The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  "No, no Hannah, it's all right. Ryan's doing great." I reach out and pat her hands, clenched around her drink glass, and she nods. An idea brews, and I feel preemptively guilty for it. "Hannah, if you're willing… what do people know about what happened?"

  Her eyes widen again and she gulps, and I fear she feels she's being wedged between a rock and a hard place. It can't be easy, receiving conflicting directions.

  "It's okay. I need to know."

  She sighs. "I don't want to cause difficulties between you, Mrs. King… you've asked me to keep some things quiet before, and it's hard. I need to know that what I tell you won't complicate anything for you."

  I smile. She's terribly thoughtful, and definitely intuitive… she seems to have a good grasp of the dynamic between Edward and me, and perhaps, we might discuss some of her observations, but later. "I appreciate that. And, I can assure you that this stays between us. All right?"

  She nods. "Well," she begins, lowering her voice, "Everyone's pretty sure that your accident was worse than what was reported in the news. The board at GP needed some decisions made and Mr. King wasn't available in your stead, so things came to a standstill for a while. Everyone was worried, and no one was telling us anything. Ms. Bailey came by to sign some things for Mr. King, and she wasn't saying anything either. The day before I left for Rhode Island, we got word that you were taking an extended leave of absence, and… um…" she trails off.

  "It's okay, Hannah. You can say it, you won't offend me. I promise you."

  She draws in a breath, and it dawns on me that she may be steeling herself from her own feelings, not just my own. I wait patiently for her to continue.

  "I kept in touch with Mattox, she's a copywriter from nonfic..." she describes when I look confused, "… she said everyone took the leave of absence to mean that you were at least okay, that you probably had the baby and were going to take time off with your family… but after a few weeks and no birth announcement…" she shudders. "I'm sorry, Mrs. King…"

  "So they do know."

  She nods. "Suspect, at least. I'm so sorry."

  I shake my head. "I wish I could remember."

  "Me too." Hannah squeezes my hands, folded limply on the pristine white tablecloth. "I can tell you some things, if you'd like."

  I nod, allowing the corners of my mouth to twist upward in a sad smile. "I would."

  Our main course arrives, and though served beautifully, the real beauty is in hearing details of the last few years of my life through the eyes of this bright and well-spoken young woman. She tells me of our overwhelming accomplishments, past lunches where we'd plotted and schemed our authors' way to the bestsellers' lists, and of the series of fudge-ups along the way. She mentions a number of people, some who she interjects are this person and that director of such and such section, some of which I have to use my imagination. Then she tells me a story of an evening shared over several bottles of celebratory wine in which I'd held her responsible for my son's conception.

  And then she tells me about Phoebe. About the sonogram that's still on my desk at the office, next to a photo of my family. About the lunchtime shopping trips for little girl nursery things. About the surprise baby shower they'd held just a few days before my absence began…

  It suddenly feels horrifically real. My eyes well up with tears, but thankfully her phone beeps, breaking me from my sudden sadness.

  "Wow, it's later than I thought… I'm supposed to be somewhere in twenty minutes, and we haven't gotten much done, have we?"

  "Actually, we've done plenty. Let's do this again next week, and trade emails in the meantime." We both stand. "Where do you need to be?"

  "Across town, actually… I hope I can get a cab this far south."

  "Nonsense. One of my boys will drive you."

  "Ma'am?" Luke Sawyer is on his feet instantly. "Mr. King would like you to call him at your earliest convenience."

  "I'll do that. Would you or Garrett take Hannah across town? I'd like to walk around the shops here a bit before I go home."

  "That's… uh… going to need clearing, ma'am," he tells me a little nervously, as though he's not sure of my reaction.

  "Which part?"

  "I'll just get a cab, Mrs. King, but thank you…"

  "At this time of the afternoon, you'll never make it. Sawyer," I turn back to him, "please take Hannah, and Garrett will stay with me. We won't go far. I'll call Edward about it."

  The babysitters exchange knowing glances and Garrett hands over the car keys. With a nod of acknowledgement from Sawyer, he gestures for Hannah to follow him. She hugs me briefly.

  "I'm just going to use the restroom; I'll be out in a sec."

