by Caro Carson
* * *
Aiden had lost her.
In the quiet of the night, while his daughters slept, India sat with him on the sofa, leaning into him a little bit as he kept his arm around her shoulders and they stared at the Christmas tree, but everything had changed.
She didn’t remember him, her lover. She was all tangled up in his children and his widowhood. Her sorrow doused her inner light, her joy in their relationship, her passion to find out if they had more than passion.
All gone.
All his fault.
His real life had been too much of a shock for her.
He wanted to ease that shock, if he could. He broke the silence. “What would you like to know? You must have questions.”
“What was her name?”
“Melissa.” He was vaguely surprised. That wasn’t one of the most common questions, certainly never the first one. That poor man, losing his wife with their children so young... He’d never heard someone say, He lost Melissa so young.
“How did you meet her?”
He had to think about that one. For a fraction of a second, he drew a blank—no one ever asked him that. But, of course, he remembered. “A friend’s party. Halloween. She was dressed like an M&M. Yellow. I couldn’t tell much because of the costume, but I guessed her body would be as cute as her face.”
Why in the hell had he said that? What a horrible memory to share with another woman, to admit that he’d hoped his dead wife had had a hot body when he’d first met her. He turned toward India to apologize.
But India’s lips actually quirked in a brief smile. “Typical guy. You get credit for not ignoring her and going after the sexy nurse costume.”
“Mmm.” He was going to remain neutral on that one. Sexy nurses had tended to be eye-catching when he was a young lieutenant. But when he’d been a 27-year-old captain, the yellow M&M with the cute smile had made an unforgettable impact on him. That had been it, from that first conversation. They’d dated for half a year, been engaged for another six months after that and gotten married, but really, that party had been it. There’d been no one else after he’d talked to that yellow M&M.
Not until he’d been standing in a neighbor’s garage, missing his children, holding a beer, and a woman with gray eyes had stepped down from a pickup truck, looking rumpled and sleepy from an international flight. Sudden impact. The beginning and the end at once.
But he’d been stupid, and he’d let her go. She’d come back, but only to discover he’d kept so much of himself separate from her.
Shouldn’t age have made him wiser? He’d gotten more stupid instead.
“How did she die?” India asked.
He couldn’t hold back his sigh. Here we go. This was why he’d tried to keep part of himself from India. He hadn’t wanted to do this.
He took a breath. Cleared his throat. Let the recitation begin. “It’s easy to see it in hindsight. She had a blood clot in her leg that broke loose and traveled to her lung. She died of a pulmonary embolism.”
Next: Was it quick? Did she suffer?
“I don’t know anything about that,” India said. “Is it rare?”
He had to think about that one, too, for a second. He was so used to a certain soundtrack. That question wasn’t the one that usually came next.
“They say it’s common, but I don’t know anyone else who has dealt with it. We didn’t know she had the clot in her leg. We’ll never know what caused it. I had to consciously accept that. Flying is one risk factor, and we’d flown with the twins to Connecticut to see my parents, so, of course, they blamed themselves. They still blame themselves, but the doctors said it could have been a clot still left over from the pregnancy. She’d also had a recent bike wreck that bruised her leg. A little bit of everything, probably.
“There were no symptoms, until she noticed one foot was more swollen than the other. We thought it was nothing at first. Her feet had gotten swollen when she was pregnant, and it was like that. We even joked that when she’d had both feet swollen, she’d had twins. If she was pregnant again and only one foot was swollen, maybe it was only one baby this time.” He looked up to the top of the Christmas tree, the very top, shaking his head in disbelief, still. “We joked about it.”
“Was she pregnant?” India barely got the question out, she’d gone so tense under his arm.
“No. We hadn’t been trying, but they tested her at the hospital, anyway. They would have had more concerns about the blood thinners if she’d been pregnant.” He tapped India’s shoulder. “Breathe.”
She exhaled in a whoosh. “I didn’t realize I was holding my breath.”
I did. I know your body, I know your breaths. I know you, India, intimately. Have you forgotten?
He plowed through the rest of the story. “She called the doctor and made an appointment for that Wednesday. But on Monday, she couldn’t catch her breath. She didn’t feel well, so she slept most of the day. On Tuesday, she was sweating. It wasn’t hot or cold, she just was sweating. We called the doctor to see if she could come in a day early, and they told us to go straight to the emergency room. We had to get a friend to come watch the girls. They ran all the tests, started the blood thinners. It was an emergency, but treatable, they said. And the next day, too. But the next day... I could tell the doctors were thinking this wasn’t a routine case. They said we might need surgery. I sat by her bed all night instead of going home to check on the girls. We watched some TV. Neither one of us could fathom what the hell was happening. She was fine. She was healthy. She was only thirty-one years old.”
A little squeak escaped India.
“Breathe.”
He didn’t want to share misery with India. I’m sorry, India. I thought I could spare us this.
