Chapter 20: Finding Forever: Chapter 19

Cade wasn’t sure where the fuck this was coming from but it pissed him off.

“That wasn’t the agreement,” he reminded. “Three years, remember?”

“We said we’d stay married for three years, that doesn’t mean we have to co-habit.” She sucked her top lip into her mouth and stared at him pensively before asking, “When do you plan to leave?”

“I was thinking we could leave next week.”

“What about Christmas?”

“Uh, what about it?”

“It’s in three weeks’ time.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“What do you normally do at Christmas? Don’t you spend it with your family?”

Cade couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent the holiday with his family. His father had spent the last two Christmases celebrating in Cape Town with Beth and Gideon. Last year Kenny and Smith had joined them as well. Cade had been invited to join them, of course, but he’d declined.

Instead, he’d spent last Christmas on his yacht, off the coast of Ambergris Caye, with a leggy model for company. The year before, he’d been in Dubai on business.

“I don’t usually celebrate it,” he replied and she tugged at her top lip with her teeth. He wondered if she’d somehow gleaned how distracting he found it when she toyed with that lip and was now doing it deliberately.

“So, you won’t be returning for the festive season?”

“Unlikely.”

“Oh.”

“Not sure what Christmas has to do with anything though.”

“Right. I was thinking if you left next week and returned in a few weeks for Christmas it would only be a short separation. After a few instances of us commuting back and forth like that for appearances’ sake it will eventually become our norm and people will lose interest. Nobody will even notice when the time apart gradually increases.”

“Fern, if this fake long-distance, gradually drifting apart narrative is really what you want then yes, it’s worth exploring… but I think it’s too soon. After six months maybe. But not now.”

“I don’t see any point in delaying the inevitable.” God, she was being stubborn.

“Abernathy just publicly accused me of sexually and emotionally manipulating you into this marriage.”

She visibly started at his words, and her hand flew to her mouth in horror.

“Now you might not fucking care,” he continued, his voice gruff with outrage. “But I take exception to being labeled a sexual predator.”

“Oh my God, I didn’t…” Her luminous gray eyes swam with tears above her hand and her voice was soft and unsteady. “I’m so sorry. This is an unending nightmare for you.”

“Not quite yet,” he said, gentling his voice while he strove for patience. “But it will be if we don’t do this right.”

“I just want to feel like I have some semblance of control over my life,” she admitted softly, her hand dropped back into her lap, where she enfolded it in her other hand, as if she were somehow trying to soothe herself. He ignored the overwhelming urge to reach for that hand and be the source of comfort she so clearly needed.

“I understand,” he admitted, hating the look of utter desolation in her eyes. “You will, Fern. I promise you will. But right now, we’re both pretty much in the same leaky boat.”

“I feel like we’re about to be tossed against the rocks and shipwrecked,” she said disconsolately and he felt a twinge of amusement at her melodramatic statement.

“Then we’ll be marooned on the same deserted island together,” he said, just to see what her response would be.

“It’ll probably be inhabited by massive man-eating anacondas and surrounded by great white sharks,” she said with a sniff and a sad little shake of her head. She was staring at her hands and missed his quick grin at her comeback.

“Then, as you’re being swallowed whole by an anaconda and I’m being torn apart by a great white, we can take comfort in the fact that we’re not suffering alone.”

That finally brought her gaze up to his, she searched his eyes for a while, before—aah there it was—a shy, hesitant smile curved her lips.

“You’re being silly,” she chastised mildly and Cade nearly choked on nothing but spit.

Nobody had ever accused him of being silly before.

She sighed heavily and got up.

“I’m going to make some lunch. Will you be joining me?”

“I’m not very hungry.” His head still felt like it was being split apart and it was robbing him of his appetite.

Her eyes sharpened on his face and if he was the type to squirm, he would shift beneath that astute regard.

“Why are you doing that?” Her question baffled him and he watched her in confusion, remaining seated while she hovered not too far above him.

“What?”

“Your eyes are narrowed into slits,” she said. “At first, I thought you were doing your usual glarey, glowery thing. But this is different.”

“What glarey, glowery thing?” he repeated, mild outrage creeping into his voice at the lowering description.

She scrunched up her face and stared at him through narrowed eyes, with her lips pursed. She looked cute as hell but he wasn’t entirely sure why she was doing it until she spoke.

“You know? The terrifying way you glare at someone that makes them think they’ve done something wrong and they need to repent immediately or face the dire consequences of your wrath.”

“So, wait… that expression on your face is meant to be terrifying?”

