Chapter 72

72

Edward

"You’re too forgiving.” Cyril takes Belle’s hand in his. “Anyone else in your position would have taken the opportunity to hit them where it hurts most, but not you.”

After she made that announcement, I told her stepmother and half-sisters to leave. They marched off, similar expressions of petulance and arrogance on their features. Not one of them thanked her. Not one of them acknowledged her generosity.

Her father watched them go with a resigned expression before taking my wife’s hand in his. "I am so sorry for everything you went through. I knew she wasn’t doing right by you. I knew the three of them were making you unhappy. I knew it was my responsibility to stop them, but I didn’t. I should have stepped in earlier. I should have told them to back down. I—" His eyes gleam with unshed tears. "I failed you. I failed your mother."

"No, you didn’t." My wife goes into his arms. "You did well, Daddy. You were struggling with your grief. I know how much you miss Mama. It couldn’t have been easy for you."

"I knew I wouldn’t be able to take care of you. I was barely functioning, myself. Barely able to get through every day. It’s why I married her. I hoped she’d be a good mother to you. Instead, I ended up hurting you."

"Don’t apologize, Dad, please. You did your best."

"But it wasn’t enough. I am so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. So sorry, I put the interests of my company before your happiness. I am so sorry I put pressure on you to fulfill the obligation of an arranged marriage. I should have allowed you to choose your own life partner. Instead, I used you as leverage. Can you ever forgive me for it?"

"There’s nothing to forgive." She sniffles.

He steps back and surveys her features. "If you’re not happy"—he glares at me, then back at my wife—"if you want out of this arrangement, you only have to tell me. I’ll give up everything to see you content."

"I’m… I’m…" She swallows. "I’m happy."

The tension drains out of my shoulders. I’m not sure what I was expecting her to say—that she hates her life. That she's trapped. That I trapped her? That I destroyed her life? If she wants to leave me, this is the chance. With her father’s help, she could start a new life. She could file for divorce, and I wouldn’t contest it, if …that’s what she wants. I’ll never go a single moment without thinking of her, but if she wants to be free of me… I won't stand in her way.

"You sure?" Cyril looks at her closely. "If you want to leave him?—"

"I’m good, really."

He surveys her face again, then nods, before turning to look at me. "If you do anything to upset her, you’ll have me to contend with."

"Understood, and I appreciate the sentiment."

"There they are." Arthur walks up, Tiny by his side.

The mutt brushes against my wife, who pats his big head. "How’s my boy?" she says in a soft voice. "Did you miss me?"

Tiny makes a purring noise in his throat and leans into her touch. And damn, if I don’t envy him. She loves him, that's clear. Could she still love me after everything I’ve done?

"I see you got rid of the three witches with a 'B,’" Arthur drawls. "No offense." He glances at Cyril.

"None taken." Cyril shrugs.

"Why did you invite them?" I lower my chin to my chest. "They’re not family."

"They had a role to play." His eyes gleam, but the expression on his features does not change.

I stare at him, and he meets my gaze with an innocent look. What the—? Did he invite them, knowing they’d prompt me to come to her rescue and help her make up with her father, thus providing more common ground between my wife and me? Nah, he can’t be that strategic. I frown. Can he? I tilt my head. It'll bet that's why he invited Baron and Ava. The canny old man wanted to prove to me I'm truly over my past. It's time to move forward, and what better way to bring that home than by having my best friend and the woman who I once thought I loved over for our family dinner? For me to able to look at them without feeling an ounce of envy or yearning. It proves to me, even more, that she is my future.

I glower at my grandfather; he beams back, a look of satisfaction on his features. The man is devious with his schemes. And of course, he’d justify it by saying he did it with our best interests at heart. In this case, sadly, I must agree.

Tiny looks between us and whines.

"I think he’s hungry," my wife offers.

"He’s always hungry. The dog has the appetite of a horse." Arthur clicks his tongue, and Tiny rises up and walks over to him. "Let’s eat."

Arthur taps his fork against his champagne glass, and the talk around the table dies down. "I propose a toast."

"Oh, no," my wife whispers. I follow her glance to where Tiny is watching the bottle of champagne, which has been placed in a bucket next to Arthur, with an unflinching gaze.

"Shit, what was Arthur thinking?"

"Thinking about what?" Nathan asks from next to me.

"The champagne." I nod toward the bottle on ice. "The mutt likes champagne."

"You’re kidding." He blinks.

"Nope." I shake my head."

"Umm, maybe we should do something?" my wife interjects.

"And steal Arthur’s moment in the limelight?" Knox smirks from across the table.

"What are you’ll nattering about?" Ava turns to my wife. She’s seated next to her with Baron on her other side. My once-best friend, with whom I parted on good terms when he and Ava had gotten married—then failed to keep in touch with him. I’ve also avoided meeting his eyes all through dinner. Loser that I am. Because what can you say to a man who was practically your brother, in all but blood, and who you decided not to talk to because you were jealous. Face it; you hated the fact he got the girl you thought you loved. And I’d have continued thinking that way, but for the fact I found the one I really wanted. And then you did everything in your power to alienate her. She should leave you. She should never forgive you. You should never forgive yourself. How am I going to repent for what I did? I reach for the flute of champagne and raise it.