“On Friday morning, she died. She was just so tired. I told her to get some rest, and she went back to sleep. I read a book. I know she thought she was just going to take a nap. I know she did. We were scared and worried in general, but she didn’t think she was going to die in the next half hour, you know? I’m grateful for that.”
He stared at the lights on the tree and let the numbness settle over him. It was so unreal sometimes, to tell the story, like it had happened to someone else. He still couldn’t believe they’d been through that. They—he and Melissa had gone through it together, but he was the only one left who remembered it.
He wasn’t hurting, just numb.
“How long ago did she die?”
Ah, the real question. Are you over it? Are you dating again? That was what people really meant, questions Aiden hated, questions he’d been so happy to skip with India.
Now he felt it, that sharp stab. It wasn’t pain; it was anger. He was sick of this scenario, sick of these questions, sick of the way his history made everyone view him now. Everyone, including India.
He pushed himself off the couch and stood by the fireplace. “Two years.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He’d said two years with too much venom. It wasn’t directed at India. It wasn’t even directed at the universe this time. It was fury at himself.
Are you ready to fall in love with someone else now?
I’m not looking for love. He’d known that was the right answer, time after time, but this week, love had moved in right next door. She had moved in, and he had kept secrets from her.
“Am I your first since then?” she asked.
He turned around. “What?”
“Am I the first person you’ve slept with since she died? It would only be fair, if you were my rebound guy, that I would be your rebound girl.”
“No, you’re not the first.”
“Oh.” She frowned a little at her interlaced fingers in her lap. “Aerosmith.”
He looked away. “Among others.”
“Was it hard to sleep with someone else again?”
> Not that night. But the next morning, on the drive home, I wept. I felt like I’d cheated on Melissa. Logic didn’t help much, that first time.
He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re killing me, India. These aren’t the usual questions. It was long enough ago. Does it matter?”
“It... I... Yes, it matters. Is it hard to sleep with me? Do you think of her when you sleep with me?”
His outrage made it impossible to answer her. How could she think that? How could she possibly think that? Were they not having the same sex at the same time?
Bad attitude, Nord. Check yourself.
What kind of terrible, horrible lover was he, if India wasn’t sure that he was thinking of her when he was utterly lost in her?
He stopped standing like an arrogant jerk and turned to face her.
“I’m asking,” she said, “because maybe that’s why you didn’t tell me you’d been widowed. Maybe you were being kind, and you didn’t want me to know I was a substitute.” She couldn’t look at him. She bit her lip. She blinked. She was hurt.
There was the pain again, the sharp stab, but it had nothing to do with his past. He hurt because India had been hurt, wondering if she was a substitute. The pain brought him to his knee, but that was fine, because he needed to take a knee in front of India to apologize.
“That’s not it, baby. When I’m with you, I’m obliterated by you. Nothing else matters but you. I’m wild for the way you make me feel. I’m wild to make you feel as good. I’m—” He remembered lying with her under the kitchen table after the video app, and he smiled. “I’m having fun with you sometimes. Other times, I feel like I’m going to die if I have to wait a second longer to be inside you. I’ve been making love to you every single time, and I’m so very sorry to have made you doubt that.”
She touched his face, smoothing her fingers along his cheekbone—it was the first time she’d initiated any touch since she’d walked through his front door and gotten ambushed by the truth he had withheld.
“I’m so very sorry,” he said again.
She gave him a small smile. “It only just occurred to me this afternoon. I couldn’t have thought it all week, could I? I didn’t know you’d been married.”
“I’m sorry you thought it for even a minute today.” He dropped his head and kissed her hands as he smoothed them with his own, so she was no longer lacing her fingers together so tightly.
“You didn’t want me to know,” she said softly. “Ever.”
“Not at first, not until I realized I was going to want you for far more than a week. I was going to tell you everything at McDonald’s.”
She looked confused for a moment, but he saw it in her face when she remembered their conversation over burgers and fries.
“Right. You told me that you don’t date fathers. I could have lost you then and there, or I could have stayed with you another three nights before losing you. I was selfish. I took my three nights.”
She nodded, far too understanding.
“Is there anything else you want to ask me?” He let the silence settle between them for a moment. “Any names you want to call me? Any coals you want to rake me over?”
There was, there had to be, but she only shook her head.
“You’re letting me off easy.” He kissed her hands one more time and stood, then tugged her to her feet, too.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” she said, and her smile was a ghost of its usual self, but it was genuine. “We can say it’s your present. I didn’t get you anything else.”
He laughed—faintly, but it was genuine. After saying goodbye to her this morning, after seeing the shock on her face this afternoon, after answering her questions tonight, he could still laugh.
It was a Christmas miracle.
Or it was India.
They were pretty much the same thing this year.
“Then it’s time to play Santa Claus. That’s nothing kinky, that’s just putting out the bookcase and filling the stockings. Then I have to find you some kind of pajamas to wear tomorrow morning, because the girls were quite clear that all gifts would be opened in pajamas, and I happen to know you don’t have any.”