  "I'll wait right here, ma'am."

  I marvel at the comfort of my heeled sandals; usually I have blisters from wearing anything taller than an inch. I guess that was the old me. The new me, the married, executive me wears heels, and there are tons in the closet at home. I wonder idly if I've worn each pair at least once. Why my footwear is on my mind as I enter the ladies' room is beyond reason, especially considering the weight of the conversation I just shared with Hannah. I wonder what Edward wanted? I'm soon distracted from that particular line of thought when I discover that the stall I've chosen has no purse hook. Well… fuck. Restroom floors are never to be trusted, even the ones inside five-star restaurants. Neither are toilet seats, for that matter. I'm glad no one can see me, holding my purse with one hand and my skirt with the other, balancing in heeled sandals and hovering to keep my bottom above the germy rim.

  There's a framed ad for an upscale boutique on the stall door, and for a second, I think I see the lights flicker. No, I did see it… and weren't the tiles off-white a second ago? I blink, dizziness creeping into my brain, and I shake it off, awkwardly yanking up my lacy undies while trying not to fall over. The words on the ad swim before my eyes… what the heck? A poster advocating safe sex stares admonishingly at me. Have I entered the Twilight Zone? I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping my imagination has simply run with me, but knowing beyond reasonable fear that it's happening again.

  I picked the wrong day to go shopping.

  ~ EDWARD ~

  "King."

  "Edward?" The way my father articulates my name fills me with trepidation. I've not heard this tone before.

  "Dad? What's wrong?"

  "We need you. At the hospital. It's your mother."

  Fuck me. My soul shatters. "How bad is it?" I demand, my fist clenching around the phone so hard that it should break. Not my mother... Not her, please…

  "She collapsed at work. I've just arrived, Mia is with me, Elliot is on his way. We're waiting to hear from the doctor."

  "Taylor!" I shout, grabbing my suit jacket, leaving the desk chair whirling behind me.

  "Sir?"

  "Which hospital, Dad?"

  "Virginia Mason. We're up on the third floor."

  I click the phone off and relay the directions to Taylor.

  "Is it Mrs. King, Sir?" he asks, checking his phone and tapping at his earpiece. Of course, if it were Krissy, he'd likely know before I did.

  "No." I suck in a breath, my heart collapsing in on itself. "It's my mother."

  ~oOo~

  "Sawyer, King. Have my wife call me the second she's done. No, there's no message. The very minute, Luke." I end the call. I don't want to drag her away, she's been looking forward to this since we returned, but God, I need her. I need my wife.

  I dial again.

  "Ros Bailey."

  "It's me. I hate to do this to you, but I'm taking leave again. You should have everything you need to handle the Aries merger."

  "I think so. Anything I should know?"

  "No. I'll check in tomorrow."

  "Understood. Take care."

  I hang up, ready to dial a third time, and realize there's no one left to call. No security measures to be taken, no business deals to tie up, no reservations to arrange or incidentals to purchase. The dread I'm trying desperately to hold off b
y keeping busy, by setting things in motion… it spreads thoroughly and unsympathetically. There's nothing left for me to do, except wait until Taylor delivers me to the side door.

  Mom. She's been my rock, the one person I'd known, felt deep in my soul… would always be there, steadfastly waiting in the background, quietly working her magic. I've been so worried that I'd taken Krissy for granted, when in actuality, the one I'd blindly relied upon has forever been Grace Trevelyan-King. And now, I didn't know how much longer she'd be there, or if the clock had run out, and I'd missed my chance to be there for her.

  I'm a selfish, horrible son.

  "Edward!" Mia's embrace swallows my midsection, and unlike any affection we've ever shared, I pull her to me, crushing her to my chest, drawing strength from God-knows-where to maintain composure.

  "What news?"

  "Nothing yet. Dad's talking to the doctor now." Her eyes are reddened, welling with tears. "Elliot's still on his way. Oh, Edward… I'm so scared."

  Over Mia's shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Dad pushing through the hydraulic doors. At first glance he's a man on a mission, but as he get closer, I feel the devastation pouring off of him. God, please… no.

