance seen her charm bracelet? She thinks she may have lost it outside somewhere."

  "Oh, yes, Ina found it in the couch on Friday. Ryan may have hidden it there, the little darling," she says, an air of fondness for our son in her voice. "I cleaned it and placed it in Mrs. King's jewelry chest."

  "Oh, excellent. Thank you."

  "Of course, Sir."

  I sigh. "Gail," I frown, "out with it."

  She considers my expression, confused.

  I continue. "You're either still torturing yourself over what happened, or something else is wrong. Which is it?"

  "I'm sorry, Sir. It's a difficult thing, forgiveness."

  I raise an eyebrow. "You're questioning my forgiveness?"

  "No! No… my own." She says nothing further.

  I sigh, running my hand through my hair. "We've been through this. You're not directly responsible for our security." I don't have to see my reflection to know that my eyes are blazing. I take a deep breath. "Listen, Gail… I know you feel badly about what happened. I can't tell you not to feel this way, but I'd rather you didn't, because no one blames you, or Jason for that matter. You've both been exemplary, as always."

  She lowers her eyes, a trademark indication of submission, and it makes me uncomfortable. She nods.

  "Why don't you take a few days for yourself. I'm taking Krissy away for a week or so, and there isn't much to be done around here. You and Jason are due some vacation, besides. Whatever you need to do to work through this. And if you need anything from me, you ask. Are we clear?"

  "Yes, Sir." There's an air of gratitude in her voice, and an edge of her undeserving outlook toward generosity. Gail has always been this way. "Thank you."

  "I mean it. Whatever you need."

  She nods.

  As Gail suggested, the box with Krissy's rings is in my desk. I pocket them and stroll purposefully to the great room, find Ryan fast asleep on the couch with the Count yapping comically about bats on the flatscreen. I switch it off, lift my son's limp, sleeping body into my arms, and take him upstairs to his room. Tucking him in, he groans, but doesn't wake.

  I find Krissy snoozing quietly on the chaise, and regret making her wait. Her bracelet is right where Gail said it was, shiny and bright. I retrieve the two missing charms, sighing to myself, and slide them onto the silver rope, securing the end. I sit down beside her, lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. She wakes with a little gasp.

  "It's just me," I say.

  She blinks up at me, her face softening. Her lips curl into a smile. "How long did I sleep?"

  "Not long. Here, give me your hand." I hold her bracelet from either end.

  "Oh," she breathes, "thank goodness. Where was it?" she holds out her wrist, and I gingerly fasten the clasp.

  "Gail thinks Ryan may have been playing with it. It's happened before. It was between the couch cushions." I curl my fingers
around hers and raise her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. It makes her giggle. Oh, how I love that sound.

  "Thank you."

  "I have another gift for you," I say, digging into my pocket, and presenting her with the little red box. I try, and fail, to keep my expression even. She must see how nervous I am.

  Krissy gasps. She looks from me to the box and back. She gulps. "Is this what I think?"

  I nod, offering a gentle smile. "Yes."

  She frowns at my expression, tentatively reaching out for the box, but pulls back. She's nervous too. I sigh and go the extra distance, placing the box in her hand.

  "I want you to have them, Krissy. Whether or not you'd like to wear them is entirely up to you. I won't… I'll understand if you're not comfortable." I barely stopped myself from saying that I won't mind if she doesn't wear them, and I'm relieved; it would have been a lie. I would mind. I do want her to wear them, to bind herself to me, to be mine again. But I will understand if she chooses not to. It's the very least I can do.

  Krissy traces the box with her fingers. "You… you were going to say that you won't mind if I don't…" Her eyes burn into mine. "But you do, don't you?"

  I shake my head, blinking. "How is it you read me so well?"

  She shrugs, bashfully. "I'm trying."

  I nod. "That you are. Another thing I love about you." I lean in and brush my lips against hers. When I pull away, her cheeks are flushed. She's so lovely. "If you're still willing, I'd like to take you away somewhere. The family has agreed to host Ryan so you and I can have some alone time. Would you still like to go?"

  "Where?"

