"It's not really anything, Edward."
"Not really anything is still something, Kristina. Out with it." I kiss the tip of her precious little nose to offset the use of her full name. I'm serious, but no longer angry. For now.
She shrugs against my bandaged hands, and I resist the urge to wince. "Are you and Grace okay?"
Oh, I see… she's caught onto my mother's ways. "We're getting there. Our talk this afternoon was a first step. Given time we'll take another, but we'll never get back to the way things were. She'll never unlearn what she now knows of me. And there may be some things she'll never quite trust me with again" I sigh. "I suppose I can live with that, so long as she still loves me."
Krissy snuggles into my chest. "Grace will always love you, Edward," she tells me softly.
I chuckle. "I know, baby. I think I finally understand. I was just pointing out that I can handle whatever else changes, so long as that remains constant. I can't imagine a better mother in this world, except of course for you."
She sighs. "Don't say that."
"Why not? It's the honest truth."
"You're going to make me cry. I'm so tired of crying."
Shit. Three years of marriage, several before that spent intimately with women, and much of my childhood spent with Doctor Mom and a younger sister... and I still don't get why women cry all the fucking time. But this time, I think I know. She still blames herself in some part for what happened to Phoebe, and then some for her limited reaction to her memory of our daughter over the last few months. I need to set the record straight for her; it's the very least she deserves.
"Krissy, I know what it's like to feel inadequate. I can also understand why you might feel that way right now, but I want you to know that no one has ever, ever believed the things you're thinking of yourself. You're every kind of mother you should be. You're not at fault for anything that's happened, though I know exactly how it tears at your soul. It does the same to mine every day. It's so hard to focus all that anger, all that pain... when there's nowhere for it to go. I know how that feels." I stroke her hair. The silent sobs come, making her shoulders tremble. "She's still a part of you. She'll always be a part of our family. We won't forget her. She wouldn't blame you. She knew you loved her. I want to believe she knew I loved her as well. You did nothing to cause this, Krissy. Please, I beg you not to blame yourself."
Krissy squirms, her face buried in my chest, and I feel the wetness there. I want to give her a reprieve, to stop all this and just soothe her, to gloss over the pain and deal with it another day but she has to know the truth, and I'm not done telling it to her. "You go ahead and feel however it is you need to feel about everything that's happened, and know that I'm right here beside you, ready to hear whatever you need to say, to reassure you, or just to hold you. It's going to be hard..."
I close my eyes on the word, the crack of my voice lending emphasis. "But we're going to make it through. Together."
I hold her silently for a while, I'm not sure how long, but until she calms a bit, before I begin again. "I've made weekly appointments for you and I, separately and together, with John, starting Monday evening. Just know that I'm here with you, that our families are behind you wholeheartedly, and that you're dearly loved." I press a kiss to her forehead.
"You're the best mother in the world. Ryan as much as told me every day while you slept. I'm going to keep telling you until you believe it. And then I'm going to tell you some more."
Her lips capture mine suddenly, catching me off guard. She pushes me onto my back and slides on top of me. It's the very last thing I expected her to do after a conversation like that... but fuck, is it hot.
"I want you, Mr. King," she whispers. "I want to get lost with you."
Oh. Fucking. My. "I'm yours, Mrs. King. Always."
EPILOGUE
~ KRISSY ~
It's taken time to adjust. To everything that's happened, to what I remember, and more painfully, the things I don't, from the time I was asleep. I missed so much. And I've come to realize that no matter how much time passes, two years at last count, some things are still hard.
A little at a time, Edward and I packed away Phoebe's room, saving this and that, and letting go of the rest. It was a slow, broken, arduous process, but when the last of it was away, I breathed a sigh of relief.
And then I went to visit her.
Edward's come with me sometimes. We've brought Ryan. We've picnicked with her, watched the sunset. I've cried over her. Ryan asks why, and he's still too little to understand that "it just hurts." Grace and Carrick joined us the last time. My mother-in-law has been instrumental in recovering from the loss… having experienced something similar early in their marriage. Edward hadn't told me that… because until this, he hadn't known.
Grace dropped by while I was having a particularly horrible day. That's what life was for us after my memory returned… a series of alternating good and bad days. After a time the bad ones dwindled, but this particular bad day was the first that held any real good as well. Curled in the corner of the black-hole sofa was a place of frequent escape, mug of tea in tow. That's where she found me, and placed a black-and-white photograph in my fingers.
