Chapter 44

44

Knox

I love you too, wife . Of course, I love her. I know it. I've admitted it to myself. But saying it aloud? It feels like too much. Makes me feel like I've stripped off every defense between myself and the world and am standing naked before her. Am I ready to do that? Am I ready to confess my feelings for her?

My heart is willing, my soul has acquiesced, but my brain seems unable to form the three words she most wants to hear. Fear? Or perhaps, the fact that I'm getting used to how I feel for her? I know I need to tell her but when I clear my throat, I murmur, "As you wish."

Her gaze widens. "Did you quote from The Princess Bride ?"

I pop a shoulder. "I‘m not a complete neanderthal, contrary to how I often come across."

"Self-deprecating too." She chuckles. "My, my, Knox Davenport, there's more to you than meets the eye."

And you're all my eyes will ever want to see. Yours is the face I want to wake up to. Yours is the voice I want to hear every night when I go to sleep. You are my sun, the moon, and my stars. You are everything. The only thing that matters. It's always been you. Only you. And again, because I'm unable to voice my thoughts, I content myself with reaching for her stilettos.

I go down on one knee and hold out a shoe. When she slips her foot inside, I smooth a hand up her ankle, noting, with satisfaction, the goosebumps that pop on her skin, then hold out her other shoe. Once she's wearing both, I straighten. "I'll get you your handbag so you can freshen up."

"Oh." She turns to peer at her reflection. And like the coward I am, I walk out of the bathroom and out of the office to her desk. I pull open the bottom right-hand drawer, where I know she stores her bag, and return with it.

By then, she's used my comb to smooth out her hair. She's also patted a wet washcloth under her eyes and removed the mascara streaks, as well as wiped her mouth. She drops the washcloth into the bin and accepts her handbag. I watch as she refreshes her makeup, then draws her lipstick over her mouth. She notices me following her actions in the mirror and asks, "What?"

"I love watching you do that. It makes me feel closer to you, knowing I'm the only one who gets this privilege."

"Privilege?" Her features soften.

"And it is one, to be your husband. I'll never take that gift lightly."

She holds my gaze for a few seconds. I sense the exact moment she begins to realize what I said because she quirks one brow, then smirks. Before she can point out the meaning of As you wish , I reach over and rub at the corner of her mouth. "Your lipstick was awry."

"Thanks." She blushes, then scans herself with a critical look.

"You look good." I step up and wrap my arm about her waist, then place my chin on her head. "You always look good, Mrs. Davenport."

"Thank you," she says softly. All the tension has faded from her features, so I take that as a win.

"I have a surprise for you."

"You mean, the last one wasn't enough?" she asks jokingly.

"The last one was to pleasure your body. This one…" I hold her gaze in the mirror. "This is for your soul."

"Where are we going?" She shoots me a sideways glance.

Once she had drunk the entire glass of juice, I'd poured for her from the refrigerator I kept in my office, I asked her if she wanted something to eat. She refused. I insisted she have an apple and watched her until she'd eaten it all. Then, she assumed we were heading home, but when I didn't take the turn-off to my place, she knew we were going somewhere else.

"It's a surprise." I do want to surprise her with what I'm about to do, but given how sensitive this is going to be, it might be best to give her some warning. "It's related to the conversation we had when I asked you to marry me."

She stills for a few seconds. I can tell when she connects the dots, for she turns to me. "You mean, tracking down my birth family?"

I glance at her sideways and find her looking at me wide-eyed.

"I assumed you'd want to meet her as soon as possible."

She pales further. "You found my birth mother?"

I nod slowly.

Tension radiates off of her.

"Hey, it's going to be okay." I reach out and place my hand over her joined ones.

I'm glad I asked my chauffeur to drive. This way, I can give my wife my full attention."

"We don't have to do this now." I scan her features. "We can postpone?—"

"No." She turns to me. Her features are tense, but there's resolution in her eyes. "All my life, I've wondered about where I came from. I've wanted to find out who my biological family is, to find out why she… Did what she did. You know? And yes, it's difficult to think about it and to see her, but I want to… I need to do this."

"This is the address?" She looks from me to the house by the side of the road.

"That's the one, according to the adoption search specialist." We met her a few hours ago at her office. She gave us a brief summary of how she'd tracked down my wife's birth mother. She also gave us the name and the address. Her birth mother, apparently, lives alone and has never married. She also didn't have any other children. At least, none that the adoption search specialist was able to unearth. Turns out, she lives in Brighton, less than a two-hour drive from where we were.

My wife wanted to go see her right away. I asked her if she wanted to sleep on it, perhaps. Take a day to think about it. But July insisted. She called Irene on the way and told her what she was going to do. Irene was very supportive about it and told her she'd always be there for July, no matter what. My wife had tears in her eyes as she recounted the conversation to me. I was struck by how close she and Irene are. Irene is her adoptive mother, but their relationship is also one of best friends.

I never had a close relationship with my mother. She was the woman who gave birth to me, but I was one of a brood of boys. And my mother brought us up, more or less, on her own. My father was too focused on managing his relationship with Arthur, and keeping his role at the Davenport group, to play an active role in our upbringing. My mother worshipped the ground he walked on and spent all of her time trying to figure out how to get more of his attention. So, I never had the opportunity to get to know either of them well. My father's youngest brother Quentin became the most influential adult in my life. And when Q decided to join the Marines, he set an example that my brothers and I decided to follow. My wife is fortunate to have Irene in her life.

"You sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

She turns back to me. "I have to do this on my own."

I frown. Is this another instance of her being stronger than I realized? Or is she overstretching herself? Like she thought she could handle me, and all that it involved, the night of our wedding? Or is she in a space where she's ready to do this on her own?

She searches my features. "You don't believe I can?"

I rub my chin. "It's not that."

"Then, what is it?" She glances at the house, then back at me. "I've wanted to meet with my birth mother for so long. There are so many questions I want to ask of her. I've dreamed about this moment and built it up in my mind." She locks her hands together .

"This is going to be emotionally difficult for you, and I want to be there for you," I say softly.

She nods. "I know you do. But I want to do this on my own, so I can prove to myself that I can face the big question that's haunted me for most of my life." She reaches forward and grips my hand. "You understand what I'm saying, right? It's for my own self-esteem that I need to face this by myself."