21. Matching Scars
21
MATCHING SCARS
VIVIAN
Richard was the proudest man I’d ever known, and he despised showing any weakness. Yet, every time he laughed, I noticed the wince that followed, and every time he shifted in his chair, his jaw tensed—as if he could will the discomfort away. His slow recovery left him no choice but to cut back on work, something I had to remind him of every now and then.
I knocked. “Time’s up. That’s enough work for today,” I said gently from the doorway of his penthouse home office, holding a stack of fresh clothes in one hand.
“Ah, my beautiful nurse. I’m getting better every day because of you,” he replied with his ever-confident smile. With a playful twitch of his eyebrows, he added, “I even have something for you. It just arrived in today’s mail.”
“For me?” I asked. He slid a black envelope my way. Curious, I entered and set the clothes down. The well-designed room screamed “wealthy CEO,” from the pinstriped wallpaper to the gold accents on his glass desk to the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Manhattan. Richard had it all. It was easy in the hospital to think of him as just a regular guy with a lot of money. Here in his penthouse, my idea of “wealthy” had to be redefined.
“What is it?” I traced my name in gold foiled lettering on the front.
“Open it.”
When I did, I gasped at the black card inside. “No. I can’t take this.”
“I have one for Paris, too.”
“She’s six, Richard.”
“Going on seven. I had my first card at eight.”
“I’m drawing a firm line on this one—no.” I tossed the card back on his desk and crossed my arms.
“Okay, maybe we’ll wait until she’s sixteen?—”
“Try twenty-one with proof that she’s responsible with money.” I insisted.
“Fine. But you need to take yours, Vivian.” He slid the envelope back to me. “If anything were to happen to me?—”
“Wait. Why are you always worried something is going to happen to you?”
“I’m worth a fortune. Adrien or someone drugged me back in Paris, God knows why. I had my ex plotting my demise. Who knows what life brings. Sweetheart, most people don’t have the luxury I have to take care of the people around them. I do. And that means you can keep this card in case you ever need it.”
I didn’t budge.
“No limit on the spending. In fact, use it every day. Go wild. Buy whatever you need—or want—to your heart’s desire. I wouldn’t mind if, for once, you buy yourself something,” he grumbled.
“How can I possibly splurge when you’re buying me things all the time? I need nothing else. Well, except maybe the door fixed at my shop that is warped and squeaks and can only lock if held tightly in place.”
“Door? Consider it done.”
“Richard, stop testing me.”
“This isn’t a test Vivian, this is serious. Please, take the card. Hide it away in your purse for a rainy day or emergency, or use it daily. You’re stuck with that card.” He crossed his arms too, trying to hide the wince until his eyes watered.
“Stop. I can tell you’re in pain.”
He exhaled sharply and let his arms drop. “Thanks.”
“And fine. I’ll keep the card for emergencies.”
“That makes me happy. And you know what else makes me happy? We’ve reached week 4. I’m cleared for light duty.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
I chuckled. “You are too much.”
Back at the hospital, after his surgeries, he had begged me to let Paris recover at his place. He couldn’t bear the thought of being away during her four- to six-week recovery if we were miles apart. We talked it over and agreed that his one-level penthouse was better suited for their recuperation than my two-story apartment. Naturally, he hired top-tier nurses, nannies, and tutors for round-the-clock care—worried I might wear myself out trying to care for both of them.
Though I missed my shop, I knew this was the best option for now. Paris absolutely adored the breathtaking views of the New York skyline from every angle of the penthouse, especially from her room, which she lovingly dubbed the treehouse. On our first day, she discovered that Richard had prepared an oasis of a room for her, complete with adorable touches that made me have to give props to his designer.
There were genuine first-class airplane seats turned into a cozy reading nook bordered by faux palm fronds, wallpaper made of maps, and several globes scattered about. Add to that binoculars, stuffed animals, and a small tent in the corner with a duvet depicting the Globegans—she had everything her heart desired. A neon sign reading “Little Explorer” hung above her bed. More gifts soon followed from Miriam, from toys to clothes, though her new riding hat was the item she loved most. She couldn’t stop wearing it all day, chattering about finally taking riding lessons that summer.