“Isn’t it?” Her face fell.

“Not quite,” he fought to keep the wobble from his voice. This conversation had gone from exasperating to one of the most entertaining exchanges he’d had with anyone in years. “You look like you ate something mildly unpleasant. A lemon maybe.”

“I’ll have to work on that,” she murmured, her voice thoughtful as if she was speaking to herself. “Practice in the mirror maybe.”

“It’s not my intention to terrify you,” he said after a moment, while she continued to comically arrange her face into different grimaces. That cleared her expression up immediately.

“I didn’t think it was,” she said. “It’s your resting brood face.”

“You’ve said that before,” he recalled, fighting back a smile.

“But you do have a killer glower. I’ve seen you use it on my stepsisters and Granger.”

“It must be wholly ineffective then, because I don’t recall any of them being particularly intimidated by me. Your ridiculous stepsisters were all over me like a syphilis rash.”

She made a delightful high-pitched squeaky sound and clapped her hand over her mouth to contain the burble of laughter that followed the initial startling noise.

Fern didn’t want to laugh, damn him. Not after what she’d overheard him say, not after he’d pretty much laid waste to her tentatively hatched plan that they separate after he returned to London. A plan she intended to revisit very soon. She didn’t want to find him funny or charming or inadvertently sweet with his small considerations, like shifting the umbrella to protect her from the sun.

And yet, after his ridiculous responses to her spiraling worst case scenarios earlier and now this, she did find herself unwillingly charmed by his rough, endearing attempts to—she assumed—cheer her up.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Or are you going to keep deflecting?” she asked and she could tell that the directness of her question surprised him.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes still narrowed in a way that had nothing to do with his mood, and then his shoulders slumped and he admitted, voice weary, “I get headaches sometimes… I find it best to ignore them and just power through.”

She chewed on her lip as she processed that information and he watched her keenly as if assessing her minutest expression.

“You shouldn’t be sitting out here in the sun if you have a headache, it’ll only make it worse. Come on.” She held out her hand without thinking and then immediately felt self-conscious at the impulsive gesture when his probing gaze dropped to her hand. His expression went from searching to bemused, as if he wasn’t quite certain how to react.

Then he shocked her by actually enfolding his large, beautifully veined hand around hers and getting up.

Caught off guard, Fern froze for a moment, not sure what to do with that hand now that she had it, but one look into his pain glazed eyes, made the decision for her. She walked purposefully toward the door, gratified when he followed all docile like. The quintessential wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The refreshing cool air-conditioned interior of the living room presented a welcome escape from the oppressive heat of the day. Fern led Cade to the huge sectional couch that looked out at the panoramic view and urged him to sit.

Fortunately, he was dressed in a pair of blue board shorts and a crisp white T-shirt. His feet were bare. Her stomach did a lazy little swirl at the sight of his long bare feet, and she swallowed—the sound embarrassingly loud—before speaking.

“Don’t move.” Her voice was husky and she swallowed again, then cleared her throat, in an attempt to remove the breathless rasp. “I’ll be back in a second.”

She went to her room first to retrieve a couple of essential items, then to the kitchen before rejoining him. He hadn’t moved and she was rather gratified by that fact.

She held out a bottle of cold water and a couple of painkillers. He took the water but stared at the pills dubiously.

“What are those?”

“Just aspirin,” she reassured. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you or anything.”

“I don’t usually take anything for⁠—”

“Ugh, stop being such a stubborn man,” she hurled the word at him like it was an insult and he blinked at her in astonishment. “Just take the pills. Why suffer unnecessarily?”

“They probably won’t work,” he said and she rolled her eyes before shoving the pills into his hand.

“They won’t do any harm either, unless you’re allergic to aspirin too?” The thought only just occurred to her. But surely his medic alert bracelet would have listed it in addition to penicillin.

“Not allergic, no.” He sighed, brow furrowing before he shook his head and tossed back the pills, rinsing them down with a sip of water.

“Good,” she told him with a pleased smile. “Now take off your shirt and lay down on your stomach.”

“What?” The look of utter consternation on his face would have been comical if Fern wasn’t so damned nervous. She hadn’t ever done this for anybody other than Margot. And the thought of touching her husband after everything that had happened between them the night before, and then overhearing his conversation subsequent to those events, wasn’t too appealing. But—despite everything—she wanted to help him. It wasn’t in her nature to ignore his obvious pain.

“Fern—” He seemed to run out of words and just stared at her and she forced a smile.

“Cade, I’m trying to help you. Please trust me?”

