Chapter 27 Natalie
Natalie
When I first got married, I swore my kids would never be staring at screens. I saw kids in airports watching movies instead of spending time with their parents, and I judged them. Then I had a few kids, four under eight years of age, and my position shifted.
It’s funny how often things we hate, things we really don’t ever want to do, become the things we realize we need. I was surprised, after Samantha’s perpetual grumbling about the photos, that she wanted us to do a big family photo with the horses.
Photos with horses are hard.
Getting any pictures together in a group this large is already an ordeal, and then you add kids and it gets harder. You’re doing hair, arranging outfits, and trying to keep yourself clean. When you throw in orchestrating clean thousand-pound animals whose favorite thing to do is roll in mud?
Oh, boy.
But I was so happy that she wanted the photo, a photo I wanted myself, that I didn’t hesitate.
It did throw a wrench into my morning, however.
I was supposed to meet with Richard at ten a.m. to talk about the details of his New Year’s Eve ball.
Instead, I needed to be prepping kids to be photographed at that time.
Thankfully, when I texted him, he agreed to meet me at seven a.m. instead.
I take him coffee as a peace offering. “Sorry we had to move this,” I say. “Something came up.”
“It is Christmas Eve.” He glances at his watch. “Honestly, this is better anyway.”
“Oh, that’s great.” I smile.
“I’m getting on an earlier flight.”
“Flight. . .” I frown. “To where?” On Christmas Eve?
“Now that Sam and I—” He clears his throat. “I won’t be here for the ball. I hope that’s not a problem.”
I blink. “I mean, I just said a ball at Lismore Castle. I didn’t say you’d be in attendance specifically.” Though I assume people will expect it. “You’re leaving?”
He snorts. “I’ve only been in Ireland because of Samantha. My dad’s delighted I’m coming home, finally.” His brow furrows. “Well, delighted is the wrong word. He really liked Samantha. He’s nearly as disappointed as I am.” Richard clears his throat, and his eyes widen, and he sniffs.
For a member of the British aristocracy, he might as well be sobbing in a pathetic puddle. All emotion was ironed out of him from a very early age, so sniffs and widened eyes are major. “I’m really sorry about the whole thing, too. I know Sam’s pretty wrecked.”
He frowns. “She didn’t seem to regret her decision.”
Now I’m a little annoyed. “Her decision?” I shake my head. “Richard, she tried to have a child for almost two decades. Unless you’re a woman whose body has betrayed her, I’m not sure you can possibly understand how that feels, but I assure you, it wasn’t her decision.”
His eyebrows fly up. “I’ve upset you.” He sniffs again. “That wasn’t my intention. I merely meant that she didn’t seem to waffle over whether I was worth her being willing to try again.”
Now I’m mad. “Worth trying again?” I clench my hand. “It’s not about you,” I say. “She has a medical condition.”
“Science has advanced, and her efforts before were with another man entirely.”
So it’s about his ego.
What an idiot.
“Richard, I know you need a baby. I’m pretty sure the little green men on Mars know you need a son, but Samantha can’t provide that for you. She broke up with you for you. Because she can’t give you what you want.”
“I think she could,” he says. “And I told her very clearly that if she can’t, so be it.
I’m willing to take that risk, and I’m willing to let down my father and allow the Cavendish legacy to collapse into nothing.
I love her that much.” He places both his hands down flat on the table.
“If she would just try one more time, it would be enough. I love her enough to throw away everything.” His nostrils flare. “But she won’t even try.”
I stand up. “I appreciate you letting me bring guests to your ball. I know if it weren’t for us, you’d surely have canceled it, since you’re leaving.
I really am grateful, so I’m going to say this as respectfully as I possibly can manage.
” I lean down, placing my hands on the table near his.
“Richard, you’re the biggest idiot I know, and my husband slept with lots of other women, as you know.
” I shake my head. “It’s not that Samantha doesn’t love you enough.
It’s that she loves herself too much. If you made her try again, as you mentioned, it would be like killing her.
” My lip curls. “You can’t understand, because you’re a man, and men are stupid.
But you’re the one who doesn’t love her enough.
If you were really willing to throw away everything on love, you wouldn’t have any stipulations. ”
I spin on my heel, and I walk out.
As I do, I can’t help thinking that he might see the truth in my words.