As for me, I could have chosen any room, but I stayed with Richard in his so I could watch over him—I simply wanted to be there with him.
“I think it’s time you change from yesterday’s ‘wealthy hermit’ look,” I said, coming up to his side with a kiss on his cheek, and took him in. Shirt halfway unbuttoned, revealing the soft hairs of his chest, sweatpants—his new best friend—skin that could use some sunshine… and still gorgeous. The butterflies fluttered inside of me seeing him.
“I’m healing. It’s a whole vibe I have going on here.”
“I think the vibe could use a wash and dry.” I tugged him toward the hallway.
“Yes, ma’am.” With a huge grin, he promptly shut off his tablet and neatly stacked his papers. “I’d never refuse one of your sponge baths. Since I’m cleared for duty, I expect a little extra care today.”
“Now, Mr. Buchanan, you know the doctor said light duty. You must be careful.”
“No promises. Where’s our girl?” he inquired.
“With her tutor. They just began, so we have at least an hour or two.”
“Plenty of time.”
I chuckled. “Been giving this moment a lot of thought?”
“Four weeks without you felt like forever, my cupcake. I need you.” He lowered his voice, sending a thrill through me as he locked and closed his bedroom door behind us.
“Let’s get you undressed first.” I reached for him, and his hands landed on my hips. “You look…” I trailed off, my fingers threading through his hair.
“Devilishly handsome?” he offered, grinning.
“More like charmingly miserable. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Depends what you have in mind, cupcake.”
I knelt before him, sliding my hands up his thighs to his waistband. “Does that give you a clue?”
He chuckled and immediately grimaced, one hand holding the side of his abdomen.
“Does it hurt?” I jumped to my feet, concern threading through my voice.
“Only every second of the day if I move, but it’s getting better.”
“Give it time.” I considered him carefully. “I think we should wait another week.”
“Vivian—I can handle it. Trust me, my discomfort pales compared to the ache in my balls.”
I laughed and unbuttoned his shirt, working it open slowly, and kissing him. I was careful not to brush too close to the raw spot I knew waited underneath.
As the shirt fell open, my breath caught. There it was, low and to the left of his ribs. The surrounding skin faintly bruised, the outline of the surgical tape clean but delicate.
“Sexy, right? Come on. You can tell me.”
I laughed softly. “Worth it for our daughter.” I reached for the edge of the bandage, and peeled it back with slow, practiced hands until it revealed the permanent mark of his ultimate love. I leaned down and kissed the skin just above the scar, grateful for his sacrifice.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He reached out and cupped my face. “You owe me nothing,” he murmured.
“I’m not saying it because I owe you. I’m saying it because I love you.”
He brought my hand to his heart and held it there. “I love you, too.” Then he slowly moved my hand along his torso to the bulge in his sweats. “Where were we?”
I traced my fingertips along his waistband, careful not to tickle his skin or he’d flinch and wince, and I smiled coyly. “Sit or stand? Which will hurt less?”
“They’re about equal. But I’ll take sitting.”
After helping him lower his sweatpants and settling him comfortably, I dropped to my knees to adore this incredible, selfless man who loved us.
Our eyes met as I caressed his muscular thighs, taken aback by the hitch in his breath and how much sway I seemed to have over him. His manhood—thick, veiny, long, and satisfying—pulsed with eagerness and twitched before me.
“One of the things I loved about our first time in Paris was discovering just how well-endowed you are. Is that a Buchanan trait?” I teased as my hands roamed over his velvety skin, marveling at how he grew even thicker.
With a twinkle in his eye, he replied, “Could be a family legend.” His gaze then sharpened, focusing intently on every move I made.
I wrapped my fingers around him, and his hips instinctively thrust into my grasp.
“Ouch. Ah.”
I stopped immediately. “No thrusting, Mr. B. By order of Nurse Vivian.” I cast him a stern look.
