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Chapter 62

62

Edward

One second, the pain squeezes up my arm; the next, she’s there. She slips into the space in between me and the wall of the shower cubicle, wraps her fingers around my wrist and urges me to lower my arm.

"Why did you do that?" She surveys the reddened skin over my knuckles. "Why did you hurt yourself?"

"I hurt you." I try to pull my hand from hers, but she holds on; and while I’m stronger than her physically… Emotionally, this woman is my rock. I’ve come to depend on her in ways I never thought were possible. I’ve come to need her for her sunshine, her warmth, the way she shines a light in the dark crevasses of my soul. How she illuminates the secrets of my past, treats me with compassion, and brings them to the front of my mind. She forced me to look in the mirror, to acknowledge the man I’ve become—bitter, unscrupulous, one without a conscience. One not above resorting to unethical means to get what he wants. A man who is the opposite of everything I ever hoped to be. A man who wants to stay true to his calling, to his vow to serve the greater good. Only, I hadn’t faced the ghosts of my past.

Not until she processed all the wrong I’d done her and decided, shockingly, not to walk out on me.

Not until she reminded me—with the goodness of her nature, her generosity, her magnanimity, her kindness of spirit—to see the positive, the good in everyone and in any situation.

By being herself, she reflected back to me how in the wrong I was… I still am. How I shouldn’t have let my ego get the better of me and twisted the circumstances around her to force her into this marriage with me. "I’m so sorry, Belle."

She looks up at me, and when our gazes hold, that chemistry between us heats up. The air grows thick, the heat in the air pushing down on us.

"Ed"—she swallows—"please don’t punish yourself like this."

"I deserve all of this, and more, for how I changed the course of your life. You should have had the freedom to choose who you wanted to be with."

"That choice was never mine to make. Not when I was headed for an arranged marriage anyway. At least, I knew you…somewhat. I suppose, it was the lesser of evils."

I wince. "Why didn’t you rebel? Why didn’t you tell your father you could choose the man you were going to marry?"

"I thought about it. Perhaps, if I’d met someone else, someone I wanted to be with, I would have, but from the moment I saw you, there was this attraction, this longing, this need to be with you. And when I found out you were my arranged match, I thought all the stars were aligning. I didn’t realize you’d manipulated things to look that way."

"Belle—"

She places her fingers on my lips. "And even now, after I found out just how much you engineered things so you could marry me… When I should hate you and want you out of my life, all I can think of is how much I miss you. I’m such a loser."

"You’re not."

"I hate myself."

"But I love you."

Her gaze widens.

"I’ve wanted to tell you so many times over the past week, but I couldn’t bring myself to. You…my wife, are far more courageous than I am. You’re able to speak your mind, unlike me. You’re able to share how you feel, while I… When it comes to the stuff that matters in life, turns out, I’m not the man I thought I was."

"But you are, Eddie. I don’t know what the incident did to you, but I know it couldn’t have been easy. And yet, you picked yourself up and moved on. You survived. You lost the woman you thought was meant to be your soulmate?—"

"She’s not; you are." I cup her cheek. "You’re everything I prayed for all through those years when I was a priest."

She frowns.

"Oh, I don’t mean I prayed to find a soulmate. But I prayed for peace, for a way to still the thoughts that never allowed me to sleep, the images from my past that haunt me. I asked for a way to release the hurt, the pain, the sorrow. And the only time I find any measure of stillness is when I’m with you."

The water pours down over the both of us. Her hair sticks to her forehead, long strands plastered to her cheek. I reach behind her and shut off the shower. The silence envelops us, punctuated by the drip-drip-drip of the last remaining drops of water. Then that, too, cuts out.

"Eddie, the way you twisted things around in my life?—"

"Is unpardonable."

"The way you engineered the situation around me so I had to marry you?—"

"Is reprehensible."

She swallows, then wraps her arms about her waist. "I should leave you."

"You should."

"But I’m not able to bring myself to."

Every muscle in my body tenses. My pulse rate shoots up further. And my heart… It stutters, then starts again.

"I hate myself for not being able to walk away from you."

"Don’t." I go down on my knees. "Don’t do that. I’ll never be able to forgive myself if you do. You’re an angel. The kind of woman I don’t deserve. And I won’t blame you if you hate me forever."

"I wish I could."

I take her palm in mine and kiss her knuckles. "I’m so sorry I hurt you. I truly am."

She cups my cheek. "I know what happened to you made you put up walls, so you’d come across as cold-hearted and uncaring about the consequences of your actions. It’s why you pretended to be so unfeeling, when I know deep down you’re anything but."

My heart booms in my ribcage; pinpricks of disgust course down my back. Tell her, tell her. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I try again, then shake my head.

Her lower lip trembles. “It’s okay, Eddie. I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” She half smiles, then pulling her hand from mine, she brushes past me and out of the shower cubicle.

I rise to my feet and follow her. Grabbing a towel from the shelf, I draw abreast and place it about her shoulders. "I’m sorry," I swallow. "I really am.”

"Where the fuck are the sales reports? They were supposed to be on my desk an hour ago."

The woman on the other side of the desk pales. "I… I…"

I glare at her, and she takes a step back. "I… I…"

"Have you forgotten how to speak?"

"I… I…" She—whatever her name is—continues to gape at me like a dying fish. Enough of this nonsense. I rise to my feet. She yelps, then turns and scampers out of my office.

"Fuck!" I drag my fingers though my hair, then grab hold of whatever is nearest, which happens to be my empty coffee cup, and throw it in the direction of the doorway.