  "Where would you like to go?"

  She shrugs again. "I don't know. Is there anywhere you want to go?"

  I ponder for a moment. I really hadn't given our getaway much thought considering the week we've just endured. "We could go to Greece. It's lovely there in the late summer."

  Krissy blinks at me. "Have you been?"

  "Once. Family vacation when I was a teenager."

  "Hmm. Where haven't you been?"

  I snort. Where haven't I been? I've been to every continent save Antarctica. Perhaps I'll sail there once, just to say I've been. What an adventure that would be. But no, this has to be someplace we can relax, reconnect; someplace free from the stress of tourism and the pulse of a big city.

  Someplace coastal.

  "Sicily?" I suggest.

  Krissy's eyes widen. "You're… serious?"

  I chuckle. "Why not?"

  She shrugs. "It's not every day a girl's beautiful husband wants to take her to the old world out of the blue."

  "Beautiful husband?" I turn on the full megawatt smile, just for her. She's making my day, my week, even. This time seven days ago, we were barely speaking. I squash every hint of negativity that could possibly ruin this moment. It's a struggle, but I manage it.

  She flushes, lowering her eyes. She's still clutching the box, but it's largely forgotten. "You must know the effect you have," she states courageously. "You're too good at this."

  "At what?" I need to hear her say it.

  "This…" she twirls her finger in the air. "All of it. Making everything run like clockwork. Taking care of me, of Ryan, of your family, and mine. You worry, too much sometimes, but you don't want anyone to know that you do. You really care. About everything. And it's what I love about you."

  I blink. Did I hear correctly? My voice is deathly quiet, gentle. "You… love that about me?" I test the word.

  Krissy rolls her eyes, and my heart stirs. "Isn't it obvious, Edward? I…" she swallows. "I'm falling in love with you."

  "Oh, Krissy." My heart stutters, whether with joy, relief, or sweet, sweet affection, a combination of all those and more, much more, I'm not certain. "I love you, too." More words… she deserves more words, but my wits are scattered and I can't gather them. Her hands reach out to cradle my face, and when she makes contact with my skin, a current passes between us, setting my body ablaze. I pull her to me, crushing her lips with mine. My head pounds, but I don't give a damn. I want my wife. She wants me. She loves me, found a way to really love me in spite of myself, again. She's extraordinary, exquisite… and mine.

  Our tongues dance, fingers brushing skin, tangling in hair, breaths blowing hot and fast over cheeks. She pulls away ever so slightly, panting, and I'm sadly grateful for the interruption. My head hurts. Her eyes are bright with emotion.

  "Edward, are you okay?"

  How does she know? "I'm all right, baby," I assure her. "My head hurts a bit is all." I kiss the tip of her nose, and her eyes flutter.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I'm fine. I promise." Or I will be, after a good night's sleep next to my wife, who incidentally, loves me. Loves me, and delights in looking after me. I can't allow that just yet, though, and warm up a distraction from her worry. "You have two more charms now, look."

  She looks puzzledly at me for a moment, and twists the silver rope to the end, sliding over the clasp until the recent additions are on top. "Ryan," she gasps.

  My heart leaps into my throat. "You remember?"

  "Oh, no… I'm sorry, it just… it makes sense." She runs her finger across the little silver bear. Her eyes flit to mine. "You're disappointed now," she assumes.

  "No…" I start, then correct myself, my heart having plummeted from its height. "Well, a little. It's all right though. You're intuitive, as ever, Mrs. King." I watch her, my expression mild, showing her I'm all right, and her eyes lower to the last charm in the lineup.

  "A bird?" She looks puzzled again.

  "A small, very pretty bird… an Eastern Phoebe," I tell her. "I bought it months ago. Gave it to you after we'd agreed on her name. I thought… she can still be part of you, this way." I swallow the rising lump, avoiding an embarrassing display, but barely.

  Krissy's fingers come to rest tenderly on my cheek. "I wish we could have known her."

  I nod. It's all I have. Leave it to me to turn things bittersweet. "Bedtime?" I suggest. She places the ring box, since forgotten, on the side table and takes my hand.

