No one ever tells you about that, about the level of panic you’re going to feel. Or maybe they do but you don’t really get it.
You don’t really feel prepared for it, the moment your child enters this world.
You don’t really feel prepared for the fear, the pain, the chaos in the hospital room. Nothing can prepare you for the sheer joy, the pure freaking love in your heart when the tiny human being you made is writhing around, kicking up her legs, crying her lungs out in the hands of doctors and nurses.
Not to mention the craving you feel to hold her yourself, and when they give her to you the panic—again that emotion—you feel is immense, more intense than anything else you’ve ever felt before.
But most of all, nothing can prepare you for the kind of love you feel, the kind of love you fall into, with the man you’ve loved for years already.
No, nothing can prepare you for the moment your husband holds your baby for the first time.
As it is, I remember crying in that moment.
I cried a lot that day, screamed a lot too. And when Simon held Fallon for the first time, my waterworks wouldn’t stop.
By that time, we were both exhausted.
It had been a long delivery, through which I screamed all the obscenities that I knew, and all at my stoic Ice King of a husband.
And well, that was the day—among other days in the past twenty years of our marriage—when I’d really tested his patience and broke his legendary control into pieces.
Simon was upset.
More than that, he was terrified and in distress. I swear a couple of new lines had emerged around his mouth and his forehead between rushing me to the hospital and the moment our baby girl was born.
All of that went away though, all of his stress and panic like mine, when he held Fallon in his arms for the first time.
I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes.
The way his strong but exhausted frame softened up. The way he made a cradle out of his arms so he could hold her in the crook of them.
The way his gray eyes—the ones that remind me of rainy skies—brimmed with tears even though his lips were stretched out in a big smile.
I remember the look of wonder on his king-like face when his daughter grabbed his finger in her small fist.
I remember it all.
I remember my husband falling in love with someone else, a tiny human that we’d created and that made me fall in love with him even more, with wide-open arms.
I also remember the day when I had an inkling that my baby girl had fallen in love with someone else too.
A silent, lonely boy named Dean.
I think it was her third birthday when she jokingly proposed to him.
I tried to deny it for a while. In fact, I denied it for years and years but I guess I always knew. I always knew that they had something special.
And so I knew this day was coming, the day when Simon and Dean, the boy whom Simon and I had welcomed into our family, would butt heads
Not because he doesn’t like Dean or anything like that.
But because Simon will have trouble letting go of the second love of his life, his daughter.
That’s exactly what’s happening, and I should probably tell him that.
Or my husband will agonize over it for days on end; it still takes time for him to understand things that involve emotions, especially his.
My Ice King.
It’s almost midnight. Brendan is fast asleep but I know Fallon is up even though the light in her room is switched out.
It was a tense dinner after Dean abruptly left. I wanted to talk to Simon then and there, but I knew he needed some time to put whatever happened in his study with Dean behind him. And Fallon needed to calm down as well.
So I waited for him to come upstairs to our bedroom but he never did.
That’s his thing too. Sometimes he shuts down and disappears into his work if he can’t process what’s happening around him, and I have to pull him out.
Tonight is one of those nights, I think, and I knock at his office door.
“Come in.”
His deep masculine voice reaches through the thick brown door and strangely, tonight it reminds me of our days at Heartstone, the time in my life when everything was so bleak and hard.
When I was eighteen, I tried to kill myself by jumping off a roof. Then I tried to lie about it because this thing inside of me, my illness—depression—made me feel weak. And I didn’t want to feel weak. So I lied and made up stories about the fall until everyone around me thought I should be sent to a psychiatric hospital.
And then, I found him.
The man with gray eyes and a stoic but stunning face, who looked like a king and reminded me of my favorite thing: rain.
He made me realize that I’m a warrior. My illness isn’t my weakness. My illness is what makes me strong. The fact that I get out of bed every morning even when I don’t want to. The fact that I’m living even when some days I don’t feel like it.
He made me realize that my fall from that roof isn’t something to be ashamed of. And in turn, he made me fall for him.
It wasn’t an easy road for us. He was my psychiatrist and I was his patient. There was a stigma, people’s judgement, Simon’s own moral conflict and issues. But we made it and here we are now twenty years later with a family and a castle-like home.
I open the door and step in.
He’s sitting behind his desk in his big monstrosity of a leather chair that I told him I hated the day he bought it some eight years ago.
This is insane, Simon. It looks like it came from the eighties.
You see the room in it, he said and pointed to the broad seat, his voice low and rough, his eyes hooded. You’ll be the one thanking me for it when you ride my cock on it later.
Well, I hate to say it but I did thank him for it. I’ve thanked him countless times since. So maybe I don’t hate this chair so much but it still is a throwback to the eighties.
“Hey,” I greet him as I close and lock the door behind me.
He gazes at me for a few silent seconds, his eyes so beautiful behind his thick glasses.
“Hey,” he says finally, and it’s evident in his splintered and thready voice that he’s struggling.
Not that anyone will be able to tell.