  "They've already taken her to surgery. It looks to be a ruptured intracranial aneurysm. Could be a few hours before we hear more."

  "Oh God, Mommy…" Mia whimpers, turning into our father's chest. She's still gripping my hand with hers.

  Mom is never hurt or sick, ever. Never a cut finger, not even colds when we'd had them as children. She's immune to everything, the healthiest and most careful person I've ever known. "How did this happen?" I contemplate, realizing a second too late that I'd said it out loud. The blood squeezing through my chest rushes loudly in my ears.

  "I have no idea." Dad's voice is a whisper through Mia's hair. "We'll know more soon. Your mother is going to be fine," he tells us both, nodding his conviction, but his eyes tell a different, grim story. There's more, Mom's doctor must have said something else, and he won't tell us.

  "Sir!"

  Taylor jogs up the hall toward us, fingers at his earpiece, face ashen. My stomach plummets through the ground. I pull out of Mia's grasp, and blessedly, Dad gets the message and leads Mia away.

  "What is it?"

  "Mrs. King has given Ryan the slip, Sir. His alarm went off when her phone went out of range. She isn't answering. Sawyer is heading back to assist."

  "Heading back from where?" I demand. "Why the fuck wasn't he there?"

  "Mrs. King asked him to drive her assistant to another engagement while she stayed behind, said she'd call and clear it with you. I assume you received no such call."

  "No." My phone is at my ear instantly. It rings. It keeps ringing. It goes to voicemail. "Shit. It must be on silent." Or she's in trouble. I dial again. I don't wait for a greeting when the line connects. "Welch, I need eyes tracking my wife's phone."

  "On it," came the trained reply.

  I hated myself for what I had to do next.

  "I'll be back," I mouth in my father's direction, and he nods, Mia tucked tearfully under his arm. With an apologetic glance, I turn my back on my family.

  Elliot nearly rams into me coming off the elevator.

  "Bro? What's happening, how's Mom?"

  "Dad will fill you in," I rush. "I need to go. Look after them for me."

  "You're kidding, you're leaving? Dude, this is Mom!"

  "It's not business." I choke on my breaths. "It's Krissy."

  "Wait, what?"

  "I have to go… please, tell them nothing. I'll call for updates." I squeeze his broad shoulders with both hands.

  "Yeah," he half nods. "Okay."

  My phone beeps. The elevator doors close on Elliot's retreating back as Welch's voice comes through.

  "I have her. Heading North on First passing Columbia."

  "Send the coordinates. Then call in the other shifts…" I breathe heavily as I prepare to admit my worst fear, "… this could be another kidnapping."

  Taylor powers the SUV out of the parking garage as I shout orders into the phone, my knuckles white from gripping the leather seat. Horrific thoughts race through, stabbing my soul with each pass. My poor Krissy… she must be terrified. What if she's hurt? Unconscious? Oh dear God…

  "Sir, Sawyer has caught up to a vehicle he believes may be carrying Mrs. King. White Escalade, turned east on Virginia. He's following."

  "Get us there!" I bark.

  Taylor weaves through the afternoon traffic, expertly avoiding red lights and active crosswalks. He comes around the block, pointing us the same direction as Sawyer's vehicle, but somewhere in front, and he slows. "We should see them within a minute. We're going to try to block them in… what? No!"

  "What?"

  Taylor utters a rare expletive. "The vehicle has just pulled over three blocks back… suspect has exited the vehicle… female, fair, late twenties, navy pantsuit… Sawyer, approach with caution!"

  "Pull over!" I demand, looking wildly out the back window, hands fumbling to unbuckle my seatbelt. Taylor swerves to the edge of the curb.

  I take off down the wide sidewalk, the driver door slamming behind me as well. My heart sprints, barely keeping up as I power through the second crosswalk, and I see them ahead, Sawyer speaking to a tall woman… and she's carrying a BlackBerry… Krissy's phone?

  "Where is she?" I shout, eyes flying to the described vehicle and back to the perpetrator.

  "Who?" The woman insists, exasperated. She turns back to Sawyer. "Let me get my brother, he'll straighten all this out!"

