The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel

by Marshall, Marnie

  He pauses, and I wonder if it's because he's working things out in his head, or because he's waiting for my reaction. When I have none, he continues.

  "She practically threw herself at me one night when she was at the house for a sleepover with my sister. I'd been... frustrated, to put it lightly, and we, um..."

  "You slept with her," I throw in. It's obvious, and it doesn't really affect me at all. I've accepted what he'd told me about how he used to be.

  He snorts. "There was no sleeping involved, but you get the idea. Afterward, she wrote me more of her silly letters. I threw those out without reading them. I knew I'd made a mistake in giving in to her, and so I made a point of avoiding her. I didn't want to encourage her to continue bothering me. I went off to college a month later and never really saw her again, except on rare holidays when I went home or at an event here and there."

  He's quiet for a minute.

  "I take it there's more," I prod.

  "In her interrogation, she gave the real reason she'd tried to pursue me. I... it seems, I got her pregnant that night."

  I can't stop the gasp that rushes through me.

  "She terminated it. Or her parents made her, I don't know the specifics. I imagine it was the latter, she was a deb, after all. They kept it quiet. Her parents and my parents were friends back then, not so much after. Lily apparently thought I knew all along, and that I was being an asshole. I honestly never knew."

  I can't move, he's holding onto me so hard. I don't think I'd be able to move even if I could; the revelation has me paralyzed.

  "I don't mean to say that her actions were warranted, they absolutely were not, especially where you're concerned. She never should have lied about you. But I'm having a hard time with the idea that she'll serve hard time for the ultimate reason that I hurt her all those years ago."

  So that's what this is about. I knew full well about his previous tendencies, but this throws my head to spinning. He could have had another child, another life entirely. And we might never have met. I really need my memory right now. I don't know how to cope with this, what to say, how to react.

  "Don't hate me, Krissy, I beg you."

  I shake my head, as much as I can for how tight his grip is. "Don't hate yourself," I say. He only holds me tighter. "Edward, I can't breathe."

  His hold loosens, and he draws his arms back ever so slightly. He's peering down at me. His eyes are red and wary.

  "I don't hate you," I tell him when he says nothing. "I'm shocked at how irresponsible that was, granted you were young, but surely you should have known to take precautions."

  His breaths are harsh, as though he's receiving a thorough lashing. "You really didn't know?" I ask.

  He shakes his head. His eyes turn upward, and I see tears glisten. He's trying so hard to hold back. I hate this. Not him, surely not... but I hate this whole thing. From everything I've learned about this deeply troubled, private, industrious, and downright brilliant man, such a thing is out of character for him. Perhaps this is why he's become such a perfectionist; if he's done something so irresponsible as a young man, there must have been a number of other things he's used as a basis for improvement in his life, and especially with his current high profile status. I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer number of gaps, the chasm where all my answers lie. And I'm exhausted again.

  "I think I want to get some sleep now," I say.

  Edward's look in any other situation might be comical; I could have grown another eyeball and wouldn't otherwise know but for his expression. I hold up my hand to stop whatever protest or demand for reassurance he's about to make. I know that I love him. On that, there can be no debate. But my head is full to bursting, and despite the two unscheduled naps, I'm exhausted. "I'll see you in the morning."

  His arms tentatively release me, and I'm left feeling both freed and deprived. He stands as I do, setting the blanket aside. I rise on my tiptoes and press my lips to his, softly, but briefly. He brushes my cheek with his fingers. I think he gets the message that I'd rather sleep alone, because he doesn't follow me.

  I peek into Ryan's room. The sweet boy that he is, he's sleeping soundly, lightly snoring, his limbs flung out from under the twisted sheet at odd angles, his cheek mashed into the pillow and forcing his lips into a sleepy pucker. Poor little guy is so tired. Oh, to be that young, with no worry of aching joins or puffy eyes come morning.