“Yes, I was told the dress code several times.” But as India moved past him to get started with their tasks, the tree lights brought out warm browns in her hair and highlighted her face. He caught her gently. “I didn’t tell you about one of the best Christmas gifts I ever received in my life.”
“What’s that?”
“You came back and knocked on my door.” He kissed her forehead. “And you stayed even when you got way more family than you bargained for.” He kissed her nose. “Thank you.” He kissed her lips.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.
* * *
India only watched as Aiden set out the tree bookcase, but she helped him assemble a plastic dollhouse taller than Poppy. The dollhouse took two army officers a solid ninety minutes to puzzle out, so it was late by the time she and Aiden had succeeded in making it match the photo on the box. Aiden held out his hand as he had so many times that week, his half smile saying so much that words weren’t necessary. She placed her hand in his, and he led her upstairs.
Aiden gently shut the door to Olympia’s room. At Poppy’s door, Aiden held India’s hand a little tighter as he closed the door. Then they stood outside his bedroom. This door was shut; he had to open it.
India walked in and panicked. This was not their room, the new guest room with no history but their own. This was the room that he’d shared with Melissa, the woman with the cute smile and cute body hidden by an M&M costume, the woman who’d died too soon.
“I can’t.”
She’d backed away from the king-size bed, right into Aiden’s chest. He caught her, he soothed her. “It’s okay.”
“No. I can’t.”
“Okay. Then we won’t.”
She was not cut out for this. This wasn’t lust; this wasn’t a romantic vacation. This was...
I don’t do families.
“It’s been a hell of a long day,” Aiden said quietly. He wrapped his forearm over her chest and held her securely. Surely, he could feel her heart pounding. “We can just sleep, baby. Everything’s going to be okay. Let’s let it all sink in. We’ll get some sleep, then we’ll enjoy Christmas morning, okay?”
She nodded. Sort of. It was a jerky move.
He hesitated. “Or I can sleep on the couch. Am I making you nervous?”
“The bed is fine,” she said.
But as she laid too far away from him to feel his warmth, she stared into the dark and knew this was the beginning of the end. This wasn’t her bed, her family, her life. Aiden wasn’t her man.
But it had been a beautiful shipboard romance.
Chapter Fifteen
If she hadn’t already been in love with Aiden, she would have fallen hard Christmas morning.
He was the best father in the world. He admired the wings on fairy dolls, and he kept a screwdriver and a pack of batteries by the tree to make those wings—and every other toy—light up like magic. He was so very handsome, ridiculously so, in his snug T-shirt and plaid flannel pants. He put cinnamon rolls in the oven and orange juice in sippy cups. Poppy and Olympia wanted him to sit on the floor with them as they opened gifts, so he did. While he was down there, they ambushed him with hugs and kisses after every toy.
He loved it. He was having a wonderful Christmas as a parent. India couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He looked like the man she’d fallen in love with, but now he was more. Looking at his smile now, it seemed incredible that she had thought he was happy with her. This Christmas morning with his daughters was his true happiness.
He so clearly loved those girls. There was a lightness about him, now that they were back in his life. The girls were so secure with him. They could ask
him a question and he’d answer it. They could bring him a toy and he’d make it work. They could climb right over him and he’d hold them up. He made it look so effortless.
India sat on the floor, too, in a pair of Aiden’s pajamas. She’d cuffed up the sleeves and the pants. She was completely bowled over by the little-girl hugs and kisses she got in exchange for humble grocery-store gifts of candy and picture books. She ate a cinnamon roll.
It was not effortless for her.
She tried not to cry, because she didn’t want to ruin Christmas. Every sweet moment made her throat tight with tears, though. Every moment proved to her that this would be her one and only day as the fourth wheel to this perfect three-person family. She didn’t do families, because she couldn’t.
She didn’t date fathers, because she was not a horrible person. She would not compete with these girls for their father’s time and attention. Because she loved the father and, by extension, the father’s daughters, she was going to do the right thing and go back to Belgium.
She was only the girlfriend. Her week was up. Her role had become obsolete. Lust and sex and desire, everything that had bound her to Aiden when she’d thought he was as single as she was, had no place in this house. This house was about parents and children. One parent had been lost, but it was still a beautiful family. A girlfriend who’d only been fun in bed for a week didn’t fit in, not at all.
She hugged the girls back. She smiled. She choked down her cinnamon roll.
The twins had been up at dawn and charging full speed for hours. Aiden seemed to know that magic moment when they were just groggy enough for him to carry them upstairs with a pile of new books. He laid them both on Poppy’s bed and started reading.
India listened in the hallway. She’d never know how the story of the little elephant ended, because Aiden stopped reading halfway through and left the room. He grinned at her, that half smile that said so much, as he pulled the door shut behind himself slowly, silently.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
The light went out of his expression.