Worth the Vow (Eternity #3)

Chapter 1

D ominic

“I’m done being nice, Katharine. Explain yourself right fucking now,” I state, my voice deep and angry. I can feel my blood pressure rising as I stare at Kate’s defiant expression, her hands on her hips in annoyance.Why am I so angry with her? Because this is the third month in a row that she’s been found by a member of my family, clearly struggling, and in pain.

“There’s nothing to explain. Mind your own business, Dominic,” she huffs. Kate stands tall in front of me, but I can see how much pain she’s in by her stature, as well as the sound of her voice. Normally strong and clear, but today Kate’s voice is muddled with pain.

“I found you in a ball on the bathroom floor. That deserves an explanation.” I’m not sure I’ll forget the visual for as long as I live. Sobbing, and in pain, Kate barely recognized being moved when I picked her up and took her to the closest bedroom, which just so happened to be mine.

Kate sits down on the edge of my bed, misery etched on her face. Her dark blonde hair sits halfway down her back, often a mélange of different colors. Today she has a few purple streaks haphazardly placed throughout the strands. Her deep brown eyes, which normally sparkle with mirth and mischief, appear dull and broken. When she goes toe-to-toe with me, Kate is only around six inches shorter than my own six-one .

“It’s not a big deal,” Kate says. The color is returning to her cheeks, probably more due to her frustration with me than anything. Kate gets along with every single member of my family — except for me.

“You were crying, Katharine. It is a big deal.”

“Normal people cry, Dominic,” she says pointedly, but movement casts my eyes downward. I notice she’s gingerly holding her stomach.

“Are you pregnant?” I blurt out, then immediately wince when I realize how inappropriate that is. “Shit, I’m sorry. That is none of my business.”

“No, I’m not pregnant, you moron,” she snaps, and I’m secretly relieved. “I’ve got so many damn female problems I’ll probably never get pregnant. And it would be your business, since you employ me.”

“Female problems?” I ask quietly. Beyond pregnancy and periods, I’m pretty clueless about what other things Kate could be struggling with. She’s too young to be going through menopause.

Kate sighs. “I have PCOS and endometriosis.”

I wrack my brain, trying to remember what PCOS stands for. “What is that first one?”

“Polycystic ovary syndrome.”

“And that means …”

“Basically, my ovaries are full of cysts, and my hormones are all messed up. And then the endometriosis means I’ve got abnormal cells growing all over the place. So my entire reproductive system is fucked,” she says, her voice clear. Still, a tremble in her words betrays her defiant demeanor.God, do all women go through this? Could my daughters experience this? I shudder at the thought.

My gut is churning as I take a moment to observe Kate in my space. Honestly, this is pretty momentous. I haven’t had a woman in my bedroom since my ex-wife left. Hell, I’ve barely even had sex in five years. My job and my family take up all of my time, and frankly, any woman I meet never seems to excite me. My hand does the job just as well as any of my past conquests .

Kate is my nanny, and has been living in a guest room in my basement for six months. On top of nannying, she has worked odd jobs for the entire time I’ve known her. Bartending, babysitting, and even temp jobs. I know the majority of her pay comes from me, but I still only need her an average of twenty-five hours per week. I assume Kate pulls in around fifty hours per week collectively. She certainly doesn’t seem to be here very often on the weekend, but she could have a busy social life for all I know. Somehow, the thought of Kate out partying, or trying to hook up, makes me irrationally angry.

My kids are ten, eight, and almost seven. It’s been a while since they’ve had a woman in the house, and I can tell they’re enjoying having more access to Kate. She gives them the attention and love they crave, which they clearly don’t get from their mother.

That’s partially why I ended up hiring Kate as a nanny. More than once, I took her from the hotel to watch my kids when I had evening meetings. My kids adore Kate, and probably listen to her more than me. So, when she was evicted from her apartment, my mom suggested Kate move in with me. “It will be easier for her to handle the children, cucciolo . And we need to help her. She’s family.”

Yes, my mom calls me little puppy. Evidently, as a toddler, I gave her a sad expression that reminded her of puppy-dog eyes, and the name has stuck well into adulthood. I’m thirty-five, for fuck’s sake. She could drop the nickname whenever she wanted, but I know it’ll stick forever.