Nope, with him no one can tell anything except me.
He has a good poker face. He always did. Broad jaw, high cheekbones, a smooth forehead that might be slightly marred with lines of age but nothing too crazy.
And he’s sitting in his chair with his muscular shoulders straight and his fingers steepled like the king he is.
Only I know that besides being a cold and icy king, he’s also a man. A man with vulnerabilities and cracks in his polished façade like the rest of us.
I keep walking over to him, to my king, his office a reflection of the man he is: strong wood and polished leather.
And he keeps watching me from behind his desk.
“Do you remember when I used to come into your office?” I ask him softly, my feet quiet on the hardwood floor even though everything inside of me is buzzing like it always does when we stare at each other. “Back at Heartstone?”
I’m up to the other side of his desk now, my thighs pressing into the edge of it.
For some insane reason, I was going to stop there, stop at his giant desk covered in his books and papers.
But he pushes his chair back slightly and turns it to make room for me, silently inviting me closer, and of course, I go.
I round the desk under his intense stare and approach him, approach his sprawled thighs that appear so freaking powerful and muscular even through his pants.
As soon as I’m within touching distance, Simon unwinds his fingers and reaches out an arm, grabbing my wrist. He pulls me forward and a second later, I’m sitting on his lap with my side pressing into his chest that’s only grown harder over the years and h
is arm that makes a tight band around my waist.
“I do, yeah,” he replies to my earlier question. “I’d watch the time constantly. Send people away, end meetings abruptly if they ran over.”
“You were obsessed with me,” I tease.
“I was.”
Chuckling, I circle my arms around his neck and toy with his thick dark hair. Well, dark sprinkled with silver that somehow makes him look even more royal and handsome.
A king ruling over his kingdom for years. Ruling over his Snow Princess, or rather his Queen now, for years too.
“I used to sit in your lap there as well,” I whisper over his shadowed jaw.
His arm flexes around me. “You still sit in my lap.”
I kiss the corner of his mouth. “Even after twenty years.”
His other hand creeps up and into my loose silver hair. He tilts my head back slightly and kisses the corner of my mouth in answer to mine. “You’ll sit in my lap after another twenty too.”
My chest fills up with pounding heartbeats.
I don’t know how he can do this to me even after two decades of being together, but he does. In fact, he does it even more now.
With every year that passes, with every new thing that I discover about him, I fall for him even more. I think it’s endless and bottomless, this falling for him.
Rubbing my nose with his, I whisper, “You know, you aren’t half bad in the romance department if you apply yourself.”
One side of his mouth tugs up and I run my finger over the lines, the tracks of his smile. “I’ve learned from the best.”
“Have you?”
“Yes.” He eyes lower to my nightgown. “From my Snow Princess.”
I have his favorite nightgown on, a white, frilly thing that he likes. He tells me I look exactly like a snow princess in it, his Snow Princess.
And then, I have to kiss him when he’s being so sweet, my Ice King.
My husband is wonderful all the time but when he’s actually using his own words to express himself, there’s no stopping the hot rush in my blood.
When we break our kiss and come up for air, I whisper, “I love you.”
He swallows, his eyes getting cloudy. “Still?”
I nod, letting all my love for him show in my gaze. “Always.”
Instead of calming him down though, it agitates him. His chest undulates against my body in a harsh breath. The jaw that I’ve been kissing tics as he clenches his teeth.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers harshly, shaking his head in self-disgust. “Like I’m a hero or something. Not after tonight.”
God.
Simon has a very strict sense of moral code. I’ve battled with it many times in the past and I knew this wouldn’t be any different.
Sometimes I wish that he wasn’t so good, so fucking good, to the point that he tortures himself with it. Sometimes I wish I could tuck him inside my heart and keep him there forever, so he’s at peace.
Sighing, I cup his hard jaw. “What happened tonight?”
His reply is to clench that jaw again.
“Talk to me,” I urge.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
I sigh again and put pressure on his cheek so he knows I’m not taking no for an answer. “Simon, what happened tonight?”
His eyes become even more anguished, if possible. “He’s not good enough for her.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because he’s too old for her.”
“And?”
His arm around me flexes again and he frowns thunderously. “And she’s too young. She’s barely eighteen. She doesn’t know what love is. She’s just infatuated. She’s only been in college for what, four months? She hasn’t even seen what other options she has. There are other guys out there. She needs to wait.”
“She needs to wait?”
“Yes.”
“For other guys.”
He takes his time answering to that. “Yes.”
“So you’ll be fine if she brings home someone else?
This time, his silence before he answers is even longer. I can see the struggle in his features, in his tight body.
“Yes.” He grits his teeth. “Years later.”
Gosh, he’s such a liar. Still, I nod thoughtfully. “How many years exactly?”
He doesn’t like that.
“Willow,” he says, irritated. “I’m not in the mood to talk about this.”
He’s probably not going to like what I’m going to tell him now either so I keep my voice calm and soft. I keep toying with the ends of his hair.
