Chapter 11 Henry
Chapter eleven
“Katarina!” Knocking louder on her bedroom door, I wait for her to appear. I know it’s slightly earlier than her normal wake-up time unless she gets up much earlier than necessary for her morning swim. And usually we don’t swim on Sundays, but…
The door flies open, and a terrifying creature resembling my wife stands before me.
“What. Is. Wrong with you? It’s four o’clock in the morning! On a Sunday!”
She’s as I’ve never seen her before. Her braid is puffy around her head and frizzy along its length, there are sleep marks on the right side of her face from a pillow, and her pajamas, if they can be referred to as such, are askew.
Tiny shorts not quite high enough to meet her pajama tank as it rides up her abdomen, showing a delicious sliver of skin and hinting at…
“Henry!”
“Hmm, yes?” I reply, forgetting why I’m here in the first place.
“If you don’t tell me why you’re here right now, I’m going to attack, and I promise you, since I have the element of surprise, I will win.”
I can’t resist a smirk at the idea that she thinks she could bring me to the ground, with a foot and a half on her in height and weighing at least one hundred and fifty pounds more, too.
“As fun as that sounds, and as terrifying as you are right now looking like an angry kitten, I was seeing if you were ready for our walk.”
Long seconds pass as she blinks up at me.
“A walk. At four o’clock. In the cold morning air. On a Sunday. Sundays are meant for sleeping in!” she exclaims, already moving toward her closet to change. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist a walk.
“Well, it’s ten past four now that we’ve been having this riveting discussion for so long, and I want to stop by the kitchen and make sure my pack is adequately stocked for the day before we leave.
So it’ll likely be more of a four thirty in the morning walk, depending on how quickly you can get ready. ”
Wandering through the open door clearly meant as an invitation, I avert my eyes slowly from where I can see her changing in the closet.
A flash of a hot-pink sports bra and matching panties, cut high on her hips, is all I allow before reminding myself I am a gentleman, not some pervert ogling unsuspecting women. She is my wife, however…
“You can look, you know. I am your wife.”
I glance back up to see her crossing the room in just her bra and panties, rummaging around in her nightstand before walking back into the closet.
I look and immediately regret it. I promised myself after almost losing it at the pool the other day that I would keep my hands to myself until she’s ready.
She’s my wife, but she’s still young, and she’s only recently had her entire life upended.
And if I ever get my hands on her, well.
If she knew the things I wanted to do to her, she would probably run.
She doesn’t deserve me lusting after her while she tries to acclimate to her new home, but I can’t help it.
She’s all I can think about. And if she does decide one day that she wants to take our relationship to the next level, I’ll certainly be waiting with open fucking arms.
Before I can follow this line of thought any further, she’s back in front of me, fully dressed in walking gear that’s perfect for the weather and the distance I’m hoping to cover today. Even if I have to slow my stride for her to take two steps for every one of mine. At least.
“You look like you’ve been dropped directly into an English moor. Perfection,” I say, kissing her knuckles as she smiles.
“I wanted to be curled up in that bed for at least four more hours, so I hope whatever you have for me at the end of this walk is better than a moor,” she sasses, and I laugh with her as we make our way to the kitchen to grab a quick bite before heading out the door.
A few miles into our walk, the first tendrils of daylight start to peek above the horizon.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Katarina says softly.
“I haven’t been out this early, but the sunrise is spectacular.
Thank you for bringing me, even if I was a little grumpy about being woken up.
I expected you to work again today and really did plan to sleep in a while.
When we agreed to go on a walk, I thought it would be much later. ”
“I wouldn't say you were grumpy,” I reply, enjoying the small smile she gifts me. “I would say you resembled a gremlin more than anything else, and I was very briefly afraid for my life, though.”
Smirking, I revel in the shocked look on her face as she makes an adorably indignant sound.
“First of all, I have never once looked like a gremlin…”
“And I appreciate you joining me out here. I had forgotten about how special this land is, and how many secrets and adventures it holds. You’ve already realized it in the short amount of time you’ve been here, and it’s helped me remember.
