Recluse Millionaire, Reluctant Bride

by Sun Chara

  Stella collapsed to the floor and laid her head on the edge of the bed. For a long time she sat there, numb. Her eyes stung, her throat itched and her head throbbed. Things were going from bad to worse between them. She wanted to scream but only a croaking sound cracked from her lips.

  Slowly, she pushed herself off the floor and stumbled to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and it trickled down her neck, soaking her bosom. A hysterical sound bubbled from deep inside her. “Replay.”

  Stella trudged back and fell into bed, moonlight streaming across the covers, soothing. Thoughts jack-knifed through her mind. She tossed and turned. When she heard a footstep outside her door, she tensed, held her breath and waited for Stan to return.

  He didn’t.

  The night seemed endless.

  She squinted at the fluorescent hands of the clock. Four-thirty a.m. She groaned and pulled the blankets over her head. In another couple of hours, the household would be stirring awake. She had to get some sleep or she’d look the wreck she felt. Curled up and clinging to the covers all night, her muscles had stiffened. She stretched beneath the sheet and shivered as air circulated around her legs.

  At that moment, she heard Stan walk into the room and froze, pretending to be asleep. She needn’t have worried.

  Within minutes, he’d showered, dressed and marched for the door. But was that a subtle pause by the bed? She pressed her fist to her mouth, squashing the temptation to peek at him.

  Where had he slept, and where was he going at the crack of dawn?

  Questions hammered her brain, but the answers floated in cyberspace.

  That incident though, set the pattern for the following weeks. During the day, they kept their distance, speaking to each other only when necessary or when someone was nearby.

  Had to keep up appearances.

  Stella hated the pretense. But it was a waiting game until after the court hearing.

  In the meantime, Joe or Fred drove her and Troy to the studio in Vancouver. The child joined her regular classes, manned the phone and helped with odd jobs. He tried so hard to please, and her heart went out to him. It would tear her apart when he was taken from her.

  In the evening, one of the men chauffeured them back to the lodge.

  During dinner, Troy took center stage by recounting his adventures in the dojo. His animated chatter kept them from having to feign conversation in front of him.

  “Glad you’re enjoying yourself, son,” Stan said once, his voice warm, but his eyes on Stella chilled. “Not a nuisance, is he?”

  “Of course not.” Stella smiled at the child. “I love to have him.”

  After the meal, Stan worked out in the gym with Troy or went out for a trek in the woods. When he shut himself in his office, Stella took over spending time with Troy until he went to bed. Left on her own, she watched television, went for a swim or sat quietly reading a book. More often than not, the book slipped from her fingers and she sat alone, lost in her thoughts.

  After everyone retired for the night, Stan collected bedding and spent the night away from her. At the crack of dawn, before anyone woke up, he returned, piled the blankets in the closet, showered, dressed and departed.

  Communication between them deteriorated to a brief nod and a curt goodnight. And tension stretched taut, ready to snap at the first provocation.

  Stella lost weight. A touch of extra make-up hid the pallor of her face, but dark circles remained beneath her eyes, eclipsing her usual sparkle.

  Stan had become grimmer, rarely smiling, his eyes hidden beneath his half-lowered lids. There were days when he appeared haggard, the gray above his temples more pronounced.

  They were on the brink of disaster—living like intimate strangers.

  Stella had caught Minni glancing at her with concern from time to time, but the older woman was wise enough to keep her counsel.

  Life became a see-saw, up and down and all around. From the lodge, to the lawyers’ office, to her studio and back to the mountain. The pace was grueling, seeming endless. A sigh burst from deep inside her. Even Christmas had caught them unaware, whizzing by without much ado. She’d been in town at her dojo. Stan and Troy at the lodge for the weekend when another snow blizzard raked the land, separating them on that magical day. Her sigh morphed into a moan but she muffled it behind her hand. Perhaps it had been an omen of what was to come.

  Stella pressed her eyelids tight to stem the tears, the tension unbearable. Yet, feeling honor bound to uphold her end of the bargain, she could do nothing until Stan had custody of his son.