  Everything in the master suite is just as I left it two weeks ago, including all the things that followed me to Bellevue. I don't know how Gail does it; making our lives so seamless. She's wonderful. I suppose that she and Jason have the dogs tonight; I imagine they didn't want to overwhelm us upon our arrival. They likely took better care of Edward lately than he's taken of himself. I'll need to think of some way to thank them.

  I brush my teeth, the Sonicare buzzing happily around my mouth, when I hear a soft tap at the door. Edward peeks his head in.

  "I'm sorry, I just came for a change of clothes... May I?"

  I nod, closing my lips around the toothbrush to prevent the inevitable spray of foam, and watch him as he crosses to the dresser and gathers what look like pajama bottoms and a set of workout clothes. I'm marginally curious which he'll don first, but glad that he'll have options to keep him busy awhile, and take the gesture that he'll respect my need for space at least the rest of the night.

  "I'll be in the blue bedroom if you need me... or perhaps the office or the gym. I'll try not to wake you."

  I nod again. The toothbrush has finished its cycle, but I'm holding the bristles and foam captive behind my lips.

  "Well, good night," he says, attempting to mask the hurt in his eyes.

  Why have we become strangers in the last two weeks? We've let those idiots downtown dictate boundaries for us, and the former restrictions play a role in my current feelings. I realize suddenly that I'd like nothing more than to ask him to stay, but I'm so confused and thrown by all the head junk that I stand there like an idiot with an idle toothbrush in my mouth. His face softens into a small, resigned smile. "I love you, Krissy. Sleep well."

  And then he's gone.

  I stare at the dark ceiling for the next few hours. The minty flavor has gone, however long that takes, that's how long I've lain here, alone, pondering. Just pondering. I come to the conclusion that I'm not upset with Edward at all; I'm just upset in general. Ultimately, I feel violated from the interview. I want to hurt the people who put us through this, and that's a new one for me... I've never felt the urge to hurt anyone before. I don't think I've been so angry in my life. It's not a welcome feeling. I think I'd like to talk with John Flynn tomorrow, perhaps he can help me sort through some of this. Maybe Edward should come along as well. I have the sudden urge to find him, to make sure he's all right, that he's still nearby.

  The lights are low in the hallway, and the open doors hold darkness. He's not in the gym downstairs or his office, though the King Enterprises screensaver glows and glides from the computer monitor. The blue bedroom is empty as well. Did he go somewhere? I'm tempted to panic, but the rational side of my brain, or what's left of it, decides that perhaps he just needed to get out. Maybe he went for a run.

  I peek in on Ryan on my way back to the master suite.

  His night light swirls peacefully, throwing dim stars and comets over the walls... and over the two occupants of the sailboat bed. Edward is curled behind our little boy, holding him to his bare chest. My throat tightens. They breathe in turns, identical faces serene, untroubled. I take in the sight for another minute and then back out of the room, clicking the door softly when I hear my name, muffled through the door.

  "Kristina?"

  I step back, hoping my ears have tricked me and that if he did wake, he'll think he'd imagined me and settle back down. I'm gratefully wrong. The door opens, and he steps into the hallway, looking over his shoulder as he pulls the door closed behind him.

  "Ryan?" I ask.

  "He's fine. Didn't budge. Are you okay?"


  I nod. "Couldn't sleep."

  "What's wrong, baby?" he asks, his sleepy eyes filled with concern.

  I shrug. "Missed you, I guess."

  "You guess?"

  I scowl tiredly at the light teasing. Edward steps forward and folds me gently into his arms. He's warm and comfortable. "What can I do?" he asks.

  I shake my head against his chest. He fingers my hair softly, careful again with the back of my neck. It's just a little Band-Aid there now.

  "You have a doctor's appointment in the morning, correct?" he asks. He shocks me when we think the same thing at the same time. He's just so… attuned.

  I nod. "Ten thirty, a head CT. I've felt a lot more clear-headed, actually."

  "That's wonderful, sweetheart, I'm so glad." He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and rocks me side to side, squeezing me a little. "Are you hungry at all?"

