25. Corm
Chapter 25
Corm
S he pulls away. “This is what I’m talking about—”
“You’re talking about leaving me. And I can give you all the autonomy, but I can’t let you do that.”
“But you can’t order me to stay here.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Corm—”
“No, let me talk now. I’m the person who betrayed you, just like Vito or your father. I take full responsibility for it. I kept things from you for my personal gain, but that gain had nothing to do with my ego, or a need to get richer, or just simply getting off on manipulating you.”
God, the humble pie tastes like shit.
“I shouldn’t have done it. I should have told you about the trust fund and hoped. Hoped that you would still stay. But I’ve never tried to hope. Hope terrifies me. And you, Saar van den Linden, expose me to that futile emotion daily. I operate with facts and certainty. I balance risk and profit. And I make a decision. Selfish decisions.”
She studies me, and it’s like she sees me for the first time. Like despite her reluctance to trust me, she does.
“You really love me?” she asks, and I hate the doubt in her voice.
I hate that the people in her life, who should have protected her, damaged her so badly that she won’t ever trust anyone.
I hate that my own needs and desires drew us into this standstill.
“I really, truly, deeply do. But I understand you see my words as another attempt to manipulate you.”
She sighs and sinks down, taking a seat on the stairs. “I don’t think I feel much at the moment. I’m torn between us and me. Between trust and leap. Between past and future. Between giving up and trying.”
“I’ll go and sleep somewhere else. For as long as you need. I’ll give you space. It might kill me, but I will step aside, so you can step forward.”
I take her hand, and she lets me. A win.
I look at her, and the corners of her mouth curl up slightly. Another win.
I hold my breath, and finally, she nods. A home run.
“Stay. It’s your house. And I’m going to stay here as well. In the guest room. Not because you deserve it, or because I really fucking have nowhere to go. I’m going to stay here to give us a chance.”
I vividly remember many exhilarating moments in my life. When my father got me my first Ferrari when I was a stupid teenager. When I made my first million. When I closed the first deal at Merged. And many fleeting blissful moments in between.
But the freight train of emotions that destroys me at her reluctant but genuine commitment is so overwhelming that I want to run away just to deal with them.
Instead, I pull her to me and hold her tight. “I’ll take that, The Morrigan; I’ll take that.”
“You’re still on probation,” she mumbles into my chest.
“Good girl,” I whisper into her hair. “Don’t let anyone take your power away from you.”
“I hate my father.” She sags into me.
“He deserves that.”
“I hate Vito.”
“Me too.”
We sit in silence, the enormity of everything slowly seeping through.
“My father had muscular dystrophy.” I’m not even sure why I am bringing this up now. “Declan got tested and he isn’t a carrier. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to deal with the implications of positive genetic test results.
“Instead, I lived my life like nothing matters, chasing my mortality, not really applying myself anywhere. Because, here is the twist, I thought not knowing would spare me, but it did the exact opposite. Without realizing, I acted like my life didn’t matter. As we all know, it only got worse after Dad passed.”
She squeezes my hand, and while I stare into the foyer where a large vase of fresh flowers creates more home than this house ever did, I still can sense her eyes on me. And I know they are full of compassion. Because that’s who this woman is.
Love and compassion.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I think he left me that letter to tell me I’m not a carrier. That I can open up to a commitment. And I’ll deny ever admitting this, but it scares the shit out of me. And yet not committing to us is scarier.”
I turn to look at her. She moves my hand to her lap and just holds it there in silence. It’s like she is holding my heart, though. When she lifts her gaze, finally, there is a new level of softness on her face.
“I’m scared to trust you.”
“I know, baby. I’ll prove you can, and in the meantime, kick me every time I make decisions for you.”
A gleam of mischief flickers through her sad eyes. “Can I aim for your crotch?”
“That wouldn’t be good for your other needs.” I smirk.
She chuckles humorlessly.
I pull her to my lap, and she doesn’t really cooperate but doesn’t fight me either. It’s like we reached this tentative truce, but it’s so fragile, it can shatter at any moment.
Our lives are still filled with unresolved issues. Our relationship is still undefined. But at least she is here.
“I will gladly take any pain, all the hurt, if that makes you feel better, Saar.”
“Still sleeping in the office?” Declan takes a seat on my sofa without invitation.
Fucking Roxy. Does everyone know about that?
“Since when do I have an open-door policy?” I growl.
I’m tired, and frankly I’m annoyed by the amount of work. For the first time since we opened these offices, I don’t want to be here.
I want to be with Saar. Or I just… Well, I want to be with her, but I’m fucking scared like a little boy that she won’t be home when I return.