“Fuck woman, I’m going to have to buy you a nurse’s uniform for putting that fantasy of you in my head.” He leaned back and let out a shaky breath.
“Shall I continue? Or if it’s too much…?”
“Please, don’t stop,” he moaned.
From base to tip, I moved rhythmically, my tongue following my hands.
“Faster?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” he urged, gently tugging at my hair and drawing my mouth closer.
I licked and sucked along his head, swirling my tongue around his crown, and then relaxed my throat to take him deep.
“So good. Every inch, like a good girl sucking my cock,” he moaned, his body tensing and trembling.
I drove him wild with my mouth, bobbing my head until his breathing turned into grunts or cries of pain. Couldn’t tell.
“I’m close, baby,” he warned.
I let him go, then began stroking him with my hand as he guided my movements with his own.
I pushed his hand aside and took him deep again, his entire length disappearing down my throat. I repeated until his final grunt emerged through gritted teeth, his body convulsing with release and pain.
After swallowing, I released him, kissing and licking until he calmed. With lazy, half-closed eyes, he appreciated me as I carefully tucked him back into his sweatpants.
“Thank you. Come here—but be gentle,” he beckoned in a low, husky voice, leaving me worried he was hurting.
I straddled him carefully and hugged his neck. “I hope it didn’t hurt too much for the first try?”
“Worth it. And I’m sure it’ll get easier with time.”
“I’m just glad Paris hasn’t had to go through as much pain as you have.” I sat back up so as not to risk hurting him.
“She’s young. I’m practically an old man. There’s no comparison.”
“You’re not that old,” I teased.
“Old enough that I don’t want to wait much longer to have another child with you.”
“Huh?” My jaw dropped. “That’s quite the bombshell, Richard.”
“You’ve never thought about it? Can you have another?”
I shrugged. “I should be able to. And no, I haven’t given it much thought. My situation wasn’t ideal for having another child, so I put it out of my mind.”
“And now?” He ran his fingertips up and down my arms. “Things could be quite ideal, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but… damn you, Richard. Why does everything in your life always move at the speed of light? I like our slow pace right now. We’re still in the getting-to-know-each-other phase.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “How many phases are there? I’m clueless—explain it to me.”
Before I could answer, his phone rang from the pocket of his sweatpants.
“I’ll get it for you.” I hopped off of him and reach for the pocket.
“It’s probably nothing important. Leave it.”
“Nope, I’m getting it.”
“Fine, Vivian. We’ll put a pin in this conversation, but I want us to talk about our future soon, okay?”
I handed him the phone. “And as a Buchanan, when you want something, you get it.”
“You got that right, cupcake… Hello?”
I went to check on Paris. She and her tutor were just finishing up. After discussing her progress, I brought her into the kitchen to help me make my salted caramel cupcakes. During our first week here, Richard had asked for a detailed list of what I needed for baking. Knowing I had everything available kept me busy making their favorites.
Paris was improving each day, although she still grew tired easily. We kept a light schedule—short tutoring sessions, coloring, warm bubble baths, and cuddles. The penthouse had become her playground, with its vast windows and glittering city lights making her feel as though she were living in a storybook.
We worked on the recipe together, chatting and listening to music until the cupcakes were finally in the oven.
“There are my girls,” Richard announced as he appeared, sweatpants back in place, shirt unevenly buttoned, and his hair slightly disheveled. He still needed a bath and a change of clothes.
“Just in time to lick the bowl,” Paris said, holding up her spatula coated in dough.
“Oh, yeah.” He dipped a finger into the dough and licked it. “Mmm. Salted caramel? My favorite.”
“Just a little treat for you,” I said.
Suddenly, Paris fell silent, her eyes teary.
“What’s wrong, mon c?ur? ” Was she hurting? Had baking been too much for her today?
“I want to see Daddy’s scar,” she mumbled, her small fingers hovering near the bandage under his shirt. “Is it like mine?”
She had never been curious before—she scarcely liked looking at her own.
Having seen both scars, I said, “They’re almost identical. Are you sure you want to see?”