  "Not really."

  He sighs. "Promise me you'll have a decent breakfast in the morning."

  I nod against him. "I love you," I murmur, my palms coming around to rest over his spine.

  He gasps slightly. "I love you too, Krissy. So very much. I'm so sorry for this entire mess, for giving you reason to question your faith in me. I'm a changed man for having you in my life. I swear, if I'd known, if I'd even suspected, I'd have made things right long ago. I pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

  It both melts and tears at my heart when he says things like this, when he pours his soul out to me. That such a man exists, that he's mine, and so filled with love and concern, it blows me away. I tilt my head back and look up at him. "There's nothing to forgive, Edward. You haven't wronged me. I know we should have talked through more last night. I'm just numb and overwhelmed, and that isn't your fault at all. Give me some time to process, okay?"

  He nods, pressing his lips to my forehead. "I'm aware that the hallway outside our son's bedroom at three in the morning isn't a proper place to delve, but I have to get this out," he says, his voice low and serious. "I have to impart on you... and then I'll leave it be until tomorrow," he sighs. "I want to try to make things right with Lily. It may be too little too late, but I am going to apologize to her. I spoke with John. He took point in her evaluation, and believes she could benefit from regular counseling. I'm not softening what she did. At the same time, I fail to see how condemning her to incarceration will make any of this right, though in the short term, it would satisfy a need for reciprocity. I want to know your feelings, of course, always... but I'd like to ask the Judge that her sentence be reduced to community service, with mandatory counseling for the foreseeable. It's the least I feel I should do. What do you think?"

  For as angry as he's been these past weeks, or so I've ascertained from everyone working between us, these are the motives of a saint. Or perhaps, if not a saint, a person with a moral compass that steadfastly points true north. He's such a walking contradiction. It sets my mind to spinning again, and I realize how tired I am.

  "Can we talk about it tomorrow? I want to go back to bed."

  "Of course," he kisses my hair again. "I'll walk you."

  "Will you lie down with me?" I ask, timidly. My belly twitches, but not in such a way that would stir me to give myself over to him, sexy though he is at any hour.

  "Few things would make me happier, baby."

  I nod, a yawn interrupting me, and before I know what's happening, Edward sweeps me into his arms. I stifle a surprised squeal. "I can walk," I slur.

  "I enjoy taking care of what's mine, Krissy. Please let me," he insists, carrying me to our bedroom. He settles me carefully onto my side of the bed, pulling the covers up, and then slips into his side. I turn toward him, our knees touching. He brushes his fingers over my cheek, our eyes connecting. "Sleep, baby."

  My eyelids droop. He doesn't need to tell me twice.

  ~oOo~

  "Everything looks normal, Mrs. King. You're healing just fine, no sign of abnormalities."

  "You said that a dozen times before, and she had to have a seizure for you to find something. How are you sure this time?" Edward masks his fear with intimidation.

  "That was tremendously unfortunate," Dr. Sluder admits. "As I explained, the scar tissue around the original skull fracture masked what slight vascular damage there was, even though I've been monitoring that area closely since July. The minimally-invasive nature of the procedure had the added benefit of reducing a bit of the scar tissue that would hide any future problems. I suspect we won't run into any more trouble, but in the slight chance we do, I'll be able to see it. Have you had any further episodes?"

  "None yet," I say. "My head seems clearer, though. Well, compared to before last week. Everything seems sharper. But I'm still missing most of the three years. Is there still a chance I'll remember?"

  "There's always a chance. Perhaps it'll take time, or something familiar may trigger memories as your episodes have led you to experience. It's early to speculate, but you may not have them anymore. We'll keep checking you regularly. I'll want to see you again in two weeks, and we'll go from there."

  "Can she resume normal activity?" Edward's hand grips mine. It isn't too tight, but he's still not completely reassured.

  "I cannot clear you to drive, Mrs. King, but barring extreme sports, I don't see anything wrong with business as usual. Just ease into things."

