by Emelia Blair
I look at my friends and the way they are effortlessly shouldering every responsibility, and I pull Charlotte closer to me. I never realized how precious she was to me until I saw her today, lying on the floor, desperately fighting for her life.
Those big meaty fists raining down blows on her soft flesh; the sight had driven me into a blind rage. Dragging him off my bleeding wife has been instinct. Using my own fists to inflict maximum damage on the son of a bitch has been blind fury.
I would have killed him if I hadn’t been distracted by the sight of Charlotte lugging around the huge fire extinguisher. The man had punched me in the abdomen, and while I gasped out a breath, he’d jumped to his feet and darted out the front door.
I saw a side of this woman today that I had always been aware of but never been a firsthand witness to. She was brave, so very brave. And strong.
Although she was devastated at the losses she suffered, she tried her best to keep it together. It wasn’t stubbornness that kept her wits about her, but a quiet steadiness. She demanded my assistance where she needed it as a last resort, and yet she refused to lean on me.
I hadn’t known how much I wanted her to look at me as someone who could support her, as someone she could trust, until I watched the way she forced her tears back and tried to fix whatever she could of the situation.
Today taught me something valuable, I muse as I look down at her pale face and her softly parted lips.
I am completely and irrevocably in love with Charlotte.
8
Charlotte
My ribs ache.
That is the first blurry thought in my mind as I drag myself out of unconsciousness by sheer force of will.
My limbs feel heavy, as if they are made of steel, and every movement hurts my body in a way that feels so familiar that fear grips me by the throat.
My eyes are still closed as I try to recall what happened, and there is a strange fogginess in my mind that doesn’t seem very natural. I try to crawl my way out of it, but that just brought a headache.
My throat is so parched.
Opening my eyes is a task in itself and after a few seconds of unmitigated effort, I find myself staring at a ceiling that looks oddly familiar. As I become more aware of my surroundings, I realize that the sheets under me are some of the softest I have ever felt.
Sensing movement to my left as the bed shifts, I am blasted into full awareness. I turn my head, and see the last thing I would have ever imagined.
Philip leans against the headboard, a pair of thick rimmed black glasses perched on his nose as he frowns down at some documents he is studying. His faded gray T-shirt is loose around his form, and he looks like a complete nerd, albeit a very hot one.
The blanket that covers me rests casually over his abdomen, hiding his lower body from sight.
When he hisses in annoyance, I snap out of it, reality washing over me.
I am about to push myself into a sitting position, when a wave of dizziness overtakes me, and Philip chooses that moment to pay attention to me.
His eyes widen, and he tosses his papers aside and leans over me. His fingers drift over my forehead and my face, so light that I barely feel them.
“How are you feeling?”
His voice holds a note of anxiousness and I close my eyes, my throat hurting as I whisper, “Water.”
He blinks and then his head moves out of my sight for only a moment before he is back, this time helping me into a reclining position. The water is chilled, and as the cool liquid pours down my throat I feel more awake.
However, my body still hurts, and I wince as I recall each and every event in perfect clarity.
“You have been advised bed rest,” Philip informs me, a smug look on his face, and I wondered what he is so happy about until he gives it away, “Until you are back on your feet, you will remain under my tender loving care.”
“Bed rest?” Even I can hear the disbelief in my voice. “Over a few bruises?” When Philip’s expression grows dark, I realize that I said the wrong thing, and I try immediately to rectify it. “Even if I am ‘advised’ bed rest, why is it in your bed and why are you in it with me?”
The darkness remains in his eyes, but his tone is light when he answers.
“Well, as your husband, I get to play nurse with you. Besides, I didn’t want you to wake up alone.” His last statement thrums through me.
He didn’t want me to wake up alone. I don’t have the strength to argue with him and so I just stare at him.
“How long have I—?”
“For over twenty-four hours. The doctor gave you something to help you sleep longer.” Philip takes my bandaged wrist and checks the wrappings. My body jerks.
“Twenty-four hours?! I need to go check the damage to my—”
His hand circles around my uninjured wrist and I think, for a moment, that he looks angry.
“The bakery is fine. It’s been taken care of.”
“What do you mean? Who’s taking care of it?” The words stumble out of me.
“I am.”
My eyes narrow at him.
“I told you before that I don’t want your money, Philip.”
Philip gives me a smile that tells me he doesn’t plan on listening to me.
“And I told you that since we’re married, what’s mine is yours and vice versa. So, you can look at it like this: I’m fixing up something that’s mine or you’re fixing up something using what’s yours.”
His weird wordplay throws me off, and I want to hit him.
“I want you to sign those papers tomorrow,” I hiss at him, annoyed and angry.
He shrugs, turning to pick up the document he put aside when I woke up.
“I don’t want to.”
I see red.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Philip. Stop playing these games with me. I have nothing that you could possibly want out of this sham of a marriage. Just sign those papers already so that we can both move on with our lives!”