She nodded, and Richard agreed. He pulled his shirt up, revealing his scar.
“See, my love? Very similar to yours.” I pointed toward it.
Paris then lifted her own shirt, and after glancing at it, she said, “They are the same. Can I get a tattoo over it when I’m big? Like a heart around the scar?”
Richard’s eyes widened. “Uh, let’s wait until you’re twenty-one before you ask again.”
“Okay,” she shrugged. “I’m off to my treehouse.” With that, she happily walked away.
“You know, if you give her that black card when she’s sixteen, the first thing she might do is get a tattoo,” I teased, running my hands up behind his neck.
“Right. No black card. I get it now. There’s a lot to learn about being a dad, isn’t there?” he shook his head.
I laughed. “Parenthood can be equally challenging and satisfying. Still want another child?”
He wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in his embrace. After a brief pause, where he sniffed my neck, moaning something about vanilla, he said, “Yeah, I want another. Whenever you’re ready, cupcake. You see, I missed everything the first time. The baby inside of you, holding that bundle of joy, hearing it say dada, and taking its first step—I missed it all.”
Tears threatened my eyes at hearing that. “I’ll think about it.” But I already knew my answer. Of course he’d get his way.
“Listen, about the phone call I just got?”
“Is everything okay?” I asked and took the cupcakes out of the oven.
“There’s something I want to give Paris.”
“You’ve already given us so much.” I used a toothpick to test for doneness.
“Not everything. Not yet.” His tone suddenly turned serious.
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to talk to you about something,” he said. “I want Paris to have my last name.”
The words struck me in the heart. Not because it hadn’t crossed my mind before—but because it represented love and belonging.
“I know she’d like that,” I managed between the lump in my throat and my trembling hands.
“Good. There’s just one snag. Since Paris’s birth certificate is from France, Adrien signed it. He is still on record as her parent with a custody agreement with you. So we would need him to sign away his parental rights.” He scoffed. “Had I known, I would’ve forced him to sign before sending that five million.”
“But you saw how he was—more than willing to let Paris go. Surely he’ll sign without a fuss?”
“My lawyers have reached out already. He replied today, demanding all three of us fly to see him in person for his signature.” He shook his head. “The asshole.”
“Okay. First of all, I cannot believe you had your lawyers move forward without telling me.” I crossed my arms, glaring.
“I’m telling you now. I was excited about the idea, and I called them when we first arrived here from the hospital, wondering what it would take. Before I approached you with this idea, I just wanted to do all the background research, but things snowballed from there.”
So many emotions percolated inside of me. From elated that this man loves my daughter so much to give her his name, to frustrations over his blunders, which I can only attribute to the fact that instant fatherhood could not be easy.
“Please, don’t be mad. First-time father here and I’m making mistakes, learning as I go. I’m sorry.” He tugged at my forearm when I still didn’t say a word. Flashes from the past came at me. Had this been Adrien, it would have escalated fast into yelling, shoving, and definitely not an apology from him.
“Remember, we’re partners in this. When it comes to Paris, we need to talk about everything together.”
“I know. We will. But we’re here now.”
“And I can’t face Adrien again. It would only confuse Paris. We told her he’s not her real father—how can I make her see him now, the same man who never even liked her?” I blurted out, then noticed the anguish in Richard’s eyes. “I want her to have your last name, but involving Adrien makes it complicated.”
“I know it does, and I don’t like it either. We’ll figure it out together, though, right? Come here. Tell me we’re okay.” He drew me into his embrace and I melted there.
“We’ll be okay, I hope.”
“You know how I’ve wanted to take you away to France, anyway. I’m getting the itch to travel now that we’re almost out of the recovery window, and I promised Paris a trip. So, what do you say? Can I whisk you two away on my private jet for a trip to Paris? And while we’re there, I’ll figure out how to deal with Adrien. I have some ideas.”
The night of Chelsea’s wedding, he’d once proposed a getaway to escape it all. Now, another trip was on the table—this one taking us back to where it all began.