  Their life … their marriage was sitting on a time bomb.

  And it was about to detonate.

  ***

  Stan and Troy’s mother had been deposed and the time had come for Stella to take the hot seat. While the world celebrated the start of the New Year, Stella prepped for a legal inquisition. The lawyers’ interrogation challenged her quick wit, making her glad of her Martial Arts training to ward off any attack.

  But, the legalities of the matter caused more delays. The mother persisted on fighting Stan for the child. Stan on the other hand, was determined to keep his son out of court.

  As weeks slipped into months, the distance between them widened into a chilling chasm. But what would it matter?

  After all this was a marriage deal, was it not?

  It would soon be over … her heart cracked.

  At last, the day arrived for a face-off with the opposing party and their legal team. When the elevator panels slid open on the twenty-first floor of the towering downtown building, Stan cupped Stella’s elbow and guided her toward the double doors at the end of the hallway. Suddenly, a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in the height of fashion stormed by and bumped her shoulder. Stella stumbled. Stan grabbed her arm in a steely grip and kept her from falling, but the flush of embarrassment already suffused her face.

  “Well-l, this must be the new momma,” the woman drawled, feigning a French accent. She patted her jet-black hair in a perfunctory gesture, her eyes cold, hard. “The kid’s mine,” she spat. “Don’t think your last-minute hook-up to this little … er … thing” –she glanced at Stella down her patronizing nose— “is going to change anything.”

  “Troy is not a possession, Ann.” Stan stepped slightly forward, shielding Stella from the woman’s venom. “You’re his mother, but he will live with me, his father.”

  “We’ll see who gets the kid.” She turned a stiff back and laughing, glided through the huge office portals.

  Chilled to the bone, Stella was glad of his protective arm about her shoulders.

  Had to keep up appearances.

  Sighing, she followed the echo of the woman’s high-heeled shoes into the office with Stan.

  Two hours later, Stella exited the office, her head buzzing with legal jargon and made a beeline for the water fountain by the elevators. Stan had remained behind to discuss details with his attorney. After taking a drink to soothe her parched throat, she glanced out the wide expanse of glass of one wall. The Vancouver skyline was overcast, the gray seas of Burrard Inlet choppy. Quite apropos, she thought, catching sight of a ferry sailing across to North Vancouver. She wished she were on it, far away from all this.

  When she heard the door click open, Stella spun around and her eyes connected with Stan’s for a fleeting moment. An uneasy feeling fluttered through her, and she clutched her purse between her damp palms. He rubbed his hand along his neck and walked across the hall, the grooves on his cheeks seeming to have deepened over the last two hours.

  Stella wished she could hold him, say something to comfort him, but instead, she stayed where she was and queried him with her gaze.

  “We’re in for a fight.”

  “It’s going to court?” Stella asked, her voice faltering.

  “No.” He took her elbow and ushered her into the elevator.

  Once they reached the parking lot, he helped her into the Corvette; like the chopper, he rarely used it, but to navigate
Vancouver traffic it was more practical than the Hummer or limo. He walked around, sliding into the driver’s seat. “It’s a sticky situation.” He propped his hand on the steering wheel, tension vibrating from him, stifling in the confines of the cab. “Stella, I didn’t know I had a son until a few months ago.”

  “What? Why? How?” The words tumbled from her mouth, and then she turned quiet, waiting. She had to know … and he needed to tell her.

  “When I was a college stud of twenty” –he broke off on seeing her elevated brows and pursed his lips, his gaze level with hers— “you must’ve been about seven at the time—”

  “Eight.” Her heart leaped. The same age as Troy now…a child.

  His lip tugged at the corner but didn’t make it to a smile. He brushed his hand across his eyes and a gust of air blasted from his mouth. “On a foolish dare, I made the biggest blunder of my life—I married Ann.”

  A twitch of pain pierced her, until she remembered she’d been a child and he a man at the time.