The words come tumbling out, and I realize how desperately I want him gone. Each and every moment spent with him makes feelings I thought buried years ago stir inside me.
He gives me a long look.
“You’re wrong. There is something I’m getting out of this. And I refuse to give that up.”
As he climbs out of bed, I notice the bandages wrapped around his other arm.
My blood runs cold.
“What’s that? What happened to you?”
Philip glances at the wrappings and shrugs.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Just a shallow knife wound.”
I don’t believe him.
“People don’t get heavy bandaging for a shallow knife wound, Philip. Don’t lie to me.”
He walks over to my side and then leans over, making me bristle at his proximity. His arm cages me, and he grins at me.
“You’re so cute.”
I scowl at him as a response. He leans over and plants a kiss on the tip of my nose, making my eyes widen.
He darts away before I can react, and as he reaches the door, I feel my face must be lobster-red. He looks over at me, his tone serious.
“I’m not playing games with you, Charlotte. This time I’m playing for keeps.”
His words shake something in me, and I do nothing more than stare at his retreating back.
Playing for keeps?
I clench my fists.
I don’t know what his definition of ‘playing for keeps’ is, but I am done being toyed with by Mr. Philip McCoy.
No. I am not going to slide into his arms, or anybody else’s, this time.
It took being burned twice to teach me that I can trust nobody but myself with my heart.
I struggle to climb out of bed, biting my lower lip to hold in the whimpers of pain. I refuse to think about him, about anything.
I am wearing a large, oversized black T-shirt, and from the scent alone I can tell who it belongs to. The very idea of Philip changing my clothes makes my face
burn red.
Slowly, I make my way to the bathroom, my whole body screaming with agony.
It is only once I am done with all my basic necessities that I stare at myself in the mirror. The familiar sight of bruises on me sends me back to days past, and I see myself as a little girl looking in the mirror of that one room apartment, trying to figure out how to best hide all those marks on my skin.
However, this time I have nothing to hide them with.
My face looks slightly better, but I can’t see the bruising on my chest and stomach, because both are bandaged. I’ve spent days looking much worse than this.
I shrug back into my shirt and see a small box marked with my name.
Opening it, I feel a sense of relief at seeing the toiletries from my apartment.
Quickly brushing my teeth and fixing my rumpled hair, I walk out of the bathroom feeling more like myself.
Philip stands there, this time wearing a shirt. I suppress my disappointment at that. The look on his face is serious.
“The police are coming by in half an hour. You need to talk to them.”
“All right,” I reply, feeling awkward.
The police are involved now. Knowing who Philip is, they would actually take this investigation seriously.
He stands there just studying me, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and I don’t like the way he is scrutinizing me, but he finally says, “You look better.” I blink. “I thought you would be more traumatized.”
“I don’t have time to be traumatized,” I sigh. “I have to get the shop back running within the week. I have to get in touch with the girls, tell them they can’t come in for the next few days. All the stock of perishables has to be handled appropriately. I’ve got too much work.”
Philip doesn’t comment on my list of tasks. Instead, he watches me, before finally saying, “You know, Agatha kept bringing me goodies from this amazing bakery that she knew. She never told me where it was. So, when I found out your address, and that you ran a bakery, I was quite surprised.”
I shrug.
“Yeah, well. I just hope I fix everything in time to get it back running.”
He frowns at me.
“I told you—”
“Yeah,” I glare at him, “I heard you the first few times of your desire to play the hero. Go ahead, Philip. I’ll pay you back each and every cent that you put in my place!”
The annoyance in his face mirrors mine as he steps closer to me.
“Just look at it as a bloody investment!”
I take a step closer, my brow knitted.
“I don’t want an investor!”
“Well, you got one, so too bad!”
We are standing toe to toe, scowls on both our faces, before the anger on Philip’s face is replaced by something else, something darker and hungrier.
Before I can move, he has my jaw gripped in his firm hand, and he swoops down to press his lips against mine.
The action is so sudden and unexpected that it takes me by surprise and my lips part in protest.
Using that to his advantage, he uses his tongue to silence me, a slow and thoroughly ravishing kiss that I have no hopes of keeping up with. While I still recall my first kiss with him, this is so different.
It is darker, more intense.
The moan that slips out of me, as he uses his tongue, is beyond my control. He explores every crevice of my mouth, that wet, silky appendage taking its time to tease my tongue, play with it.
What starts out as a gentle kiss quickly moves to deeper waters as he grows more demanding, his mouth eliciting more gasps and moans from me.
I can’t keep up with him, my knees buckling at how thoroughly he kisses me, short circuiting every nerve function in my brain.
I can’t think past how his tongue stokes on mine, an action that I feel is being replicated on my lower body, and when his arm loops around me, pinning me to his hard form, I make no protest.
When he finally pulls away, I am dazed and disoriented, unable to find my footing, gasping for breath.
