Chapter 17
[Trinity]
What was I thinking?
I shouldn’t have kissed him like that.
I could blame Benedict Bridgerton, but it wasn’t the fault of a fictional character. Dart Rivers was to blame. His closeness. The subtle brush of our fingers. The press of his shoulder against my arm. Him eating freakin’ popcorn.
I was so wound up. I don’t know if I wanted to punish Dart, feeling like I deserved a kiss from him. Or longed for him, after his apology the other night.
Either way, I hid in my room the remainder of the night.
Thank you, Mirabelle.
But even while using her as a distraction, my mind raced.
I haven’t been kissed in three years. The last one was sad, pathetic even.
Dart tried to kiss me at the end of our argument. The one where he asked me to go with him and I refused.
Let’s just give ourselves a break.
He’d leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head.
He was gone in the morning.
I was angry. I was hurt. I was alone. But the break gave me perspective.
Maybe I leaned on Dart too much. Like he said the other night, we pulled apart. He needed space, and I needed it as well.
I realize that now. We needed time to come to terms with reality. I wasn’t going to produce a baby. I needed time to accept myself, without Dart. And he needed to do the same.
The biggest surprise the other night had been Dart admitting he didn’t feel he was good enough for me.
Maybe I kissed him to let him know he was. Or he had been.
I shouldn’t have said the kiss shouldn’t have happened. A kiss was inevitable. We needed to experience at least one to see if that spark could be rekindled. But I’m kidding myself if I thought I was no longer attracted to Dart. If a flame didn’t exist beneath the surface.
And that kiss felt like promises made long ago. Even though promises were broken, the kiss still felt . . . right, even if I couldn’t explain yet why that was.
In the morning, I head to the store, hoping to give Dart and me further separation.
My mind is still reeling from that kiss.
My lips as well, because I still taste him.
Salt and butter from the popcorn and all male.
Not to mention, the feel of him beneath me.
How hard he was. How he fit against where I’m soft, as he always has.
I might pride myself on being the queen of self-love. Might feel like an expert on taking care of me. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t need an active imagination to get what I needed, and Dart starred in many of those fantasies. Fantasies that were more like memories.
But my memory has clearly played a trick on me, because Dart felt different beneath me.
Maybe it was simply that I haven’t been with a man since him, and even then, we were more mechanical than intimate.
Maybe it was the passion of last night. Climbing over him, taking what I wanted, and the way he eagerly gave it back to me.
Or maybe, it’s as I said to him more than a week ago, it’s only ever been him who can make my belly flutter and my heart skip.
When I return from the store, Marshall and Hutch are in a truck, pulling out of the driveway, and offer me a quick wave. With all Dart’s home improvement projects, it hasn’t been unusual to see an extra truck in the yard, but his friends haven’t paid a visit. At least, not that I know of.
As I enter the house with Mirabelle in the car seat over one arm and two sacks of groceries over the other, I hear something heavy being dragged or shifted against the floor upstairs.
“Dart?” I call out.
“In Mirabelle’s room.”
I set the groceries down in the kitchen but leave Mirabelle in her car seat because she’s sleeping.
Lugging the car seat up the stairs, I find Dart where he said.
In the past week, he has tackled painting Mirabelle’s room. He’d picked out a bunch of color samples before he ever knew about the adoption. His favorite was daisy yellow, but the choice was mine.
I approved.
The room is sweet with that bright shade of yellow. A white crib is assembled. The changing table was already in here, along with a white dresser that had been mine as a child. Dart found butterfly and daisy decals to decorate one wall, giving it the appearance of a summer meadow.
And presently, he stands in front of a soft-green padded chair. I set Mirabelle’s car seat down on the floor.
“Happy Mother’s Day.” Dart waves toward the seat.
“Dart,” I whisper, my throat thick as my belly flips. I stare at the piece of furniture.
“I picked it out a few days after I got here, but the delivery was delayed.”
“It’s . . . it’s beautiful.” I continue to stare at the simple gift. A chair.
“And it rocks.” He steps closer to the chair and pushes the back, causing it to tip back and forth. “It also reclines. Try it out.”
He sets his hands on my upper arms and guides me to take a seat. I practically fall into the plush cushion, then glide backward and melt in the comfort. The material is as soft as the color, which complements the meadow theme.
“This was so thoughtful of you,” I admit, tipping my head back and staring up at him. “You didn’t need to do this.”
“I missed Mother’s Day.”
“To be fair, I didn’t know I was going to be a mother.” I chuckle while I glance at the miracle that Mirabelle is. Her little head is tilted awkwardly in the car seat, but she’s sound asleep.
