Only In Dreams (Stubborn Love Series)

by Owens, Wendy

  I try to shift ever so slightly, as I realize I can no longer feel the arm I’ve fallen asleep on. Even holding my breath doesn’t help, Christian stirs as soon as I free my pinned arm. I close my eyes and wonder if he knows that I’m awake as well.

  “Paige?” he says as he sits up. “Good morning.”

  Now that he’s up, there’s no reason for me to pretend. I sit and try to comb my fingers through my hair. “Morning,” I mutter.

  He looks around and sees that it’s daylight. “We must have fallen asleep last night.”

  “Yeah, must have. Well, we better get going,” I say, rising up onto my knees. But, before I can stand, he grabs my arm and pulls me back down onto my bottom.

  He looks into my eyes. “We need to finish our talk.”

  “I’m sorry?” I play ignorant.

  “From last night,” he adds.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He shakes his head. “We’re not leaving until you tell me why you were crying.”

  I collapse the rest of the way onto the blanket. I know even less now than I did then about why I broke down. How can I make him understand how confused I am? Who knows, maybe it’s bridal jitters. “I don’t know,” I say honestly.

  Christian narrows his stare. “I think you probably have a pretty good idea.”

  I ponder what he says. Deep down, I’d also like to know what made me cry. I swallow hard and decide maybe he can help me find the answers. “I don’t know—everything has just felt so messed up lately.”

  “In what way?”

  “Look, I get that you still love me, and obviously I still have some sort of feelings for you, but I also know I love Henry. We fit together really well, and he makes me happy. I think coming down here and stirring up all these feelings was a mistake,” I explain, almost as much to myself as to him.

  “Okay, that’s fair,” he begins, thinking through my statement. “And I’m sure you do care a lot for Henry. From everything you’ve told me he’s an amazing guy.”

  “He is!” I declare.

  “No one is saying otherwise.”

  “I know, but the last couple weeks he’s been standoffish, and I think he knows that I’m keeping something from him. I’m just so scared I’ve messed everything up.”

  “Is it us you’re keeping from him?” I nod. “Why did you keep it from him?”

  I look at him with a bit of disgust. “Really? Let’s not even go there. You’re not going to make this into something it’s not. You know you are the who pushed me into this, and there was no way I was going to tell my fiancé that I agreed to such an insane thing.”

  “Slow down, I’m not trying to blame something on you or trick you. I really want to help figure this out ... for both of us. It worries me when you tell me he’s changed lately.”

  “Honestly, I think I’ve been feeling so guilty he can tell something is up. It’s probably my fault.”

  “I don’t understand, we haven’t done anything,” Christian reminds me.

  “Just because we’re not screwing around doesn’t mean I haven’t cheated. Emotional cheating might be worse,” I grumble remorsefully.

  “So what you’re trying to tell me is that you’ve been carrying on an emotional affair with me?” Christian asks with a half smile.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t. You see,” he says, moving in close to me. With each word he speaks, he inches even closer to my face. “I know what this is. I know what I want, and I don’t have someone else. I don’t want someone else. All I want is you. All I’ve ever wanted is you.”

  “Christian, don’t,” I say, pushing his body away with my open palms, my stomach flipping in response to his words.

  “If you can honestly say that you don’t love me, then get up and leave this house right now, but if there is still love for me in your heart, then please, don’t give up on us.” His voice shakes as he speaks.

  “Damn it!” I exclaim, slipping out of his grasp and hopping to my feet. “I’m engaged!”

  He quickly follows my lead and stands, rushing up and grabbing me by my upper arms. “But you shouldn’t be marrying him—you should be marrying me.”

  I know he’s about to kiss me. I can see it in his eyes. He can see that I know it, and when I don’t pull away, he knows I want him to as much as he wants to. Pulling me close with his strong hands, he presses his mouth against mine. My lips part, and his wet, warm tongue glides in, exploring me.

  I don’t struggle, but instead I lift a hand, placing it on the middle of his back. I lift the other to his head, running my fingertips through his hair. I’m sad when he begins to pull away, but then filled with excitement as I feel him trailing little kisses down my chin, then my neck, then—

  “I can’t!” I shout, finally managing to push him away.

  He looks at me intensely. I can see the raw desire in him, and it’s making me want him even more. “You can’t what? Marry him or be with me?”

  “I can’t do this to Henry,” I answer.

  “You’re right, you can’t. You need to go home to New York and tell him it’s over.”

  I stand there, silent, processing all of Christian’s words, and as much as I want to argue with him, and tell him he’s wrong, that Henry is my soul mate, I can’t. No matter how much I care for Henry, I know there’s a reason I keep getting drawn back into Christian.

  “I know,” I moan.

  Christian looks at me, unsure. “You know what?”

  “I can’t marry Henry,” I say plainly.

  “Are you serious?” he asks, as if expecting me to suddenly change my mind.

  I nod. Before I can say a word, he scoops me up and spins me around, holding me tightly. It feels like he might never let me go, and deep down, I’m fine with that.

  “Wait, please,” I plead. He stops spinning, loosens his grasp, and looks at me.