We agreed last night she’d stay, but I still fear she may have been overwhelmed in the moment. That with me gone, at work, she has enough time and space to realize she doesn’t need me.
I should have worked from home. I would have concentrated better without constantly thinking about her. Just being closer to her.
And I wouldn’t have to deal with unwanted visitors. I glare at Declan.
“I’m here as your brother, not for work.” He glares right back.
I don’t know what it is with the Quinn men and scowling, but if there is someone who rivals my non-verbal threats, it’s definitely my sibling.
“I will go visit Mom. I’m bringing Saar to meet her this weekend.” I assume the reason for his visit.
“Good for you. Mom will be happy.” He pulls his phone from his inside breast pocket.
I guess my assumption was wrong. “What’s going on?”
He taps a few times on his screen and turns it to me. Reluctantly—there are still projections to plow through and Saar waiting, hopefully—I round my desk and sit across from him.
“What am I looking at?”
“Kendra is getting married.”
Fuck. I read the announcement, and sure enough, Declan’s ex-wife is getting hitched with some oil heir in Texas. “So? Good for her.”
In three short years, the woman was married twice after Declan granted her divorce. Both times to some loser, costing Declan money. I guess she upgraded her lifestyle.
“She reached out. She wants shared custody.”
“No fucking way. She can’t abandon the babies and then waltz back into their life.” I put his phone down.
“I agree with that. Every reasonable judge would probably agree with that. The problem is, now she has money to fight me on that.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. I’d even consider the arrangement, because they need a mother. But she abandoned them twice before.”
He’s been blaming himself for this way more than he should. The credit goes to that heartless woman. “At least they don’t remember it.”
“But they will this time.”
“Fuck, bro, can I help somehow?”
“I would ask you to be my character witness, but I’m not sure your notoriety would work in my favor.” He smirks. “You can distract me with a glass of your Macallan.”
“Only one. I want to get home.” I drop his phone to the table and walk to my liquor cabinet.
“So you’re not sleeping in the office?”
“It’s complicated.” I pour us both an inch.
“Of course it is. Nothing is ever easy with you.”
I twist the cork and re-shelve the bottle. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a stubborn bastard. When you set your mind to something, there is no reasoning with you.”
I’m a reasonable man. If the other party is reasonable.
I return to the table. “You don’t mind when my focus makes you money.”
“Fair enough, but even with my poor record, I don’t think your power-tripping tendencies are good for a relationship. You’re like Dad.” He takes the glass from me.
I take a sip. I hate when Declan is right. The man doesn’t speak much, but when he does, he hits the bull’s-eye every single time.
“He wasn’t my biological father.”
I ignore his power-tripping-tendencies comment and their implication on my relationships.
But as soon as I throw the juicy tidbit out there, something inside me dislodges.
Saar was right, keeping that rage inside me only made things worse. Confessing to Declan didn’t lift the level of betrayal, but it still felt good. Like the first step on the road to acceptance.
“Bullshit—” His eyes widen as he connects the dots. “Is that what was in his letter?”
I nod, raising my glass in a mock toast. “I’ve been so mad at him… Well, never mind. You know how I reacted.”
“Is that why you don’t visit Mom? Fuck, who is your father?”
“I don’t care. He was a sperm donor as far as I’m concerned. Dad was my father, even if I’m so fucking angry with him. With both of them.”
“Fuck.”
“You know what is the most pathetic thing? I’m mad at them, not for not telling me sooner, but for telling me at all.”
“I’m sorry. This is fucked up. Why would he do it?”
“I guess after I refused to get tested for MD, he decided to let me know I can’t be a carrier.”
“As I said, you’re just like him. He wanted something, and he forced you to accept it. For your own good, but it still sucks, doesn’t it?” Now it is his turn to raise his glass. “Like father, like son.”
Several of my interactions with Saar flicker through my mind. Fuck, did I make her feel the same way my father’s last deed made me feel?
The situation is different, but the means are very similar. I’ve been manipulating our arrangement, trapping her.
Limiting her choice because I know I’m her best option. Because I want her to realize I’m the only option for her.
That I’m her answer.
I know she can’t trust me because of the other men in her life, but what if that is just an excuse to distance herself from my… well, my bullying?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I need to go home.” I put my unfinished glass down and snatch my jacket from the back of my chair. “Let me know if there is anything I can do about the Kendra bullshit.”
Of course, the fucking traffic concentrates on all the roads I need to take to get home. I should have used my helicopter.
It takes me a good hour before I reach my house. The lights are on in the dining room. What? We haven’t used that room since Saar turned it into a fucking burger joint.
I rush inside, not even sure what I’m trying to achieve. Like if I’m beside her faster, she can forget how I’ve been treating her?