So I owe you a very big thank-you,” I say, hoping she can see the sincerity on my face.
I mean every word. Having traveled for so long, I had neglected the estate, including the land and the staff. Katarina has helped me rekindle my love for being here, and she deserves to feel my appreciation.
As usual, she deflects the compliment immediately, a deep instinct of hers that I don’t understand. She does, however, accept the wrapped egg-and-cheese biscuit I hand her from my pack, making grabby gestures with her hands like a little raccoon.
It’s such an adorable action that I’m distracted from where I’m walking and stumble over a tree root, managing to turn and land sitting down in the dirt rather than falling on my face. Katarina is immediately in front of me, looking at me with concern.
“Henry, are you okay? Let me help you up,” she says, reaching out a hand for mine.
She still hasn’t learned that she won’t be any help in getting me up, but I place my hand in her tiny one anyway, feeling amusement at the barely there tug I feel as she gives all her effort to pulling on my arm. It’s endearing that she tries so hard to help me.
Back on the move, she polishes off two biscuits before waving off a third.
“If I eat any more, I’ll get sleepy, and then you’ll have to carry me the rest of the way,” she jokes, pulling off her jacket and wrapping it around her waist.
“That wouldn’t be a problem,” I say. “In fact, we’re approaching an area that gets notoriously marshy when it rains like it has recently, so I’ll be carrying you for a while anyway.”
Her head snaps up to look at me with an indignant expression. “I’m not going to let you carry me around like some overgrown toddler. Besides, you’ll get tired, and I don’t want to burden you…ooomph!”
Picking her up and cradling her bridal style before she has a chance to deny me, I point out the deep mud I’m currently trudging through. Mouth hanging open, she stares at me, then at the squelching mud, then back at me, tightening her grip around my neck.
“I’ll admit this is a superior mode of travel to mucking about in that. Thank you for carrying me. I hope I’m not too heavy.” She sighs, relaxing her head against my chest.
I can smell her from here, no perfume today, just a mixture of her shampoo with her underlying musk.
“If you didn’t already know, you’re a slight thing. You’ll never be too heavy for me to carry, wherever you need to go,” I say quietly, and we continue toward our destination.
Sitting in the shade of a magnolia tree, we’ve made it to our destination at the edge of the orchard, but I refuse to let her explore until she eats.
I’m already starting to understand the fine line between not hungry and hangry, and for my own health, I’m determined not to cross it again.
Although it’s certainly been a task to keep her from looking around the greenhouse beside us.
She briefly read about it in one of the books we looked at last night from our archives on the property and has been excited about exploring all morning.
“You’re not telling me that you and your cousin actually spent three months living in the woods behind your house as children?
” I ask, incredulous as Katarina laughs, recounting another of her and Sasha’s adventures.
She described him as more of a brother, and it’s clear that’s exactly how they grew up.
It occurs to me that she must really miss him, and I need to invite him over for dinner.
Perhaps a standing invitation with Ledger, Sloane, Margot, Jack, and Mother.
A big family dinner once or twice a month.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she says, swallowing another mouthful of soup from the tureen I packed this morning.
“Although we spent every night inside, and had our meals packed from the kitchen…and I think we always had at least one bodyguard discreetly trailing us in case we got off the marked paths. But yes, for three months, we spent most of our time in the woods pretending we had been shipwrecked.”
Eating my own soup, I listen as she describes their efforts to learn survival skills, working their way through a large portion of the Eagle Scout handbook and reading everything they could get their hands on.
I’m pleased to hear that she knows so much about wilderness survival, especially if she’ll be spending so much time walking the estate.
She finishes regaling me with their outdoor adventures and moves on to their obsession with mermaids, telling me about their intricately choreographed synchronized routines performed to precision.
