Prologue #2
It started with the cramps. Severe, tearing, terrifying pain that left her curled up and writhing in bed. She moaned, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist as if that would stop what she knew was happening.
“No, no, no…” she cried, pleaded, prayed.
Please…no.
It ended in blood. Too much blood. Way too much lost blood to sustain the life that had so tentatively bloomed in her womb.
And she sat up in bed, a pool of deep red spreading on the previously pristine white sheet beneath her, leaving an indelible stain on her soul and in her heart.
She was unable to prevent the cry of agony and loss from escaping her lips. A raw, primal, gut-wrenching sound, loud enough to penetrate the wall between her room and Smith’s. Loud enough to bring him tearing into her room mere seconds later.
He stopped dead in the center of the hardwood floor, staring in horror at the sight before him.
His hands went to his head, long fingers fisting in his hair as tried to comprehend what he was seeing.
“Jesus.” His own plea—prayer—was soft and fervent. “Oh, Jesus. Fuck. Kenna…”
His voice broke on her name and his face spasmed as he fought to bring himself under control.
His hands fell to his sides and he leaped toward her, going to his knees on the floor beside her bed.
“What can I do? Tell me what you need.”
“Hospital,” she whispered and he nodded.
“Right. Of course.” He still looked sluggish, as if he couldn’t quite gather his thoughts. “Ambulance. Right.”
He made quick work of calling and Kenny, now utterly drained and not sure what to do next, watched him closely. It gave her something other than her grief to focus on.
He was still dressed, despite it being after midnight. His suit pants were hopelessly wrinkled, tie and jacket long gone, shirt sleeves carelessly rolled up to reveal strong forearms.
He must have been working.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
That made him pause and his brow creased as he processed her words. His lips thinned but he said nothing, merely shook his head impatiently. He was still kneeling beside the bed and he reached over to push her damp hair from her cheek. The movement was excruciatingly gentle.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, the back of his fingers absently stroking the curve of her cheek. It was the first time he’d touched her in weeks, and she helplessly leaned into his touch, craving the comfort he offered.
“Not much. Not anymore.”
“Do you think…?”
He couldn’t complete the question and she lifted her hand to fit her palm against his, pressing his hand closer to her cheek.
“Yes. I think so.”
He swore softly, vehemently, and his chin dipped as he sought to hide his expression from her. His broad shoulders were shaking with silent sobs and Kenny’s free hand curved around the back of his neck, as she shared this moment of profound grief with him.
“Has the bleeding stopped?” he asked a few moments later, after they’d both self-consciously shifted apart.
“It’s not as bad as before.”
“It’s a lot of blood. I’m worried that it’s too much,” he fretted.
“I’m fine.”
“Kenna…”
“I’m a doctor, Smith.”
He scrubbed at his wet cheeks with both hands and glared at her over the tops of his fingers.
“Doctors should never self-diagnose,” he pointed out. He pushed to his feet and held out a hand to her. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”
His voice was so painfully tender it brought a fresh well of tears to her eyes. She took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. She was shaky and still bleeding a little. But the wrenching pain wasn’t as bad as before.
An hour later when the obstetrician confirmed their worst fears, Smith folded Kenny into his strong arms and held her tightly against his chest while she wept inconsolably.
Mourning the loss of their baby, as well as the already fragile relationship which couldn’t possibly survive this tragedy.
Day 23
“No. Absolutely not.” Smith folded his arms and glared at Kenny, face set, eyes blazing.
She stared at him with a slack jaw, flabbergasted and fuming at his strong negative reaction to her appearance.
She was dressed in a beautifully tailored linen cream pant suit.
With flowy wide-legged trousers that made her legs look longer, and a wrap tie vest. It was one of her favorite outfits.
She always felt attractive in it and she needed the extra boost to her ego and self-esteem this morning.
“Smith, I have to go back to work today. I have extremely ill patients who need me. And I’ve been away for too long.”
“I wouldn’t call two days too long. That’s a fucking weekend. You need more time.”
“You don’t know what I need,” she retorted, her voice mild and her tone dismissive. “And you don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. I’m fine. I’m going back to work.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, his agitation adding a tremor to that strong hand. “Kenna, you’ve just been through—”
She cut him off, not wanting to hear it. Not needing the reminder. “It was nothing. I’m fine. I have more important—”
“It wasn’t nothing.” His sharp tone cut through her defensive words with surgical precision.
“It wasn’t fucking nothing, Kenna. It was something.
And it happened to you. It happened to us.
And that’s important too. Be kind to yourself.
Give yourself a goddamn minute to grieve and recover both physically and emotionally. ”
Her voice dropped to a distraught whisper. “This is the only way I know how to do that.”
His lips clamped shut on whatever he’d been about to say next and his jaw tightened. Those piercing green eyes bored into hers and she swallowed uncomfortably, not sure what to make of that intent stare.
“You’re really going to do this?”
Her hand tightened around the handle of her briefcase. The loaded question confused her because she wasn’t at all certain what he meant by it.
“I’m not—”
“You’re going to pretend that it never happened? That it didn’t matter? That he didn’t matter?”
Her throat seized up at the barrage of questions and she fought hard to keep her expression under control, not wanting him to see the anguish hiding behind her calm veneer.
“I have to go,” she whispered through stiff lips. “Paul is waiting with the car.”
She brushed by him to make her way to her driver.
“You can’t possibly be this cold.”
The words drifted toward her in an anguished undertone and she halted for the briefest of moments, her back to him, as she absorbed the hit.