Technically, Kate isn’t family. Trust me, I’ve thought about it. It’s a murky area, for sure. Kate’s half-brothers, Matt and Zane, are my cousins, but there isn’t a blood relationship between us. But my sweet Italian mother wouldn’t hear any arguments. When someone dear to her struggles, she will find a way to help, come hell or high water.

“What do your doctors say?” I ask, pacing back and forth in front of my bed. I rub my neck in frustration as I wrack my brain in how I can help Kate. Problem-solving is in my nature.

Kate laughs bitterly. “What doctors? ”

“What do you mean? I assume you’re under medical care, aren’t you? What twenty-something woman doesn’t have a doctor?”

“The kind without medical insurance, Dominic. And if any doctor near here would take cash, I don’t have the funds for the office visits. Don’t even get me started on the cost of prescription medication, or the procedures they may suggest. Plus, I know a regular doctor isn’t going to deal with me. I’ll be referred out, which means more office visits.”

“How do you not have medical insurance?” I ask. She glares at me. “Katharine, you have so many different jobs. Surely one of them has insurance.”

“Nope. None of my jobs are full-time.” I take a breath, ready to tell her what to do next, but she holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t even go there, Dominic. I know you’re going to tell me to search for a job. I have been. I’m not qualified for anything. Because really, who wants to hire someone with zero college under her belt, and a gazillion part-time jobs for experience?”

“Weren’t you offered healthcare through the hotel?” I ask. While I am the CEO of my family’s hotel, Everlasting Inn and Spa, there are certain aspects of the day-to-day that I don’t micromanage. One thing I keep my nose out of is accounting. My mom still oversees that department, and I choose to let her delegate that task out if she chooses. While I deal more with hotel issues, sales, and marketing, my mom still dabbles in human resources and concierge staffing. I vaguely remember her telling me she offered Kate insurance, but Kate turned it down.

“She wanted to just give it to me, Dominic,” Kate says, her eyes blazing with fire.

“So?” When I see Kate’s eyes narrow noticeably, I try to relax and force myself to slam a mask of indifference on my face. Can a man have resting bitch face? I have it, I’ve been told, and it’s clear that Kate appears ready to deck me. Resting dick face? Is that a thing?

“I — I’m not a taker. I’m not a mooch. I don’t like feeling like I’m taking advantage of someone. ”

“That argument is moot. You’d have been taking advantage of my family if you had suggested we give you free insurance. If my mom offered it to you, that was out of the goodness of her heart.”

Kate vehemently shakes her head. “I’m barely working there these days. I’d think about it if most of my time was spent there. But I’m not taking insurance from your family when I work ten hours a month at the most.”

“What would make you take insurance?” I ask, but as she’s about to respond, she gasps and presses into her abdomen.

“Dammit,” she breathes.

“What happened?” I sit next to her, ready to swoop in for whatever she needs … but I don’t have a fucking clue what that may be. I’m working blind here.

“It’s probably a ruptured cyst,” she murmurs.

“Ruptured?”

“Yeah. The pain will go away.”

“You know that for a fact?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“How many of these ruptured cysts have you experienced, Katharine?” As I ask, I hear a sound that can only be described as a growl. She hates it when I call her Katharine, which is only partially why I do it. She just looks like a Katharine to me, and I have no idea why.

“Too many to count.”

“What will make it better right now?”

“A bath sometimes works. And Tylenol.”

“Seriously? Only Tylenol?” If something ruptures in my body, I’ll be expecting codeine, morphine, or anything that knocks me the fuck out. Screw this Tylenol bullshit.

“That’s all I have, so it’ll have to do,” she retorts through the glaze of tears forming beneath her lashes. I’m not sure if they’re being caused by the pain she’s in … or me.

“If you had a doctor, what would they prescribe?” I try to remember if I kept any pain medication when I hurt my back a year or two ago. It has to be better than acetaminophen.

“Something not over-the-counter, obviously.”

“Is there a chance this isn’t a ruptured cyst?” I pry.

Kate shrugs. “Maybe. But this isn’t my first rodeo. I’m about eighty percent sure it is.”