  “We have to stop this for now, “ I explain. With those words he releases me, and steps back. “Wait, just listen. I care for Henry a lot, and the last thing I want to do is to disrespect him any more than I already have. Let me go home and tell him we’re over. I’ll do the fashion show, and then we can figure out whatever this is between us.”

  “Whatever you think’s best. God, Paige, I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too,” I say softly, finally allowing myself to admit it.

  ALL I’VE BEEN able to think about since leaving Christian’s half-built home in the woods is how on Earth I’m going to tell Henry that we’re over. When I tell Emmie what happened, she does her best not to explode with excitement, but it’s obvious she approves of this choice much more than my original one of marrying Henry.

  She, of course, suggests the straight and honest approach. But I think about that repeatedly, and it seems absurd to tell him I love him, but I love someone else more, and that’s why I can’t marry him. It isn’t like I can tell Henry I don’t love him, because damn it, I do. That’s why this is hurting so much.

  On the plane ride I keep practicing the speech in my head. I don’t tell him I’m coming home a day early. Somehow I think the element of surprise might work better, but it isn’t making the conversation I’m about to have any easier. On the cab ride to our home, my thoughts shift to the logistics of the break up.

  Henry is a practical guy. He works with numbers day in and day out, and I’m certain after the initial shock of the break up, these will be the questions that will arise. I don’t know what this new phase of my life will look like though. I’m about to have a runway show, and what if I sell my line to a retailer?

  Will Christian want to come to New York? His niece is in Texas. The home he’s building for his future family is in Texas. He’s putting down roots there. Does that mean I will have to be the one to move? But wait—don’t I have roots, too? I might not have family who I’m willing to even speak to in New York, but that’s where I was born and raised. It’s where I’ve built my life.

&nbs
p; I pay the taxi driver and pull my single carry-on bag from the back seat. Glancing up at the incredibly tall building, I wonder what Henry might be doing at that exact moment. Will I surprise him in the shower? Oh my God, what if he’s naked? I am still insanely attracted to Henry. What would happen? I need to stop thinking about such things.

  I express my greetings to the doorman, who is elated to see I’ve returned and tells me he hopes Mr. Wallace is feeling better. The comment seems odd, but I dismiss it and make my way inside and up the elevator.

  When you’re marrying one of the wealthiest men in the building, it’s quite amazing how many people know you. Between the lobby and our apartment, I must run into half a dozen neighbors who want to discuss my recent travels. The problem is, all I want is to be home and get this conversation over with. I’m ready to get off this roller coaster.

  At last I’m here, staring at the big red door. On the other side will be Henry. On the other side will be the end to the life I’ve built with an incredible man. I close my eyes and tell myself, You’re doing the right thing. You love Christian. You can’t keep pretending.

  I slide my key into the lock and turn; I open the door and step inside. The place is dark, the curtains are drawn, and there’s no sound of running water. He isn’t in the shower. I breathe a sigh of relief and set my bag down, closing the door behind me. “Henry?”

  There’s no answer. Maybe I missed him.

  Moving into the dark hallway that leads to our bedroom, I call out his name again, “Henry?”

  I hear rustling, and upon pushing open the door, I poke my head in to see him, just starting to stir from a nap. “Henry?” I say softly one last time.

  “Paige?” he moans and sits up wiping the sleep from his eyes. I see his bare back, so slender that the bones of his spine are sticking out in an alarming way. I immediately cross the room and look at him. His eyes are sunken.

  “Baby,” the words slip out of my mouth instinctually. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve just been a little under the weather,” he defends and then grabs his robe from the end of the bed, wrapping it around himself. “What are you doing home? I didn’t expect you for a couple more days.”

  I think about the question. I’ve just walked in; I’m not ready to dive straight into the devastating break up talk.

  “I finished my work and decided I wanted to come home early.” So far, that is mostly the truth.

  He hugs me, kisses my cheek, and leaves the bedroom, heading into the kitchen, to pour a glass of orange juice. I watch him. He seems different.

  “Are you sure everything is okay?” I ask again.

  “Of course,” he replies, but I don’t believe him. “Well …” he hesitates.

  “What is it?” I press.

  “We need to talk,” he answers softly.

  My stomach flutters, and I wonder if he somehow knows about Christian already. “Okay.”

  “It’s about the wedding.” As he says the words, I feel my stomach drop like an elevator plummeting from the top floor to the basement.

  “All right, is something wrong?” I inquire, following Henry over to the small cafe table.

  He looks at me. There’s a pain in his eyes. He knows something, and while I’m not sure exactly what, I’m confident I see pain. He doesn’t respond.

  The room is dark, but even without the light I can tell he’s pale. “Have you been resting, like the doctors said?”

  “Paige,” he begins, completely ignoring my inquiry. “This is going to be hard to say, so please, just let me get through it. After you hear me out, we can decide what to do about the wedding.”

  What to do about the wedding? So he does know something, and he’s going to call off the wedding. Why does this bother me? Shouldn’t I be glad he’s about to do this for me? Say nothing, Paige, just listen.