Another long, searching stare, followed by an abrupt nod, before he grabbed the back neck of his shirt and tugged it over his head with one hand. The efficient, sexy motion caught Fern unawares, and she stared at his taut naked chest for a panicked moment, her mind going utterly blank at the sight of that beautifully tanned, muscular expanse.

He didn’t seem to notice her distraction and shifted to lay down on his stomach, resting his cheek on his folded arms, facing the now-closed patio doors.

She was now presented with the equally beautiful sight of his broad, muscled back, his pain evident in his bunched and tense heavy shoulders.

She grabbed the bottle of essential oil she’d placed on the coffee table—a mix of lavender, chamomile, and eucalyptus, and poured a generous amount into one cupped palm, before rubbing her hands together to warm her skin.

She then stared at his back and was now confronted by another dilemma; there wasn’t much room to do this. Ideally, she’d sit on the couch next to him, but his bulk took up too much space and the only option left for Fern was one she’d been hoping to avoid.

Cade wasn’t sure why the hell he was humoring Fern in this. Except that she seemed so earnest, so eager to help. And when she’d entreated him to trust her, he’d been helpless to do anything but that. He couldn’t expect her to trust him blindly but show her none of the same courtesy. He wasn’t sure what her intention was, but he hated feeling so vulnerable and defensive, while battling an ever-worsening headache.

Still, here he was, half naked, face down, with his wife hovering somewhere above him, just outside of his peripheral view. The mystery and anticipation had the unintended effect of arousing him a little, despite his headache and general discomfort. Something which probably had more to do with her close proximity to his naked flesh, than anything else.

A familiar scent hit his nostrils. Sweet, a little spicy. Lavender. It always reminded him of his grandmother. Mixed with something else, something mintier, sharp, almost medicinal. Peppermint? No, it was stronger than that, eucalyptus maybe. Which reminded him of his grandfather.

Fuck, he didn’t want to be thinking of his paternal grandparents while sporting a semi-stiffy, while his wife in her cute little shorts, with her toned, naked legs hovered within reach.

“I’m sorry,” Fern was mumbling and he frowned in confusion. “I have to do it this way.”

What way?

He hissed—a sharply indrawn breath—as she unexpectedly climbed onto the couch and straddled him, her soft bare thighs on either side of his waist, her pert arse fitting snugly into the small of his back.

Oh… that way!

Her small, soft hands found his shoulders, and that’s when he realized that they were slick with oil, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus and something else, also sweet and familiar, mingling pleasantly as the oil heated between her skin and his.

He groaned, the reluctant sound torn from him when her slender fingers applied pressure to the knots in his shoulders and neck. God, this felt amazing.

She kneaded, smoothed, rubbed, pummeled his back, shoulders, and neck. Then her hands—less oily now—threaded through his hair, stroking gentle circles into his scalp and temples. She lingered there for a while, before moving back down to his shoulders.

Cade was helpless to stop the small whimpers—the sighs, the groans—escaping from his throat. He went limp with relief and pleasure, as her talented hands, stronger than their delicate shape and small size would have him believe, worked their potent magic.

He felt the tension leaving him in increments, the headache diminishing with each stroke of her hands, and drowsiness crept over him. A heaviness to his limbs and a lightness in his mind that he couldn’t recall ever experiencing before.

Trust me, she’d implored and Cade had no idea how much trust he’d actually placed in her until…

…he opened his eyes what felt like hours later.

Indeed, hours must have passed, since it was darker. Probably just before sunset. Fern was nowhere to be seen, but she must have cooked, because the delicious aroma of whatever she’d made still lingering in the air.

His hunger hit him like a freight train. He sat up—he’d turned onto his side during his sleep—and a lightweight blanket slid to his lap. He stared at the pale pink throw blankly. Fern must have placed it over him while he slept. The sweet thoughtfulness of the gesture created an unfamiliar heat in his chest and he absently lifted his hand to massage the painful ache that had returned to that spot.

His headache was completely gone, with none of the lingering grogginess he usually experienced after the bad ones.

He felt amazing. Revitalized, refreshed… like he could conquer whole planets.

He rolled his shoulders and neck. No stiffness. No pain.

“How are you feeling?” Fern’s soft, concerned voice—closer than he’d expected—took him by surprise and his head whipped up to see her curled up in the corner—the “L” part—of the massive sectional. She was sitting only a few inches away from where his feet must have been resting.

She was huddled under a lap blanket, and had an e-reader in one hand and a glass of milk in the other.