“Jesus, Kate. That’s really giving a lot of room for variability,” I say, shaking my head in frustration. I’m not frustrated with Kate. I’m frustrated with the fact that I can’t solve this problem for her.

“Not much either of us can do about it.”

I pull out my phone and do a quick Google search, then look up in horror. “It says you might need surgery.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “I thought I was the dramatic one here, Dom. I’d know if it was surgical.”

“How so?”

“Well, the pain is different. It’s way more intense.”

“You’ve had this happen before?” I shout, abruptly stopping my pacing as I stare at her in shock.

“Uh, yeah. Twice that involved a short hospital stay. Once that required a laparoscopic procedure. The fucking ultrasound was inconclusive, so they did an exploratory procedure to find it. Damn thing had already passed, and I went under the knife for no reason. Oh, and another laparoscopic procedure when I was sixteen, for a diagnosis. I almost forgot about that one,” she says breathlessly as she presses her palm against here stomach again.

“You were only sixteen?”

“Yeah, but I knew I had it. My mom had it as well, and one of the biggest risk factors is another woman in the family suffering from it. I also had all of the symptoms. Heavy and painful periods, lower back pain, and short cycles. The surgeon who performed the laparoscopy said endometrial cells can latch onto anything in the body. Literally anything. Mine had begun to grow in one fallopian tube and both ovaries. The surgeon managed to save one ovary, but the second one completely ruptured during the procedure. That’s why I found it bitterly hilarious that you thought I was pregnant. My system is so messed up, I may never get pregnant.”

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, Katharine. That’s a lot for any woman to deal with, much less a teenager.”

She shrugs. “Not like I could choose another route. It is what it is.”

“How much did all of that cost? The procedures, and the hospital stay.” I’m almost worried how she’ll respond.

“Oh, I was still on my mom’s insurance, so I don’t know.”

Fucking hell. That meant she was a minor for all of it. “How long have you been dealing with this?”

“Basically since puberty,” she says quietly.

I’m floored. I can’t imagine having an exploratory surgery as a minor. She must have been petrified.

Clearing my throat, I question, “How often can these issues happen?”

“I guess they could happen every month. Well, as long as I actually get my period. I guess until menopause, which will be when I’m around fifty? So I’ve got a ways to go. It’s really weird talking to you about this, by the way. Can I go back to my room now?” she whispers.

“No.” I hear her mutter “jackass” under her breath, but choose to ignore her. “What’s going to happen this time, or the next time, if you need another exploratory surgery? Will surgeons even do it if you don’t have insurance?”

“They’ll do anything,” she says with a dry laugh, “but I’ll owe them for the rest of my life.”

Our fucking medical system at work.

“What can I do for you right now?” I ask.

Kate shrugs. “I just need some Tylenol or Ibuprofen. It’ll help with making the pain more manageable.”

“Should we go to the emergency room?”

She grimaces before shaking her head. “There’s nothing they can do. They’ll take x-rays, charge me a ton, then just give me a prescription for pain meds that I also can’t afford. I appreciate your willingness to help, Dominic, but I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first time dealing with a ruptured cyst and no insurance.”

Before knowing what I’m doing, I say, “I have excellent insurance. All the full-time employees at the hotel do.”

“Jesus, Dominic. Way to rub it in.” I see the hurt in her eyes, but I soldier on.

“It goes for families as well. Spouses and children.”

“Okay?” she asks warily.

“So it’s settled,” I say, rising from the bed. “We’ll go to the courthouse.”

“Hmm?”

“You need insurance. We’re getting married. End of discussion.”

“What? Are you insane?” Kate screeches.

“I’ll go get you some Ibuprofen.” I walk out of my bedroom with my head held high, leaving a sputtering Kate sitting on my bed. Only later will I realize how right she looks in my space, and how much that scares the shit out of me.

I said I’d never get married again, or let a woman into my heart. But this is just helping a person in need, right? I’m not setting myself up for heartbreak. I’m just doing what my mom says I should do: giving to others.

I’ll ignore the voice in my head that tells me I’m so completely fucked. It all started two years ago, when my mom convinced me to hire Kate as my nanny, and things haven’t been the same since.