"Carrick took this, on the day of your accident," she'd carefully explained. "Edward hasn't seen it yet… I thought you deserved to see it first."
It's slightly grainy, muted, likely taken by a camera on a phone. I know what it is almost before I've fully absorbed it. A side shot, looking over Edward's shoulder… at our beautiful baby girl. She's tiny… her little face partially obscured by the blanket, but I see her… I see her.
Grace and I cried together until Edward came home. And then he and I cried some more. And then Edward carried me into his office to sit with him while he scanned the photo, cleaned it up with all manner of high-end software and reprinted it, replacing the sonogram in the silver frame that had graced his desk all those months. It's the only picture we'll ever have of her. And it's the only one we'll ever need.
And then our healing began anew.
It's biting cold out, but we're here with purpose, standing on the sidewalk near the front of the crowd. My eyes trail downward to the knit-hooded bundle, snugly strapped at my chest. The arrival of our third child was as unexpected and unplanned as I've come to accept so many things in our lives. Oh, what a day that was…
…
"Edward…" I gasp, my eyes widening, body frozen, gripping the damp bath towel around me, fearing the unwelcome swelling of sensation… oh no… it's too early…
"Krissy?" he calls from the bedroom. "Baby? What's wrong?" His eyes draw down to the puddle beneath me, and I see a flash of fear in his features, but it's gone in an instant, and I'm in his arms, and then on our bed. I'd felt this before… with Ryan… and remember what the nurse had said as she artificially broke my water… after that, there's no going back. "It's too soon," I gasp breathlessly.
"Relax your body, Krissy," he instructs, reaching for the phone. "Taylor, I need medevac immediately. Code one." He hangs up.
At the time, I didn't connect his cryptic order, too distracted by the wash of sudden and insistent pressure down below, but I discovered later what it meant. Mortal danger.
"Calm breaths, baby," he soothes, throwing away my damp towel and pulling the bedsheet over me instead. I reach out, catching him by his t-shirt, and he stills, taking my hand in one of his, the other reaching for my abdomen. "I've got you."
The waves stack upon one another. So hurriedly, directly… I'm lost in the sensation. A fleeting memory of a similar situation from one of my mother's soap operas crosses my mind. God, I can't think… this shouldn't be happening. Seven weeks… I still have seven more weeks… our currently genderless baby can't possibly survive long without help. I'm overcome not only by sensation but by fear. My hand tightens around Edward's, and he speaks softly to me, and then over his shoulder… Taylor must be here. He hasn't said everything's going to be okay, and he would never lie to me. This is bad.
This is so bad. The blood pounds in my ears, and I see stars, shimmering lights…
"Krissy? Krissy!" His voice pulls me back from the edge. "I need you to look at me, baby," he commands.
"It hurts," I breathe.
"I know, sweetheart, I know it does. Help is en route." His free hand roams deliberately over my belly. I hadn't noticed the Bluetooth earpiece until now. "Mom wants you to take slow, even breaths, as best you can, and tell us what you feel." His expression is expectant, patient but anxious.
"It's fast… no warning… different than before, urgent… oh, God…" I cry out, the wave has become a steamroller, and my sides clench painfully. My heart pounds with fright.
"What am I looking for?" Edward's astral voice breaks through, gathering the bottom of the sheet and gently parting my knees. He goes a little pale. "I think I see the head, Mom."
No. Fucking. Way. This can't be happening… not to us, not again. My belly tenses, my head swirls, and I feel it. I feel everything. Edward kneels between my knees, his eyes bouncing between my face and the action below.
I grip the sheets in my fingers, all control slipping away as my body betrays me. I haven't pushed, not once… but the compulsion builds and I can't stop it.
"What do you mean she can't help it?" Edward shouts. "Krissy, baby, I'm so sorry… you're fine… you're doing just fine… Mom, talk to me." He pauses, and then his eyes are on me, and he's regained his purpose. "Krissy, I need you to push."
"Are you serious?" I screech. He said help was on the way, help meant medical professionals… surely they should be here, they should handle this... I want Edward next to me. Another contraction threatens, and suddenly, I feel the direness hidden in his eyes.
And I can't help it. I really can't. I don't recall the next minute or so in great detail, except that I felt as though my insides were tearing.
The tiny cry that pierces the bedroom is the most welcome sound in the world.