The man entering ducks—quick reflexes, I’ll give you that—then straightens and smirks. "Getting your jollies by scaring your employees?"

"Get out." I point my finger at Nathan. "Out."

He prowls over to the window. "Nice view."

"I told you to leave."

"For a man who has the best office in the building, you sure don’t pull your weight."

"The fuck you mean?"

"First, you almost cost us a million dollars; and now, you missed the board meeting."

"No, I didn’t."

He merely stares at me over his shoulder.

Something in his gaze makes me reach for my phone and check my calendar. What the ? —!

"Exactly." He walks over and leans a hip against my desk. "You’ve been going to pieces."

"No I’m not."

"You also forgot poker night."

"I did?" I slump back in my seat. It’s been a week since my wife walked in on me smashing my fist into the wall of the bathroom—it’s intact, I didn’t even scratch the surface. I did suffer some lacerations on my knuckles. Apparently, I'm not even strong enough to put my fist through a wall. Although, to be fair, it's tile. What’s worse, though, is that I haven’t seen her since. Her preschool is doing well; more than well. It’s at full capacity, with a waitlist to get on the waitlist, or so my HR manager informed me.

I’ve tried to stay focused and attend my meetings and conference calls, but if you ask me what I did or said, I wouldn’t have a clue.

Every evening, I get home, and after making sure she’s eaten her dinner—my housekeeper has been instructed to keep meals ready and have them delivered to her room; she lets me know when she makes the delivery—I walk over to her room and stand in front of the door, hand raised and ready to knock.

But I never do. If I did, I’d be going back on the promise I made to myself to give her space. So, I stand there, knowing she's inside. Knowing she hasn’t moved out—the house staff have confirmed she’s there—but I never hear a sound from her room. I curl my fingers into a fist at my side to stop myself from beating down her door. I stop myself from insisting she open the door. I force myself to walk away because I'm done infringing on her personal boundaries.

Besides, what right do I have to have to talk to her or hold out hope for any kind of relationship when I haven’t been able to share my past with her? She deserves to know how tainted I am. She deserves to know I'm not worth her attention, in any form. She deserves so much more, and I can’t give it to her.

So, I content myself with the knowledge that she lives under my roof. She's my wife; nothing's changing that. Not even if she left me—which she hasn’t. And if I still believed in a force greater than myself, I'd thank that presence. But I don’t.

Instead, I bury myself in work… Or pretend to. But going by the fact I missed the meeting—which would have determined if I’m confirmed as the CEO—clearly, I'm not being successful at that, either.

Truth be told, I don’t care. I curl my fingers into a fist. Enough of this pretending otherwise. I. Don’t. Care. I don’t care if I'm no longer the CEO of this company. It doesn’t matter if Nathan takes over my role. I no longer have to pretend to care for the things that I thought I once did.

I loosen the tie around my collar.

"You okay?" Nathan frowns.

"Do I look like I’m okay?"

"You look like shit."

"You don’t look so hot, either." I scan the hollows under his cheekbones. Not that I give a fuck, or that I want to indulge in any kind of banter, but the man’s standing in my office with a furrow between his brows, and dark circles under his eyes. And clearly, spending time with my wife is rubbing off because I feel… I wouldn’t say a sense of empathy, but definitely a smidgen of understanding, toward the worry in his eyes.

"What’s wrong, didn’t the old man confirm you as his heir yet?"

He gives me a curious stare. "As a matter of fact, he didn’t."

"He didn’t?"

"He’s happy to keep the status quo going, with both you and me holding veto powers. He seems to think you need to be cut some slack, given you’re newly married and all."

"Is that right?" I stroke my chin.

"Seems he has a heart. So much so, he insists I should be the next to marry if I want to keep my veto power."

I chuckle, then turn it into a cough.

"Something funny?" he growls.

"Funny? Of course, not."

"I was thinking…" He looks uncomfortable. "Ah—" He clears his throat. "I was thinking you might dissuade him about this notion."

"You mean, about you getting married?"

"Exactly." He nods. "Especially since, it’s not like you’re particularly happy after having done the deed."

"What gives you that idea?" I stiffen.

“The fact your wife is no longer your secretary?—"

"We thought it best not to work in such close proximity, given we’re married now. We wanted to, uh, not make things uncomfortable for those around us. Also, Belle’s skills are better utilized setting up and running the childcare facilities. That job is more important than being my assistant."

"—and the fact that she takes the tube to work, while you come by car."

I stiffen. "She’s an independent woman."

"And that the two of you missed Sunday lunch, despite the old man having asked you to attend."

"Fuck."

He nods. "So, it seems the two of you are struggling to figure things out."

"Early days of marriage. It’s normal."

"If you say so." He doesn’t sound convinced.

"In fact, the best thing the old man did was insist I get married if I wanted to stay on as the CEO."

"O-k-a-y?" He levels a disbelieving glance in my direction. “Of course, you didn’t forget to send out a company-wide email letting everyone know about the child-care facilities your wife will be leading on for the company. An initiative which you should have informed me of, considering I’m joint-CEO?—”

“I’m informing you now.” I shrug.

“An initiative which has resulted in our employee satisfaction scores surging by fifty percent in yesterday’s organization wide survey, which”—he strokes his chin— “in turn, is bound to increase productivity by at least fifteen percent. A fact which might even justify the unplanned investment behind this scheme you’ve already made.”

My wife was right about how providing daycare services will impact productivity, after all. Apparently she’s right about a lot of things. My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket, glance at the screen, then jump to my feet. "I have to leave."

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