  "What's your brother got to do with anything?" I demand.

  "Are you boys together?" She raises her eyebrows, looking between Sawyer and myself. Slowing footfalls alerts me to Taylor's arrival.

  "You have my wife's phone, explain yourself!"

  "This is your wife's? How the heck do you know? There must be dozens like this one…"

  "Does your brother know where my wife is?"

  Her eyebrows shoot up further. "Listen, bucko… I don't know what you're on, but I found this phone abandoned in a restaurant bathroom. My brother," she emphasizes "works in there," she points to the front door, on which is etched 'Seattle Police Department', "and I'm going to give this to him to deal with. If you want to come along, you can sort it out there. But I swear if you come any closer I really will scream."

  A fucking Good Samaritan. My fury is eclipsed only by the creeping realization that if Krissy's phone is here, and Krissy isn't… then she's still missing, and I really, really don't want the police involved again, especially after their multitude of screw-ups in the woods. My tangential paranoia is in overdrive, momentarily eclipsing my fear… if we leave the scene now, we'll surely appear guilty of attempted harassment, and I need my men out looking for Krissy. I sincerely hope Chief Metz is in. There's no way I'm calling my father to have me bailed out today, of all days. My thoughts shift momentarily to my mother, and I quickly shift them underneath my growing pile of fears.

  "After you, ma'am," I gesture toward the door. She looks at me like I have three heads, and then proceeds up the steps, looking over her shoulder every few seconds.

  I swiftly converse with the troops. "Sawyer, check the vehicle and be absolutely fucking sure Krissy isn't in there. Then go back and pick up Ryan, start casing the area around the Sirocco. Taylor, follow and search the restaurant, grill the manager, the staff, anyone who might have seen anything. I'll be in touch shortly."

  "Sir," come the replies, and I jog to catch up with the phone-bearer.

  Two hours later, I have no fucking answers, little freedom, and the dread has grown to an unmanageable level.

  "Chief, I need to be going. I'm of no use here."

  "Hmm… you know I'm going to have to consider this a missing person's case by nine o'clock tomorrow morning, Mr. King, regardless that you're declining police assistance for the moment."

  "I'm aware." Please, just let me fucking go. I could have your job for keeping me here.
<
br />   The middle-aged man scowls at the stack of papers in front of him, his thoughts obviously focused anywhere but. "All right. I don't have to remind you not to take the law into your own hands, though. We don't need another Jack Hyde incident." Thank the fucking Lord!

  "That was more my wife, if you recall," I scoff bitterly, my insides twisting at the recollection, and I rise from the vinyl seat across from the Chief's desk. He shakes my hand, and as I turn to go, he grips it harder, pulling me around again. His strength surprises me.

  "I should advise you not to leave town."

  I raise my eyebrows. "For fuck's sake Chief, are we there?"

  "Hmm."

  I shake my head. Keep it together, King. Just another few seconds. "I have no intention of leaving town." He releases my hand with a nod, and I exit the office, sans my wife's phone. It's in a storage locker downstairs, held as evidence, and I've been assured that no calls were made to or from it today, save the ones Ryan and I made initially. That's assuming Seattle's 'finest' aren't withholding information.

  Reynolds is waiting downstairs when I exit the building. The sun has moved near the horizon, once again making me painfully aware of the time-sensitivity of the situation.

  "Anything?"

  "Not yet, Sir."

  I plug my phone in to charge and dial Taylor, putting it on speaker. "I'm with Reynolds. What do you have?"

  "Nothing more, Sir. Best we can tell, she left a couple minutes after Ryan, according to two of the day staff. Nobody's seen her since. Shift change was about twenty minutes ago, but the owner is still there. Don't think the police would find anything at this point if they tore the place apart… looks like she left of her own free will, though we can't figure out why she didn't take her belongings."

  "Idiot Samaritan told police she found the phone on the floor in a corner… Krissy could have still been in there at the time. Shit! Didn't she bother to look?"

  "It would appear not. The contents of her purse were largely confined to the stall she used; I found the bag wedged behind the stall door, which suggests that she left in a hurry…"

  "Were there signs of a struggle?" I interrupt, my blood running cold again.