He does love her. I can tell. He has a massive ego that has been inflated by every person he has ever known, but Samantha’s a force of nature, and he sees that. He really loves her, and if he’s willing to risk not having kids, would he be willing to just say fine?
Would he give it up for her?
If he did, she might even grow enough bravery to try again, but she doesn’t know that, and she can’t promise it.
Without him standing behind her, no matter what the result, how could she ever be that brave?
She’s had one husband who didn’t love her enough, who didn’t love her for who she was. She can’t risk it again.
All day long, I keep expecting to see Richard’s car pull down the drive. Surely he finally understood what I said. Surely he realized that Sam needs him to give first. She’s worth not having babies. She’s enough, all on her own, even without agreeing to try.
And they could have kids.
Their children, if they adopted, may not be able to inherit the dukedom or whatever, but surely they’d be well cared for in any case.
Happiness with children doesn’t require biological connections, and it doesn’t require a title, either.
All he has to do is realize that, and then he can come back here and salvage the mess he made.
Every car that heads down the long drive has me rushing to the window.
For the first time since buying this place, the guests coming and going annoy me.
I’m glad there are bookings—a fourth one came in last minute—but I want to see Richard come and make things right with my friend.
The whole thing between them just seems like such a tragic waste.
Half a day later, after emailing some of the most promising photos to Samantha, I start walking through my checklist of last-minute tasks.
I text Mason to remind him to bring the cheese ball and crackers and make sure the puppy’s doing alright.
The mushrooms are baking in the oven. The ham’s heating up, the glaze made.
The rolls are baking below, in the same oven and at the same temp as the cherry pie.
Both my ovens and my toaster oven pull double duty at big holidays.
All my gifts are wrapped, the last ones late last night. The kitchen’s swept, and the counters have been cleaned. I’m fixing the pillows and blankets that my kids seem to take great joy in tossing like they’re part of a salad, when I see it.
I’ve been waiting all stinking day!
A big, dark SUV which I’ve never seen Richard drive pulls down the drive, but it has to be him.
The man owns more cars than most women own shoes, and he’s driving past the main house and tearing down the drive—a little fast, if I’m being honest—toward Sam’s place.
I can’t contain my smile. I whip out my phone to text Vanessa, who demanded a second-by-second replay of my interaction earlier.
But then, the SUV stops in front of my place instead.
That idiot must know we have plans tonight and think she’s already here. I race outside, waving him forward, but it’s not Richard who gets out of the shiny navy blue Land Rover.
It’s Cillian.
I blink.
Mason has the dog, so if he’s here to ask for him back, he’ll have to go by there to pick him up. “Cillian?”
He’s normally entirely calm, but he looks a little nervous, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. He’s dressed like he’s just come from work, but he threw on a holiday sweater to make it look more ‘casual.’ I hate how well it works for him.
“I don’t have the. . .” I clear my throat. “You-know-what.” I hiss. “It’s coming later tonight.”
He blinks.
“Did you come for it? I decided to keep it, but I’ll pay you back for him. Just tell me how much, and I can Venmo you.”
He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No, that’s not—I’m not here about that.”
I frown. “You know it’s Christmas Eve, right?” I glance over my shoulder at the kitchen. I have a lot of things I’m cooking right now. “I’m about to burn some rolls.”
“I bought this SUV for you.” He gestures behind him.
“You—what?” I shake my head. “I told you the other thing was wrong, so you got me a car?”
“No.” He’s shaking his head like crazy. “I mean, I sold my sports cars, and I bought myself an SUV, so I have room for you and your kids.” He waves his hands in the air.
“I’m not being crazy and trying to buy you something else without asking.
This is a gesture. I’m making room for you, so I can be on the animal houseboat.
I listed my condo too, and I put an offer down on a cute house just around the corner. ”
“You did what?”
“Go inside.” He tosses his head. “I’ll come in there and talk—really quietly.” He grimaces. “Or, we can talk later. I’m sorry. It’s just—I didn’t want to wait. Once you left, I knew. I couldn’t lose you, but I had to do something big to show you I’m not all talk.”
I walk inside, a little stunned. He got a new car, and he’s getting a new house so he can let me and my kids in? Thankfully, I make it inside in time to pull the rolls out before they burn. I slide another pan into the oven.