After dropping my keys and wallet on the console table, I cross the foyer and pause at the entrance to my living room.
My furniture is back. The room is put together like it was before Saar moved in. A blanket of panic cloaks me.
Is she gone? Did she leave the house in its previous condition? Like a good tenant?
I want to call her name, but fuck, I’m scared. What if I call her name and there is no answer?
I rush to check on the dining room, because in some fucked-up logic I hope it’s still a diner, and that would prove that… I don’t fucking know what.
I glimpse a new flower arrangement in the foyer. Not my statue. Is that her farewell gift?
When I spy my fucking Italian table, my heart sinks. But then my eyes land on its corner. It’s set for two, with flowers and a candlestick and two place settings.
A new painting hangs on the wall that actually fits here really well. New items adorn the buffet table. It’s my old dining room, but with new touches. Saar’s touches.
The panic lifts, followed by trepidation. Jesus, the range of emotions this relationship wrangles out of me is becoming health-threatening. And now I’m apparently a drama queen. Fuck.
With the bout of anxiety subsided, I now notice that a delicious smell of garlic and curry permeates the air. I don’t find Saar in the kitchen, so I head outside.
Sure enough, bundled in one of her knitted shawls, she is staring into the flames, her legs curled under her.
She’s a fucking vision. I’m rooted to the ground for a beat before I can breathe finally. “You’re here,” I rasp.
She turns and smiles. “You’re back.”
I rush to her and pull her close, seizing her lips. She tenses at first, but then wraps her arms around me and yields to me.
“Hi.” She smiles when we pull apart.
“Hi yourself.”
“I cooked you dinner.” Dark shadows line her eyes. She probably hasn’t slept much again. Fuck.
“And you redesigned again.”
She smiles. “Yeah, I realized I didn’t give you much reason to believe you can be reasonable with me.”
“Baby, if you really want to have a tacky, over-cluttered living room, we will have that.”
“God, no, we wouldn’t be able to entertain.” She wraps her arms around my waist, and I want to stay here like this forever.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Curry chicken with roasted baby potatoes.”
“Fuck. Those cooking classes in Tuscany paid off.”
She laughs, and it hits me straight in my chest.
I’m going to stay here to give us a chance.
I guess she truly meant it.
“I spoke with Nora Flemming today.” Saar blows her tea, holding it close to herself.
My wife can cook. Like she’s a fucking goddess in the kitchen. After we ate, we came back out here.
I haven’t used this patio much before. Once, maybe twice, since I’ve moved here. It’s slowly but surely becoming my favorite place in the house. But I guess any place is my favorite if she is there with me.
“Did you take the job?” I draw lazy circles on her shoulder.
“I did. I’m officially a podcast host. I’m recording my first show on Monday.” She bites her lip.
“You’re going to be great.”
She beams at me now. “Thank you for believing in me.”
“Always.” I take her tea from her and put it on the table. Cupping her face, I dust her lips with mine. “I missed you.”
“I want a divorce.”
The warmth of the fire ceases. The tentatively lighter atmosphere between us shatters. My heart stops and restarts in a new distorted rhythm.
“No.”
I don’t think your power-tripping tendencies are good for a relationship.
“Why?” I add begrudgingly, because no amount of talking about it will make me ever agree to that.
She sighs. “I realized today that if I’m to give this thing between us a chance, I don’t want the fake marriage to be a part of that. I want us to date.”
“Why would you lead with the divorce part, woman?” I cup her neck and pull her in for another kiss. “I love you, Saar. And if it’s wining and dining and dating you need from me, then that’s what you’re getting.”
“Thank you.”
“But do we really need to divorce?”
“I don’t know. I just think we need a clean slate.”
“This is our clean slate, baby. You choosing us and staying, even though you can’t trust me yet. You staying while choosing you and taking the job. You cooking me dinner when I come home. You making me want to be a better man.”
“I’m failing miserably on the last one,” she teases.
“But you’re not giving up, and that’s what counts.”
She stifles a yawn. I want to bring her upstairs and cherish her in all the ways imaginable, but she needs to sleep more.
“Let’s go for a ride.”
“What? You’re sexy enough; you don’t need to dazzle me with your flashy cars.”
My cock twitches. Fuck, I’m a goner.
Definitely a goner, because I drag her with me so I can drive her around; otherwise, she doesn’t get any sleep.
And as she dozes off in the passenger seat later while I drive aimlessly, I plan all the dates I will take her on. And all the vacations I will give her to compensate for the years she didn’t take any.
We drive for hours. My wife sleeping, and me blissfully unaware that I won’t be able to take her on any of those dates.