  ~ KRISSY ~

  It's afternoon on Thursday before Edward makes mention of our vacation again; he was quite insistent that the details remain a surprise. His mood has been positively giddy. I think it has something to do with Monday's revelation, which didn't come out quite the way I'd intended. I'd envisioned something rather flowery and Victorian, like the characters in my favorite novels but as I have no real-world experience for comparison, it could have been worse. His reaction more than made up for the way the words fell from my mouth, and his forgiveness of my awkwardness is a relief. Honestly, Edward seems to revel in my innocence. I'm glad I told him, glad I no longer have to berate myself for being chickenshit, but I want to take this slow, or at least, my brain does.

  My body has other ideas.

  We sip chilled pink champagne and relax in oversized leather seats, the Friday night city lights below us twinkling and dancing, until we've risen above the clouds and they're no more. Edward moves from across the low table to settle beside me, picking up my hand and bringing it to his lips.

  "Hungry, Mrs. King?"

  For food, or for you? my libidinous inner monologue teases. "A little. I brought snacks," I hold up a packet of crackers fished from my travel bag.

  Edward chuckles. "Our jet has a full service kitchen. The attendant will make us something."

  My eyebrows shoot up. "You're kidding," I laugh.

  He shakes his head, smiling at me. "There's also a full bedroom in the aft cabin."

  That's news to me. My eyes flit toward the rear, just past another set of seats where Sawyer has planted himself out of earshot, there's a door I hadn't noticed before. A flying luxury hotel suite, that's what this is. "Have you slept in there?"

  "Yes, and so have you. Our first night as husband and wife were spent on board," he leans in conspiratorially.

  Oh my. A sharp intake of breath betrays my nervous thoughts. Do
es he want to? I know I do, I think. Maybe. Yes, I do. Maybe.

  "Your gears are spinning, love." His voice brings me back from la-la land, lips curled in a knowing smile, and I feel my face go pink. "It's all right. I think we'll stick to actual sleep tonight." He doesn't insert a "no pressure" assurance, which is strangely comforting, and I realize that such a declaration would actually make me feel pressured, unobliging, inadequate... he's my husband for heaven's sake, and he must have needs. And what's worse, I have no idea how to fulfill them, no idea what I'm doing, or how to even begin.

  "Care to clue me in?" He's still gazing amusedly at me.

  My eyes flit to my lap. He's still holding one of my hands, and it's clasped between mine, as my fingers worry around each other. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

  "Not until you're absolutely ready, baby," he whispers. His eyes are serious.

  All I can do is nod.

  I sleep, somewhat restfully, and somewhat not, in his arms. The sky-bed, as I jokingly remarked, is surprisingly comfortable. I snuggle into him, my back to his front, and on occasion he nuzzles my neck, my ear, strokes my cheek... his warm breath across my skin setting me alight.

  "Mmm." The sound of utter tranquility bubbles up in my throat. I. Am. So. Comfortable. This man, having told me such unbelievable things about his past, is so amazingly attentive, and so gentle. There's no longer a doubt in my mind that he could ever hurt me, and every confidence that he'd protect me from harm. I never imagined I'd have this life. It isn't what I wanted or even hoped for, but now that I have it, I'd have a hard time letting it go.

  I only wish I knew what the journey here was like.

  "Krissy?" Edward murmurs.

  "Hmm?"

  "Are we okay?"

  "Mmm."

  He chuckles lightly. "Are you coherent?"

  "Mmm." I smile a little. I turn in his arms until we're nose to nose. He brushes his along mine, and kisses me chastely.

  "Are you sad that we left Ryan behind?" he asks.

  Yes. But then, I don't want him to feel bad. "A little," I say quietly. "But he's in good hands, isn't he?"

  "The best." Edward kisses me again. "I'm glad we're doing this. Getting away, just the two of us."

  I nod, burying my head in his neck. He holds me close. My mind begins wandering, to and from this and that, meandering through things I want to ask, skirting things I'm not sure I should. I settle for a mild one. "Edward?"