“Still, I’d hoped it would arrive sooner.”
I glance back at Dart and run my palms over the padded armrests. “This was so sweet of you. Thank you.”
Dart lowers to a knee in front of me. “You deserve it, Trinity. You deserve her, and she’s so lucky to have you as her mother.”
“Dart,” I whisper as tears well in my eyes.
“I don’t know how you feel,” he continues. “Because we never had one of our own. But Mirabelle is yours,” he reiterates. “The love you feel for her is no different than if she came from your body or not.”
I choke on his name again, a tear slipping free.
“And she loves you. She knows who you are to her. Her mother.”
Another tear falls, but a choked giggle escapes as well. “I’m so lucky,” I whisper.
“She’s lucky, too.” He glances over his shoulder, smiling affectionately at the little bundle scrunched up in the car seat.
Then he gazes back at me. “I don’t want you to ever have regrets, Trin. Not about anything.” His whiskey eyes are darker today. Sober and still.
Has he thought about that kiss as much as I have?
“You mean about that kiss last night?” I sheepishly ask and lower my head.
“No, I don’t want you to regret marrying me. About still being married to me.”
My head lifts.
“I don’t want you to be angry at the process because look where it got you.” He twists his upper half, glancing at Mirabelle again. “And look at who you are now.”
He spins back toward me. “Strong as ever. Maybe even stronger. With or without me, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known.”
I scoot forward in the chair, bringing our faces closer. “You’re strong, too. Stronger than you know.” I drop my gaze from his face to his hands, clutching that one raised knee. “For the longest time, I thought you were a coward for walking away.”
He lowers his head, nodding.
“But I also think there was strength in breaking us apart. We were a mess, Dart. Both of us. And we would have continued to spiral if someone didn’t leave.
If someone didn’t give us space. I would have preferred that we worked through everything together, but maybe .
. . maybe we just couldn’t. We needed that time apart. ”
He nods, keeping his head down.
“I’m not a marriage counselor, and I’m certainly not going to say I’m a marriage expert, but I think . . .” I swallow hard again and lick my lips. “I think it was too painful to look at you because I felt like such a failure.”
His head pops up. “Baby, no. Never.”
I tip my head, balancing my forearms on my thighs. “My body failed me.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” His eyes are wide, his tone adamant.
“I know. But I also think I took the separation between us, before you ever left, as blame. Shame even.”
Dart scoots closer to me. “There was nothing to ever be ashamed of. It just happens.”
There were so many ways others try to console someone after a miscarriage.
A blessing in disguise. Something was already wrong.
But the painful truth is even science doesn’t fully know why some pregnancies take and others don’t, and it is not a reflection of my body, or habits, or thoughts, or religion, or my soul.
It just happens.
Dart tried to understand, but it wasn’t his body. The miscarriages were not a physical loss to him. A confusing, frightening loss.
Dart’s fingers lightly brush mine. He stares down at where he tickles the tips down my knuckles. I glance down as well.
We haven’t talked like this in a long time. I’m not certain we ever really talked so openly. We didn’t ever really fight. It was just all . . . frustration and tension.
“I don’t know if you heard me the other night, so I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am.”
“For what?” His brows lift as he slips his palm underneath mine. His hand is warm. His touch tender.
“For everything, at this point.” For pushing him away. Or pulling apart. For falling to pieces.
“You don’t owe me an apology.” He slowly smiles, glancing up at me while he continues to rub his hand underneath mine. “But thank you.”
I chuckle. “I also owe you a thank you.”
He shakes his head, laughing quietly, while looking back down at our hands. Mine smaller than his. Our palms still rubbing over each other’s.
“Nothing to thank me for.”
“You’ve been working hard around here. The roof. The bathroom. Mirabelle’s room. And you’ve cooked dinners and done laundry. And this chair.” I sink back into it, pulling my hand from his.
He smiles a little wider and bends his raised knee, so both are on the floor. Then he sets his hands on the armrests, lifting his upper body taller. He leans over me. My knees brush his belly.
He lifts one hand and pinches his fingers. “Might be a teeny tiny bit selfish, in hindsight, about this seat. Lying on that couch at night isn’t easy.” He grins wide and teasing, while setting his hand back on the armrest, continuing to cage me in. “But I’ll do anything for my girls.”
His eyes lock on mine.
His girls. Me and Mirabelle.
I should warn him not to love her. We haven’t discussed what Dart’s role is with Mirabelle. We haven’t discussed where we are headed, as a still-married couple.
But I’m tired of the heavy stuff.
So, I simply smile back at him, letting his claim wash over me.
His girls.
Mirabelle and me.