  “Something’s happened.” I swallow hard at his statement. “I went to the doctor for the elimination diet, and it still wasn’t helping, at least not like it should. Two weeks ago I got back the results of my head scan.”

  This is not how I expect the conversation to go. Where are the accusations, the screaming, and the disgust? My heart races as a panic rushes over me.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask, staring closer now at all the things that have changed about his appearance.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I’m not thinking about the wedding or about Christian any longer. All I can think is this is bad, and everything is about to change forever. “Henry, what’s going on?”

  He takes a deep breath, leans forward, and scoops my hand into his. I notice how cold he is, and how slender his fingers have become. He looks me in the eyes and softly says, “I have a grade four brain tumor.”

  “What?” I gasp, shaking my head, not wanting to allow the information to sink in. “No, that’s not right.”

  “It’s not good, sweetheart. It’s malignant,” he continues. I notice he’s calm.

  “I don’t understand,” I finally manage to say, my eyes welling up quickly.

  “I’m dying,” he replies plainly.

  “No, that can’t be, there has to be some sort of mistake. How bad is it?”

  “There’s nothing else they can do right now. The tumor is too large for surgery, and because of its stage, it’s growing aggressively. They want try and shrink it with chemo in hopes the tumor gets small enough that they’ll be able to operate.”

  “Okay good, so there’s a plan. When does the chemo start?” I question, my mind focused completely on the problem and how to fix it.

  “That’s just it, I’m not sure I’m going to have it.”

  “What? What do you mean? You have to have it.”

  “Honey, the doctors say my chances are pretty slim. As it is now, if I get plenty of rest, who knows how long I could live with this.” he explains.

  “No! You just want to give up? That’s not an option!” I exclaim, refusing to accept what he’s saying. “Henry, you have to promise me, if there’s a chance, even a slim one, then you’re going to fight.”

  “Listen, you need to take a deep breath. I’ve had time to process this, you haven’t.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it! I can’t believe you’ve known about this for two weeks, and you haven’t told me.”

  “What was I supposed to say? I didn’t even know how I felt about it,” he explains.

  I furrow my brow, my body jerking at the shock of his statement, “You didn’t know how you felt about what?”

  “Putting you through this.”

  I huff, “You’re not putting me through anything. I’m here because I want to be,” I insist. In a moment everything has been turned on its head, and all I can think about is the idea of Henry no longer being in the world. I wish my heart would stop aching.

  “I’m giving you an out. You don’t have to do this with me. Nobody will blame you. I won’t blame you.” His voice is tender and sweet.

  “Stop. Stop it now!” I snap. I don’t have to think about it. The answer pops out immediately. “Don’t be ridiculous. This doesn’t change a thing. In a week we’ll be married, and I’ll be by your side the entire time. We’re going to beat this—together.”

  I’m certain the words I spoke are truer than any other I have ever spoken. Sitting here with Henry, the idea of death stealing him from my world, there is no more confusion. Christian will move on. Here, with Henry, is exactly where I’m supposed to be. And I am ready to make it that way permanently. We’ll figure this out.

  Suddenly the reality of what I’ve done comes crashing down. I assumed Henry was pulling away because he sensed something in me, when in fact, he was fighting here, all by himself. I’m sickened as my epic selfishness settles over me.

  “Oh God,” I moan, collapsing from my chair onto my knees. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” I say over and over. He assumes I am sorry he’s sick, but there is so much more I am sorry for.

  He doesn’t hesitate to get down on
his knees with me, wrapping his arms around my convulsing body, attempting to console me. My sobs are heavier as I feel how weak his grasp is.

  “Are you sure?” he asks me. “Everyone would understand if this is too much for you.”

  “Don’t ask again,” I tell him through tears. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, baby,” he says with an intense relief in his voice.

  It’s more than loving him and knowing he loves me. It’s exactly as his mother had told me all those years ago: without him in my life, there will be a hole—one that I doubt could ever be filled. I will marry Henry, and we’ll fight this, harder than either of us have fought for anything in our lives.

  I decide I’ll call Christian first thing tomorrow and tell him I’ve made a mistake—a terrible mistake.

  I’VE WAITED MY entire life for this moment. The day where I take all of my designs from the very earliest stages to full execution of pieces that will be worn down the runway. A dream I thought was impossible is now coming true. But it no longer seems to carry any importance for me.

  All I can think about is Henry. I keep wondering if I’d never left New York, would I have seen him deteriorating and forced him to see a specialist much sooner? Would a couple of months mean he had more of a chance? While I was in Christian’s arms, I should have been here, focusing on Henry and our wedding.

  “Paige,” I hear Emmie’s voice behind me. She flew in to help with the final details of the show and was staying through the week until the wedding was over. “This young lady here is having trouble fitting into the piece set aside for her. You have her marked as wearing midnight haze.”

  I turn and size up the model; it’s obvious she didn’t provide accurate measurements to the agency. “Send her over to Marcy. She has a couple back up pieces we could try.” I turn and begin examining the schedule, making sure the order the pieces appear on stage in is complementary, but I still can’t concentrate. Trailing after each thought is one about Henry.

  “How are you doing?” Emmie asks, moving in next to me.