For those few awful seconds she allowed herself to feel, allowed every soul-destroying emotion that lurked just beneath her paper-thin skin to show on her face, before she squared her shoulders.
She scraped every errant emotion back into her chest, desperate to escape from the anger, grief, and pain she could hear in his furious voice.
She couldn’t—she simply could not—deal with his pain when she was barely coping with her own. It would destroy her. Tear her to pieces. And she didn’t think she could survive that.
Not one bit.
So she left before she gave in to the temptation to turn back toward him, to lose herself in his arms. She was out the door before he saw the tears streaming down her face and the agony in her eyes.
Kenny didn’t ever want this man to see her so vulnerable. Not when he had married her out of some misguided sense of obligation and not when he was bound to recognize, sooner rather than later, that the reason he’d married her no longer existed.
Best not to get too emotionally dependent on him. Not when he would inevitably leave her.
Day 188
A momentary weakness. It meant nothing. But for some reason they were still bound together in this ridiculous sham of a marriage. And as far as Kenny could tell, Smith was as faithful to their vows as she’d been.
They’d always been good together. And it had been so long since she’d been touched like this. Touched by him.
They were healthy, consenting adults who’d always enjoyed each other’s bodies. And besides they were married…for now.
Surely there was no harm in enjoying the one thing that had always worked between them? At least while they were still married.
It needn’t be more complicated than that. Just the occasional slaking of an insatiable thirst.
Day 540
“You okay?”
Kenny’s head jerked up at the unexpected sound of Smith’s voice.
“You’re back.” Her redundant observation felt a little ludicrous considering the man was standing right there. In the flesh, looming above her larger than life, and bristling with that restless energy so unique to him.
He grunted, broad shoulders lifting and falling in answer to her words.
“Bad news?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the phone clutched in her hands and she lowered her gaze to the device.
Oh, right.
Smith’s unexpected appearance after a two-week long business trip to Tokyo had offered a welcome diversion from the news she’d just received.
“You didn’t tell me you’d be back today.”
He must’ve just arrived. He was dressed in faded jeans and a black and blue plaid shirt, sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows, top three buttons undone, thick dark gold stubble shadowing the strong line of his jaw.
He had a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, which, combined with the gold rimmed glasses he rarely used perched on his sharp nose and the messy, hand-raked waves of his red gold hair, gave him a professorial appearance.
A hot, weary professor.
“Since you never see the need to check in with me with your comings and goings, I didn’t think you’d care about my schedule.
” The words were flung at her as nonchalantly as his bag—undoubtedly filled with important documents outlining deals worth millions and millions of dollars—was tossed onto the coffee table in front of her.
He was clearly still pissed off about her unannounced trip to Edinburgh last month.
She hadn’t expected him to be quite so…furious about that.
She’d seen the blaze of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the compressed line of his lips.
Witnessed the clench of those strong, big hands and the tense sweep of those impressively broad shoulders.
And then she’d watched him draw that anger inward and push the indifferent frost outward.
All that rage and then…nothing.
Until now. This one quiet passive-aggressive retort.
And she could tell he regretted even revealing that much, because his palm went to his nape and he squeezed, before turning toward the leather easy chair in the sitting room—his one contribution to the decor in their house—and throwing himself into it.
His sprawl was as messy and out of place in the pristine room as the chair.
His hands were folded over of the flat plane of his stomach.
“Why did you look like you were about to cry when I first walked in?” he asked.
“I don’t…” She bit back the word cry as she recalled that he had seen her at her most vulnerable and would know that claim to be a lie. “It’s good news. Fern is pregnant.”
“Who?” He looked utterly bewildered for a few moments, while Kenny stared at him in disbelief. His confusion cleared up almost instantly and he grimaced. “Sorry, jet lag. Niall’s wife?” Niall was her oldest brother. “I thought that whole thing was a business arrangement. Who’s the father?”
“Niall says he is.”
“Didn’t they marry like a minute ago?”
“A couple of weeks ago, yes.”
“And she’s pregnant already?”
“She was pregnant when they married,” she said, thumbnail picking at the rounded edge of her phone’s screen protector.
Another text popped up on screen while she was looking down at it.
Gideon—the youngest of her three older brothers—was ribbing Niall about the pretend marriage being a little more real than he’d let on.
Nox, their other brother, hadn’t said anything beyond congratulations.
“Ah.” The soft sound was Smith’s only response to Kenny’s words. His eyes were too observant, too all-knowing and she hated that he appeared to see more than she was willing to reveal.
He remained silent for another beat before asking, “And this makes you sad?”
“It’s good news. I mean, I think Niall is conflicted about it, but a baby is always a—um—a blessing.
Right?” God, she sounded trite. And all that forced cheer.
She was a monster. She shouldn’t need to fake happiness at the thought of a niece or nephew, she should be excited.
Genuinely thrilled. Not wading through this complicated morass of negative emotions.
“It may well be good news, but you’re not happy.”
“No, I’m happy.” Liar. “I am. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around. Their marriage is supposed to end in three years’ time. So it complicates things.”
“And your reaction isn’t about what happened to us? And our baby?”
“We didn’t have a baby,” she reminded him and the concern that had warmed his eyes was instantly leeched away by ice.
For a very brief, revealing moment she caught another glimpse of the fury behind the permafrost in his eyes.
The muscles in his jaw popped as he clenched his teeth and shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, dislodging the glasses and leaving them slightly askew when he moved his hand to rake his fingers through his already messy hair.
His deep sigh was rife with irritation and impatience.
“I can’t do this right now. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Do what?
She barely stopped herself from asking, instinctively recognizing that that was not a conversation she was ready to have.