“Okay.” I nod. “Are you in the mood to listen to a story?”
“Willow—”
I put a finger on his soft mouth. “Shh. Just hear me out. Please?”
He gives me a look for a few beats before jerking out a nod. I know it’s costing him. I also know that he probably already knows the story I’m going to tell him.
Not to mention, he’s aware that he isn’t going to like it so I lean into him and give him a sweet kiss on his lips as a reward.
“So once upon a time there was a girl. Let’s call her Snow Princess,” I whisper over his lips, staring into his intense gray eyes. “She was sent to live in a castle. But this wasn’t an ordinary castle at all. It was called Heartstone Psychiatric Hospital. She hated every second of it. She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. But then, she met a man—let’s call him the Ice King. Like all the things and people inside that castle, she hated him at first too. In fact, she hated him the most. Because he was the doctor and our Snow Princess didn’t like doctors, especially psychiatrists. She thought psychiatrists asked too many questions. But then slowly, she realized that this psychiatrist was different. He was special and he made her feel special too. So she fell in love with him. Against all rules and all better judgement. But you’ll never guess the best part.”
I smile at him and kiss his harsh jaw again before saying, “She was eighteen. And he was thirty-two.”
He remains silent for a few moments and I give him a pointed look. Then he breathes in sharply. “Is there a point to all this?”
I want to chuckle at his question. He can be so stubborn when he wants to be.
But I’ve raised two kids; I know how to deal with people who are deliberately stubborn.
“Yes.” Again, I adopt a calm voice. “The point is that age has nothing to do with who you fall in love with. She loves him, Simon. Like I loved you when I barely knew what love was. And he loves her back like you loved me, despite all the differences between us.”
“He doesn’t,” he clips.
“What?”
“He doesn’t love her.”
My hands in his hair stop and I try to get off his lap so we can have a serious discussion. “What are you talking about?”
But I should’ve known better. Simon wraps both his strong arms around me and keeps me connected and sprawled on him.
When I’m firmly ensconced in his lap again, he explains, “He left her.” At my confused frown, he goes on. “You know what he told me? He told me that two years ago he left for California because he loved her. Because he didn’t know what to do with his feelings for her.”
He has to stop speaking for a second because he’s so angry. It colors his cheekbones in a scarlet flush and I wind my arms back around his neck.
“Do you remember how depressed she was after he left? For days, I watched her struggle. We watched her struggle. She’d barely smile. She’d barely take interest in anything. She’d cry and I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to make it better for her. I didn’t even know why until today. She went through all that because he left her. He made her cry. And he’s still making her cry.” He bores his tortured gaze into mine.
“She hates California. Fallon hates L.A. but she’s there because of him. Because he’s there. My daughter is all alone on the other side of the
country because of him. He’s not good enough for her.”
My own eyes are filled with tears. It came as a shock for all of us, Dean leaving to go live thousands of miles away. We had no idea that he was planning such a big move. Not until he came over for dinner one night and broke the news to us.
I remember seeing Fallon’s face. It was stricken, gone pale. And it remained that way for days after. She remained that way, in shock, in a fog for days.
It got so bad that I wanted to bring Dean back.
I wanted to call him and demand that he come back. Because my baby girl loved him. I wanted to demand that he love her back too.
But you can’t force love. You can’t wish it, will it or conjure it up. You can’t even earn love. If you could, there wouldn’t be any unrequited lovers in the world. Or broken love stories.
Love can only be given. It can only be given of free will and volition.
That was exactly why I never told Simon.
I never told him why his daughter was so upset. I never told him that she loved Dean. He would’ve flown over to California and forced Dean back. He would’ve done all the things that I wanted to do myself. He would’ve tortured himself with it, with helplessness.
I know him. My husband likes to fix things and it wasn’t something that could be fixed.
So I took care of my daughter as best as I could. I tried to be there for her and I tried to be there for my husband.
And tonight, I have to be there for them again, for both my daughter and this man I love. So I say the thing that I don’t really like to think about.
“You made me cry too,” I whisper.
He flinches like I’ve slapped him, and it cuts me so much to bring it up. But I have to. I have to do it. So he understands.
And to cushion the blow I maneuver my body on his lap.
I straddle him, putting my knees on either side of his and threading my fingers in his hair. His own grab my waist and press me into his torso.
“I cried for you, Simon,” I tell him, resting my forehead against his. “For days, for weeks. For the longest time I thought that you didn’t love me and I didn’t know how to accept that. I didn’t know how to live a life without you. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad because it’s all in the past and you’ve made up for everything a million times over. But I’m telling you this because I want you to understand. I want you to understand that the reason our daughter was so sad was because she loved him. And sometimes the people we love hurt us the most. It’s an unfortunate fact but it’s the truth. And you want to know another truth? When you finally admitted that you loved me, I’d never been happier. In fact, every day my happiness grows because you’re with me. I know happiness because of you. And on hard days, when my illness makes me think that I can never be happy and that I’ll always be sad, you make my sadness not so sad.”
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