Thinking of a young Katarina, giving her all to perfectly execute a mermaid swim routine, I can’t help but smile. It reminds me of Margot, trying her hardest to perform the Rose Adagio. My parents went too far indulging her, but I know it’s impossible not to spoil only daughters, at least a little.
“You two sound like my sister. I can’t imagine how much your parents must have enjoyed watching the two of you and your hijinks.”
Her face subtly darkens as she fusses with her soup, and I realize I must have broached a sensitive subject.
Her parents. Of course. I saw how cold her father can be at our rehearsal dinner, and if she was close with her mother before she died, she surely would have mentioned her.
This is a harsh reminder of how little I know my wife, but I’ve already resolved to make more of an effort, and there’s no way to learn more except to ask.
“Were you close to your parents when you were younger?” I ask softly, avoiding the obvious fact that she and her father aren’t close now.
After a pause, she blows out a breath before turning to give me a sad smile.
“My mother died giving birth to me. And my father, well. The episode the night before the wedding wasn’t a one-off.
He isn’t, and has never been, overtly cruel or abusive.
It’s just that he’s very matter-of-fact. So no, I wouldn’t say we were close.”
Looking at me, she must see the confusion and sadness on my face, imagining a small Sasha and Katarina putting on a performance for household staff only, instead of a cozy family scene like the one I grew up with. Immediately, she tries to gloss over my concern.
“He was fine, Henry. Truly. He would certainly never shy away from telling me he was proud of my school accomplishments, particularly when I started to take the advanced courses. And he was thrilled I was able to pick up languages so quickly. He considered it a huge asset. Plus, we had a wonderful team of nannies and tutors when our dads were traveling, and they would check in with us through the staff to make sure we were behaving. And I think he was proud of the way I conducted myself at the wedding, so it all worked out in the end.” She polishes off her soup and turns to rummage around in my pack for the cookie I promised her once she was done.
“I was proud,” I say quietly after a moment, and she stills but doesn’t turn around.
“I’ve certainly never seen a more beautiful bride, nor one who held herself with so much grace and poise throughout what was an excruciatingly long, ornate affair.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You had a smile for everyone you met, just as radiant at the end of the night as you were at the beginning of the day. ”
As I suspected, this compliment is deflected as well, with her murmurs about the hair and makeup team and basic manners glossing over the fact that she had been, in fact, a young woman faced with quite a challenge.
One that she has risen to with aplomb. If I had expected any sort of spoiled, self-assured confidence from my young wife, I was clearly mistaken.
My knee-jerk reaction to compare her to my sister was unfair because as much as I love my sister, she was coddled and spoiled to a degree that made her late teens and early twenties sometimes trying, as she felt she always knew best.
Katarina is humble. Too humble. She hasn’t been told what a marvel she is. Certainly not often enough to understand that she’s an extremely accomplished young woman and should be proud of herself, first and foremost.
As she continues to rave about all the people who helped her be camera-ready for the wedding while she eats her third cookie with her left hand, I reach for her right.
Sunlight catches on my wedding band, and for the first time, I’ve become so used to its presence that I forgot it was there.
Katarina pauses her story as I kiss her knuckles, silently entreating her to stop her diatribe, attributing her success on our wedding day to anyone but herself.
When I leave our hands connected and place them back down on her thigh, she gives mine a squeeze.
My wife hasn’t had enough people in her corner to support her and ensure she knows what an incredible woman she is.
She might not have wanted for anything materialistic in her childhood, but it’s clear there was a void where emotional support and love should have been.
Someone should have been taking better care of her.
It just so happens that for the first time in my life, I find myself thrilled at the prospect of being responsible for taking care of someone.
As a friend or…more, I can make her life easier and encourage her in all of her pursuits.
God, she’s perfect. She deserves someone in her corner, and the ring on my finger reminds me it’s my duty to be there.
Instead of feeling like a foreign weight, my ring feels solid and warm, providing comfort and protection. Exactly what Katarina needs and what I’ll strive to give her, whether she realizes she needs me or not.