I feel his chest under my hands and, when I look up, it is only to see his blue gaze, dark with need and smug with satisfaction.
I push him away, my cheeks red with embarrassment at how my lower abdomen is clenching and unclenching with desperation for something more.
“I hate you.”
He tucks his tongue into his cheek.
“Because I kissed you or because you kissed me back?”
My lips purse with thinly veiled anger.
“You stay away from me, Philip. And that includes your hands and your mouth.”
He shrugs.
“I can’t make any promises.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” My voice rises. Philip walks closer to me, making me back away warily.
It amuses him – I see it on his face.
I feel my back hit the wall, He leans over to whisper in my ear, “Like I said, I’m playing for keeps this time, Charlotte. I can’t do that from a distance, now can I?”
My eyes grow wide at how serious he is, and when he pulls away, a small smile flirting with his lips. “Now, come on. I’ll make you something to eat.”
I have no choice but to follow him, my mind in complete disarray.
He takes me to a large kitchen and my mouth almost waters at the latest equipment this place houses. The oven alone is a model I have been eyeing for months, knowing that I can never afford one. My fingers itch to touch it, and I have to physically restrain myself.
I have bigger things to worry about. More important.
This thing with Philip has to be resolved.
He helps me into the seat at the island counter before taking out some eggs. As he moves around in the kitchen, I find myself broaching the topic.
“I don’t understand.”
“Hmm?” He glances up at me from where he is breaking the eggs.
“If you sign the annulment papers, you can get back to your life.” Philip looks annoyed.
“Are we still on that?”
I try not to lose my temper.
“I don’t do casual relationships, Philip. And I don’t see how keeping me tied down in a marriage is useful to you.”
He picks up an onion and starts chopping it.
“I don’t want a casual relationship with you. I want the whole package.”
My eyes sting at the words, because I remember someone saying those same words to me a few months ago, and how I thrilled I was to hear them.
Philip’s voice breaks into my thoughts and I look up to see him watching me with an intensity that makes my heart beat just a tad bit faster.
“I’m not Erik, Charlotte. Ten years ago, I told myself I wasn’t good enough for you and I ruined what we had. I should have talked to you. And I didn’t. This time, I’m not going to make the same mistake.”
My breath catches in my throat at his words.
“What do you mean, you thought you weren’t good enough for me?”
I know approaching this topic is a bad idea, but I can’t help it. All those unresolved feelings from years ago are rearing their head.
The knife stops, and Philip stares down at the board, a tormented look on his face.
“I was young and stupid. I had no direction in life, I was just some frat boy who thought the world revolved around him and you were so much more mature. You deserved someone who was more stable. Someone who didn’t remain drunk for days and who didn’t take everything he had for granted. How could I possibly deserve you? I knew that if I had pursued this, I would have ended up hurting you one way or another.” Philip shakes his head. “I was too scared of hurting you.”
A pause.
“And then I went and hurt you even more, driving you away.”
I have no idea what to say to that.
Instinct tells me that these are all just pretty words, and that believing him will set me up for a heartbreak I might never recover from. But a part of me wants to believe him – or
needs to believe him.
Hearing the sound of eggs sizzling over the heat, I look up to see Philip’s back to me, and I say slowly, “That was a long time ago, Philip. We were both different people. I’m not that girl anymore.”
That is true.
He doesn’t know who I am now.
He doesn’t know the events that took place after I walked in on him and that girl.
The decisions I had been forced to make just days later.
“So, let me get to know you, instead of running away from me all the time. Get to know me. I’m not a complete asshole this time round.”
I raise a brow, unable to help myself.
“You mean to tell me you don’t always refuse to sign annulment papers of marriages you impulsively take part in?”
“Smart ass.” A chuckle. I find myself smiling slightly.
As he places the eggs in front of me, I find my stomach grumbling and I dig in with a fork.
It doesn’t taste so bad. Philip actually knows his way around the kitchen.
“So, is this your apartment?” I ask. He is pouring a cup of that black tea that he was always obsessed with, and he grins.
“Yeah. It’s closer to my office. I’ve got the whole top floor.” My eyes widen.
“Oh.”
“I can give you a tour,” he offers, making me wonder how big the place has to be. I shake my head.
“Maybe later.”
The silence between us is a little awkward, until Philip says, “I’m serious about wanting to get to know you, Charlotte. I want to fix us.”
I chew my eggs and swallow.
“There is no ‘us’ to fix, Philip. It was one kiss, ten years ago. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”
He narrows his eyes at me and sets down his mug.
“Then why’d you disappear? Even Agatha didn’t hear from you for an entire year, except that one message you sent her.”
Suddenly, the eggs taste like rubber. How could he possibly understand?
“Things happened. I had to leave.” My tone is terse.
“Leave to go where?” he persists, his expression telling me he doesn’t quite believe me.
“Does it really matter, Philip?” I sigh, looking at him. “This happened way back.”