“Much better,” he admitted, not sure how he felt knowing that she’d been right there while he slept. He was a very private man and the thought of someone watching him when he was at his most vulnerable was unsettling.

Then again, they were married. Such intimacies were allowed between married couples, weren’t they?

She tucked her e-reader against her chest, while her lovely eyes slowly roved over his face. She finally seemed to take him at his word and nodded, tucking a wayward strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ear.

“You should eat and hydrate, it’ll prevent recurrence. I made a Bolognese—nothing fancy—with a salad and garlic bread.”

“Sounds fantastic. I’m ravenous.” He found his T-shirt, wadded up on the sofa next to him, and dragged it back on. He was up and in the kitchen seconds later. She’d plated a generous amount of pasta for him and left it covered in the microwave. He found the bread in the oven and salad in the fridge.

He had his meal heated and ready a couple of minutes later.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, while retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge.

“I’m good thanks. I have a bit of heartburn… too much garlic, I think. Hence the milk.” She lifted the glass in salute.

He carried his loot over to the coffee table and rejoined her on the couch, scarfing down the first few bites and moaning in pure, unadulterated appreciation when the flavors hit his tongue.

“God, this is amazing,” he murmured around a mouthful of food, forgetting his table manners.

“Glad you like it,” she said, a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, lifting her lips.

He took a few more bites, assuaging his immediate hunger, before looking at her.

“Are the stomach issues still bad?” he asked. “The morning sickness and that?”

“It hasn’t eased up much. I live in hope. But the heartburn is getting bad. I was really craving something garlicky, which presents a problem because garlic is one of the worst offenders when it comes to my heartburn. Garlic and—” she sighed, the sound was filled with regret. “Can you believe it? Chocolate?”

He grimaced in sympathy.

“I’m sorry about the heartburn,” he told her. “But, not gonna lie, I’m really happy the craving won out. Because this is really hitting the spot.”

“I’m glad,” she said, sounding sincere.

“Thank you,” he murmured, after taking a thirsty drink of water. “For earlier. It really helped. Where did you learn to do that?”

She drained her glass and set it aside, then stared down at the screen of her e-reader for a moment, picking at bits of dust and lint that only she could see.

The silence stretched awkwardly until she finally spoke again.

“I had one friend at school, I think I mentioned her before?”

He vaguely recalled her mentioning a friend. The one who’d attempted to help her establish a life independent of the Abernathys.

He nodded.

“Her name was Margot, I met her when I was fourteen—during my second year at Blessed Heart Academy. She used to get these tension headaches, I wanted to help her. I did research into what essential oils would help ease a headache, and how to do neck and head massages. It worked for her, I thought maybe it would help you too.”

“It did. Thank you.”

“Are…” She frowned down at her e-reader, determinedly avoiding his eyes. “Are yours tension headaches as well?”

“Yeah. I don’t give them much thought. They’re not particularly debilitating, merely inconvenient. Just something to be tolerated usually.”

“Kind of like me, then,” she said with a nervous laugh.

Her lame little joke fell into the space between them and floundered like a dying fish.

Cade wasn’t entirely sure what to say in response to her words, because—honestly?—that was how he’d perceived her at first. But hearing her speak the words out loud now made him uncomfortable and he was no longer so sure they were the absolute truth.

And that unsettled him. Because if the statement wasn’t true, what then was her role in his life?

Before he could respond, or even evaluate his reaction to her declaration, she moved on as if she was afraid of what his response might be to her words.

“I watched Granger’s interview… with that financial guy? Liam Marsh?”

Cade sighed, happy he’d finished his meal, because nothing could steal his appetite faster than discussions about Abernathy.

He dragged a paper napkin across his lips, and sucked at his teeth, before taking another sip of water.

“And?” he finally prompted, when it seemed like she wasn’t sure what to say next.

“And I want to respond. I won’t sit idly by while he says such monstrous things about you, when he’s the real monster.”

“Respond how?”

“I want us to do an interview. Set things straight. And I want to take him to court, for abusing his role as my guardian and as executor of my mother’s estate. I want to make him pay for that malfeasance. As well as for the lies he told about you and continues to tell about me.” Her tone was frigid, her sweet face set with determination and when her eyes came up to meet his for the first time since he’d sat down with his food, he could see the fire sparking in those smoky gray depths. “He’s been allowed to run roughshod over me for years. I’ve allowed it. But I’m done having him use me to line his pockets and prop himself up as a good man. I want the world to see that mercenary bastard as the thief and liar that he is.”