  “Within three months we split … about nine years later she showed up on my doorstep, strung out and wanting to ‘play house’ … we decided to give the marriage ‘the ol’ college try’ again. I got smashed trying to get into the mood. By morning I had a doozer of a hangover but I knew without a doubt the big blooper had morphed into a mega mistake. I was about to voice my findings, but she’d already skipped town together with my cash and credit cards. The twenty-four hour ‘reunion’ ended in a speedy divorce, but with an unexpected prize … a child I hadn’t known existed for nine years.”

  Stella bit down the questions itching to spill off the tip of her tongue.

  “There are no records to show I’ve given support for my son all these years.” He pounded the steering wheel with his fist.

  “But she accepted alimony?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that shows you wouldn’t shirk your responsibilities.”

  A wan smile brushed his lips. “Gets tricky.”

  “And she’s using it to her advantage.”

  “For all its worth.” He inserted the key in the ignition, the half smile flipping to a hard line across his mouth.

  “Why?” Stella clicked the buckle on her seatbelt. “I thought she didn’t want the child on a regular basis.”

  “But she knows I do.” He turned the key, revved the engine and steered the car into the stream of traffic on Burrard Street.

  ***

  Stella settled against plumped-up pillows, drew the blankets over her knees and tried to concentrate on a magazine. When she heard his footsteps outside the door, she held her breath and waited for him to come in, collect his bedding and leave as usual. Stan opened and shut the door, paused a loaded moment, and crossed the room with purpose.

  Right to her.

  “Wha-at are you doing?” she asked in barely a whisper, a tremor ripping through her.

  “I’m getting into bed.” His words firm, his gaze unflinching. “With my wife.”

  Chapter 12

  Stella sat bolt upright. “You managed all right out of this bed for the last three months.”

  “Counting were you?” he said, a cocky grin on his mouth.

  “You betcha,” she let fly back. “Keeping tabs on my exit day.”

  “Fleet of foot and quick of mind.” He chuckled, a dry sound. “Departure’s not today.”

  “I thought you preferred to sleep elsewhe—”

  “That was then. This is now.” He cast her a cursory glance. “I’d turn that mag right side up if I were you.”

  Stella slammed the magazine on the nightstand, leaped off the bed and stood before him in her cotton nightie, her toes peeking beneath the frilly hem. “You can’t.”

  “I can.” He studied her from head to toe.

  She blushed, crossed her arms over her breasts and curled her toes in the rug.

  “I’ve no intention of sleeping out of a comfortable bed any longer.”

  He strode past her to the bathroom, tossing over his shoulder, “You’re welcome to snooze on the library sofa … a bit cramped though.”

  “Nothing has changed, Stan.”

  He spun around. “Honey, I’ve got so much shooting through my brain, all I want is a good night’s sleep.” He shut the door.

  Cold air pierced her nightie, and Stella rubbed her arms to settle the goosebumps. She heard the shower running and reluctantly slid back into bed, her muscles coiling with tension. Propping a pillow against the headboard, she leaned back, bent her knees and pulled the covers to her chin.

  A few minutes later, Stan walked from the bathroom, climbed into bed and turned off the bedside lamp. With a curt goodnight, he turned his back to her and in minutes he was sound asleep.

  Stella released a pent-up breath, slid further under the blankets and closed her eyes, but sleep deserted her. After what seemed like hours, she slipped from the bed and paced the room. She rubbed her eyes and, pulling the curtain aside, glanced up at the star-studded sky, praying for an answer.

  Thoughts tormented her mind.

  She shared a house, bedroom and child with her husband, but nothing more. Every pore in her body screamed with the frustration of living a lie.

  As each day passed, she and Troy grew closer, yet she and her husband drew further apart. Stella knew what she had to … must do. She pressed her fingers to her pounding temples, hoping she’d hold out until the conclusion of the custody battle.

  She released the curtain and turned, staring at her sleeping husband. Moisture pressed against her eyelids and she blinked it away. She walked back to bed and quietly slid under the covers. A bedspring creaked and she twitched, her nerves strained to breaking point.