"Pink, he's pink, Mom. No, no blood. Nothing yet. Oh, thank God." Edward accepts the white towel he's handed… was Taylor here the whole freaking time? I reach toward my husband.
"A son, Krissy. Another son." He carefully passes the bundle into my arms.
Oh, goodness, he's tiny.
…
He spent the next five weeks under close observation, and then they finally let us bring him home, to the place where his life began. I still shudder when I think how badly his entrance into the world could have ended. But we have him, we have our two boys, Ryan and Quinn. Both perfectly healthy, and the spitting image of Edward.
Ryan's taken to big-brotherhood with great intent, gentleness and a protective nature that rivals their father's. Edward is mesmerized by their relationship; he sees all the closeness that he never really had with his own brother, and rather than tormenting him, it's given him reason to solidify that relationship as well.
"I think I see them!" Kate squeals.
My eyes fly toward the stream of sleek, powerful runners pounding across the finish line.
"Go, Dad! Go!" Ryan squeals, bouncing on Sawyer's shoulders. Gail whoops beside me. It's an all-out, extended-family affair, what can I say. The only absentees are Mia, who's chasing her ninth month of pregnancy, and Grace and Carrick, who are busily preparing the after-party in Bellevue.
My eyes lock with Edward's as he powers toward us, toward his goal, shoulder to shoulder with Elliot. We're later to find that they finished one-hundred seventy-fourth and seventy-fifth overall, respectively. I'm too flabbergasted though, through the deafening cheers when they cross the finish and move off to the side, Taylor close behind as always, that the brothers share quite an uncharacteristic, not to mention public embrace.
And then Elliot throws up on the sidewalk.
And Edward laughs at him, patting him on the back, and leading him to a bench.
"He'll be fine," I tell Kate. She doesn't do well with her own child's emissions either.
My husband is soaking, despite the chill, but I accept a long, wet kiss from him regardless, and hand him a dry jacket.
"How do you feel?" I ask as he plants a kiss on Quinn's covered head.
He laughs. "Better than my brother, I imagine," he jerks his head over to Elliot, who is now receiving water and attention from his wife and daughter. "He was pretty incredible, actually, having only trained the last six months. Fucking incredible."
"Aww, Dad!" Ryan swats at him sassily, and Sawyer lifts our four-year-old from his perch, handing him to Edward.
"I'm sorry! Again!" Edward emphasizes, bumping noses with his older miniature. "How many is that?"
"Um… twenty!" Ryan decides. I have no idea what the actual expletive tally is, but Edward has been conscientiously trying to stop swearing around the kids. He drops an extra mil into each one's trust fund for every swear word uttered within earshot, and doubles it when Ryan corrects him. So I guess we're up to forty million apiece, according to the four-year-old. I think Ryan would settle for forty dollars and a trip to the toy store.
…
"Tired?" I ask, joining Edward on the patio, wine glass in hand.
"Fucking exhausted," he admits, quickly looking around to assure that no little ears have heard him. "But fantastic. The turnout was phenomenal. We may be in the poorhouse come Christmas… might have to scale back your gifts this year, Mrs. King," he jibes. When he finally returned to serious training and set his sights on the Seattle Marathon, I suggested that he might sponsor the race this year, to further incentivize him to stay motivated. And in true Edward King style, he went further. Any employee under the King House umbrella was treated to a bonus for finishing any of the weekend's races, and he stayed to the very end, to ensure that each of his people came away from the event without issue. Hundreds participated in some way or another.
"I'm so proud of you," I say.
"You are?" he sounds surprised. To this day, he still struggles with the depth of my affection for him.
"I am. Endlessly." I lean over, my hands running up his chest and he brings his warm lips down to mine. Just shy of touching them, he whispers against my mouth. "Run with me next year?"
I gasp. "I don't know about that," I say.
He smiles. "And why not?"
I giggle. "I don't know what regulations say about running with a four-month-old strapped to your back…"
His eyes widen. Under my hand, his heart picks up to a gallop. "You're… already?"
I shrug shyly. "Surprise?"
~ THE END ~
Dear Reader,
Thank you for enjoying this romance novel! It was such a blast to write! I’m so sad it’s over and I imagine you may feel the same way too.
My imagination is all over the place and I will soon have more romance stories to come! But thank you so much for enjoying this novel, which was in the making for a long time. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
- Marnie Marshall
The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel Page 52