"Thank you to all of you for coming here to bring in the New Year. Congratulations to Edward—the first of my grandsons to get married."

"—but not the last." Knox coughs, and Nathan glares at him. He continues to smirk and raises his flute in Nathan’s direction.

"A big welcome to the family, Mirabelle. You put up with Edward every day, and I can only thank you for that."

"Hear, hear," Sinclair calls out from across the table, and it’s my turn to scowl at him.

"He doesn’t deserve you, my dear, and if you ever need someone to kick his arse"—Arthur smirks, —"you only have to ask."

"And me," Sinclair adds.

"And me," Nathan calls out.

"I’ll be at the head of the line," Knox growls.

I glance sideways to find Baron trying to hide a smile and failing. I scowl at Tiny, wondering when he's going to make a move. So far, he’s been watching the bottle, but has seemed content to sit panting, his tongue lolling out one side of his jaw.

"Which brings me to the next point of business."

"Didn’t realize this was a work thing," Nathan muses.

"With Arthur everything is work." Knox bares his teeth in what he must think is a smile; he resembles a shark who’s smelled blood in the water.

"What’s happening?" my wife whispers to me.

"Not sure." I place my arm about her shoulder, and she doesn’t shake it off. Which is good, right? To be honest, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for her to lose her temper with me and tell me she hates me and that she’ll never forgive me. But none of that has been forthcoming. I rub the spot of tightness in my chest. Shouldn’t have drunk so much coffee today. In my agitation over whether she was coming to dinner with me, I paced the floor of my home office, tried to work, kept going to the kitchen, hoping to run into her, and ended up swigging too much coffee.

"I’m confirming Nathan as the CEO of the company."

Knox stiffens. My wife turns to me. "Did you know this?"

I nod.

Nathan glances at me, a look of surprise on his feature that turns to wariness. "No," he growls.

I raise a shoulder. I had a word with the old man earlier today and told him I wasn’t interested in being the CEO, not when it would mean being away for work and committing to working around the clock. I intend to spend a lot more of my time pursuing the only thing important to me—taking care of my wife’s needs and making sure she wants for nothing. Arthur didn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seconded me and told me I was making the right decision.

Nathan turns to fix his glare on Arthur, not that it makes a difference. The old codger wears a grin on his face. His eyes twinkle. "Which means, Nathan, you have three months to get married."

"Fuck." Nathan’s fingers stiffen on the stem of his flute, which cracks. The champagne spills; the glass hits the table and rolls to the end. That’s when Tiny jumps up on his hind legs and snatches the bottle of champagne and downs it.

"That was eventful." I unlock the front door of my house and gesture to my wife to enter.

"I can’t believe no one noticed us leaving."

"They were too busy trying to find Tiny," who, after emptying the bottle of champagne in one, dropped the bottle at Arthur’s feet and grinned. No, he really grinned. There was a smile on his face, until he noticed the stunned look on my grandfather’s features and realized he’d committed a booboo. Which is when he bounded into the house—with Nathan, Knox and Sinclair in hot pursuit.

I turned to find Baron at my elbow. "We need to talk," he said.

“Yes, we do,”—I looked away, then back at him—” but not now.”

“Not now,”—Baron nodded— “but we will.”

“We will.” I held out my hand, but he bypassed that and hugged me. I was surprised, then hugged him back. Something settled in my chest. I’ve missed my friend. But I'm not that selfish, bitter man who cut him and Ava out of my life. I am a husband in love with his wife. I'm ready to make amends and move on with my life. Baron must sense my thoughts because, when he stepped back, he's smiling. He walked back to Ava and I... I left with Belle.

On the ride home, I hoped she’d forgiven me. I prayed she’d find it within her to give me a second chance. I’ve made my peace with Him, thanks to her; and I’m not beyond turning to Him in the hope he’ll work a miracle and have her forgive me.

Now, I slide the coat off her shoulders because it’s a legitimate way to be close to her. As is the sniff I take of her hair. How else am I going to sleep if I don’t store up her scent in my lungs?

"Did you sniff me?" She glances over her shoulder, a strange look on her face.

"I…did," I admit.

"Can I sniff you back?"

I nod, sure my mouth is open in surprise and not doing anything to hide it.

She goes up on tiptoe, places her nose close to my neck, and takes a deep breath. A shiver grips her, and I can’t stop myself from rubbing her arm. "Are you cold?"

"Electricity." She looks up at me. "Every time I smell your scent, a frisson of something runs up my spine."

"And every time I look at you, every time I see you, every time I sniff you, I know I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you left me. Don’t leave me, wife, please." I go down on my knees. "I can’t function without you. I can’t see myself without you. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. My heart would stop beating; my body would stop functioning. I am nothing without you, wife, nothing."