  “Could we get some sleep, woman?” Stan’s sleepy voice rippled across the stillness of the room.

  He shifted to a more comfortable position and his leg brushed her thigh. Stella froze. When he made no other move toward her, she relaxed and soon after slept.

  Another month dragged by.

  One evening when Stella couldn’t stand the charade any longer, she sat at her dressing table combing her hair. She took particular care with each stroke, sliding the comb through her curls, slow and easy. Otherwise, she might have pulled her hair out by the roots. When she neared the hundredth stroke, Stan walked in and plunked down on the edge of the bed.

  “Game over.”

  The brush fell from her fingers, and she gaped at him through the mirror.

  “She consented. I have custody of my son.”

  Seeing the weary lines etched on his face, she swiveled around. “Thank, God.”

  “Copy that.” He loosened his tie. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  Stella winced. He spoke to her like she was a stranger. She felt like her insides had been vacuumed out, leaving her empty, cold.

  “What made her change her mind?” she asked, ignoring her racing heart. She had both dreaded and looked forward to this day.

  Stan hauled himself up and tossed his tie over a hanger in the closet.

  “Cash … and more cash.” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the age-old symbol for money. “A cush job overseas didn’t hurt either.”

  “What?”

  “Consultant for one of the couture houses in Paris.” He unfastened the button at his shirt collar. “Jetting the globe with an entourage on shopping sprees and fashion shows suits her.” He ran a hand across his eyes. “A small child would cramp her style.”

  “I see,” Stella murmured, but she didn’t really. Couldn’t fathom how anyone could give up a beautiful child like Troy for a jet party. “Women can combine career and family and achieve success.” She swallowed. “It isn’t easy, but it can be done.”

  “Providing the woman is willing,” he muttered. “Troy’s mother isn’t like that.” A force of air burst from his mouth, and he scratched his bearded chin. “No doubt she loves him in her own way … at least I’d like to think so. But she loves life in the fast lane more.” He strippe
d the shirt off his back and hurled it in the laundry basket tucked in the corner of the closet. “She’s made her choice, now she can live with it.”

  As I made mine, and must live with … er … without you. The thought flashed through her mind, and her pulse vaulted in her throat.

  “Eventually, she’ll realize what she’s given up and want to see him.”

  As she was about to … but she had no choice. The gulf between them stretched so wide, the boy could no longer keep them together.

  “Could she?”

  “Visitation rights were part of the agreement.” Stan tightened his jaw. “Doubtful though, when she’ll exercise them.”

  “How’d you think Troy would feel about that?” Stella hadn’t moved from her spot by the dresser. She couldn’t. Not wanting to break the delicate thread of confidence between them, she stared at her clasped hands in her lap, and waited for his answer.

  This could be their last time together.

  “He’ll wonder about his mother and might wish to see her.” He rolled his shoulders, working out the crick in his neck. “I won’t stand in his way.”

  His words seemed to hold an underlying meaning for her too. She raised her eyes and sucked in her breath. He stood tall, every muscle of his chest defined, and gazed at her with such intensity she felt like he could read her mind … her thoughts … her heart. She wanted to run from him and yet at the same time run to him … be enfolded in his arms. She wanted, needed, desired … but she averted her gaze. It couldn’t be as she wished, prayed for.

  “Is Troy all right?”

  “Yes.” Stan unbuckled his belt. “He’s resilient.”

  But he wasn’t so sure he was.

  Not with Stella looking so hot and sexy sitting on that chair.

  The light from the lamp made her eyes luminous, turned her hair gold and revealed her curves beneath her nightgown. Her nipples strained against the fabric. His gut knotted. If he bent his head he could take one in his mouth, material and all. She shifted in the chair and the loose cotton slipped off her shoulder. If he snaked out his arm, he could pull her onto his lap, touch the velvet smoothness with his lips, lick with his tongue, nip … Nestle his head upon her bosom, smell her scent, taste, touch her, needing her close, craving her softness, desiring … her.