  Edward looks like he wants to say something else, but holds back. Probably for my benefit. He resigns to a moody quiet.

  I watch him fumble with his seatbelt. He inserts the key and presses the ignition button, and the engine and displays come to life. It isn't until he powers onto the I-5 onramp that he notices me observing him.

  "What?"

  "Is something wrong?"

  He sighs, reaching over the console to squeeze my hand. "It's nothing, baby. Please don't worry."

  "It is something, Edward. I wish you'd talk to me."

  He's quiet a moment, pensive. "I don't like that neurologist. If she weren't my mother's first choice, I'd insist we find someone else for you. She's left you with a clot in your head for months. Anything could have happened."

  Oh, boy. We had this same conversation this morning at breakfast, and on the ride to my appointment with his mother on speakerphone. No, they aren't talking yet, so the conversation was really between Grace and I. Edward's been a nervous wreck all day so far, and it's hardly lunchtime.

  "I wish I knew what to say, so that you wouldn't have to worry," I tell him.

  He's quiet again, and then I see the corner of his mouth twitch up, and his brow relax a bit. "I know. I'm sorry for beating a dead horse. I'll worry about you every day for the rest of my life, and there isn't anything you can do to prevent that."

  It's just his nature. I wish I had a better idea why.

  "Baby, you're overthinking," he interrupts my thoughts. "I want to show you something."

  ~oOo~

  I'd awoke that morning, wrapped in Edward King. He was warm and heavy, very heavy, a little too heavy... and close enough that if we were any closer, our skin would have no other choice but to meld together. His breath in my face was sweet, and stunningly familiar, to the point that I feared the beginnings of an episode that never came. And then there was the stick of dynamite pressed firmly into my belly.

  He excused himself with some haste, but not before kissing me softly, sweetly... at least, that's how it began... before my pulse took off and I about tackled him. I'm glad he didn't let things continue, mumbling something about "later" and "special," and knowing this man as I think I do, whatever he has planned could prove unforgettable, but for now, we're still pretty raw from all the drama.

  And there's still plenty more to sort out. He pulls the car to a stop at a marina, the cool, salty air blowing my face through the half-open tinted window. Edward walks around to my side, holds the door and takes my hand, ever the gentleman. His mood has lightened significantly in the last sixty seconds.

  "Mama! Daddy!" Ryan calls, and Sawyer releases him to r
un the last few yards, and we scoop him up between us.

  Edward presents his boat, his boat… a monstrosity of a bi-hull catamaran with stowed but unmistakable red and white sails. Nearly-invisible plexiglass rims every inch of the railing, I notice, and when Edward sets Ryan down and Ryan scurries off to peer down at the water, I don't worry as much as I might have otherwise.

  "I had them installed once Ryan started crawling. He went from tortoise to hare in a matter of hours," he explains, steering us out of the bay and onto open water, with Ryan in his lap at the helm. I would like to remember things like that.

  Ryan "helps" to steer and Edward points out landmarks and other points of interest to him. They press buttons to deploy and adjust the enormous, towering sails, and we're off and flying; both of my men loving every minute. Oh, boys and their toys.

  I find myself enjoying the surprise trip and stretch out on a lounge chair in one of the only modest bathing suits I could find in the dresser this morning. All he said was, "pack a swimsuit." It's a blue and white striped number with silver accents at the hips and between the bra cups. How appropriately nautical. There was a maternity suit in the drawer also, and unfortunately, Edward walked into the bedroom while I had it gripped in my fingers, lost in thought. And then we spent a half hour on the floor in front of the dresser, crying in each other's arms again.

  The momentary sadness has ebbed, but I'm sure it'll return now and again throughout our lives.

  Edward produces a picnic basket and we share an incredible family lunch on deck, while The Grace rocks idly, anchored just offshore somewhere. I'm so touched that he'd name it after his mother. They'll make up soon, I hope… won't they?