Carides's Forgotten Wife (10 page)

CHAPTER NINE

T
HE
MEMORIES
OF
his son had begun to fade back into the past. Shifting from a fresh, sharp grief back into a tender bruise. When they had first hit him they had been as fresh as if it had occurred yesterday, rather than sixteen years earlier.

It had taken him a couple of days to stop reliving it. To stop being hit with fresh realizations.

His son would be a man now, had he lived. Or, at least, on his way to it. He wondered if he had dealt with these realizations on and off in the ensuing years, or if the drinking, the women, were all a part of making sure he
didn’t
have these realizations.

He had found that his ability to care for Isabella had suffered. He had avoided her. A behavior he was in no way proud of. But there was no pride in any of this. There was no reason. It was just pain. Pure, unmitigated.

Ever present.

Because, though it didn’t hurt to breathe today, the reality still existed in the background. It was part of who he was, this loss. A wound that time might ultimately heal, but one that had most definitely left a scar.

He walked into the study where Rose spent most of her time, where he knew she was cataloging her father’s books, and other pieces of his extensive collection. He was surprised to see that there was a little pink bassinet placed next to her chair. She was idly jiggling it as she hummed and took notes, something about the multitasking particularly maternal. Causing a shock wave of emotion to rock him.

“I owe you an apology,” he said, the words even shocking him. He hadn’t realized that was what he was going to say before he said it.

“Please don’t tell me you have more surprises. A bunch of mail-order brides who have just arrived ordered prior to your memory loss? A stable of horses? Gambling debts.” She snapped a finger as though a brilliant idea had just occurred to her. “A passel of racing ferrets.”

“No,” he said, moving deeper into the room, taking his seat on the settee near her chair, keeping a distance between himself and Isabella’s bassinet. “Remember when I lectured you on how you needed to treat Isabella?”

“Yes, I believe I do. As I was naked and in the middle of an emotional meltdown. Those moments tend to stand out in your mind.”

“It was easy for me to say that to you. That you would have to treat Isabella as your own or remove yourself from the situation.”

She arched a pale brow. “Well, I’m delighted that it was easy for you to say. It was not easy for me to hear.”

“I imagine not.”

“Regardless, it was the right thing for you to say. And I knew it, even then. She’s innocent. She has nothing to do with the poor decisions the adults in her life have made. She doesn’t deserve to carry anyone’s resentment. I might have a right to my anger, but I have no right to direct it at her.”

“That is incredibly mature and clear-sighted of you. But I had no right to say it to you. I didn’t understand how heavy baggage could be, Rose. Emotionally, I might as well have been a child. Not now. I understand how difficult overcoming anything can be. I’m not sure I have overcome anything of importance.”

“Except for the vagaries of the immigration system, poverty and a lack of education?”

“Full points to me for that. However, emotionally speaking... I was in no position to lecture you.”

“Is this an honest to goodness apology?” she asked, her blue eyes wide.

“Yes.”

“I feel like you owe me one for the other day, too.”

“Don’t get overly hopeful.”

Isabella began to fuss and Rose swiftly put down her notebook, bending down to pick the baby up out of the bassinet, holding her close to her chest. “I feel like Isabella is hopeful she will be getting fed soon.”

“Do we...call the nanny for that?”

“No. Elizabetta is out for the day. You’re acting like Isabella hasn’t been here for the past few weeks. The only thing that has changed is you. You were feeding her. You were taking care of her. Before you remembered.”

“The memory is what prompted my apology. It’s easy to see things as simple and uncomplicated when you haven’t experienced anything.”

“I have a news flash for you. Isabella doesn’t care about your pain. She’s an infant. She cares about herself. More to the point, about being held, being fed and sleeping. She doesn’t care if you’re struggling.” Rose made no move to get up. “Her bottle is on my desk in the warmer. Get it for me.”

This was a new Rose than he had previously experienced. She was being imperious; she was not being careful with him, or tiptoeing around his mental state. He found he rather liked it. A few nights ago in the nursery had been like a trial by fire. It had been painful, excruciatingly so, but it had also brought out a fire in him that had been missing.

Arguing with Rose had felt... Not normal. It occurred to him then that they never argued. They hadn’t, before his accident. He was sure about that. That was easy because they barely spoke. Still, he felt more alive when he was butting up against her. Perhaps it recalled the way that he was in his job.

Whatever the reason, it felt like a return to being a man and not just an invalid.

Of course, he felt a lot like a man when Rose kissed him. When she touched him. But she seemed interested in doing none of those things now. So if necessary he would accept fighting as a substitute.

“The longer you stand there the louder she’ll scream,” Rose said.

He moved toward the bottle warmer, plucked the bottle out of it and handed it to Rose. He was careful to maintain his distance from Isabella.

Rose put the bottle in the whimpering baby’s mouth; Isabella made a few grateful sounds as she latched on. Then Rose stood, leaning toward him, “I think you should take her.”

He took a step back, his stomach tightening. “I don’t think I should.”

“You can hold me at a distance all you want, Leon, but you can’t do it to your daughter. You dropped your defenses when you remembered your past. You came in and apologized to me, and that was nice of you, but I don’t think it was the right thing to do. If you’re not going to fight for her, then I’m going to do it. I made a promise. Not for you, not for your sake, but for hers. I promised her that I was going to love her like she was my own child, that I was going to fight for her, and I am. Even if I have to fight you.”

He simply stood, staring at her.

“She’s a baby. Not a bomb,” she insisted.

He had to disagree with that. He knew better than just about anybody that grief was a unique kind of bomb. One that detonated deep inside of you and left wounds that no one else could see. Left shrapnel embedded deep in your soul that you couldn’t simply remove.

Children. Your own children had the very greatest ability to damage you simply because of the immediate and intense love they commanded. The protectiveness. That was almost worse than anything else. The need to protect. The gut-rending terror when you failed.

“She is so soft,” he found himself saying. “So very vulnerable. I find it...terrifying. I wish I could remember more of myself. I wish I could remember more of my years. As it is, the strongest things are the loss of my son, and the presence of my daughter.”

“That must be difficult. You’re right. I don’t understand that. I don’t understand what it’s like to lose a child. It must be... I don’t pretend to understand what you’re feeling. I won’t. But what I do know is that Isabella is here. She needs you now. If you fail her it’s because you choose to.”

He tasted the strange metallic tang on his tongue, similar to the all-encompassing panic he had felt in Isabella’s nursery a couple of nights ago.

“She’s here,” Rose continued. “She’s here, and you’ve had this accident that might have killed you. This accident that’s giving you a chance to change. What’s the point of it if you don’t take it?”

He reached out slowly then, taking his daughter into his arms, relishing the feel of her soft, warm body against his. She was very alive. Perhaps not something that most people would think about their children. But something he would never take for granted.

“You are right,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes off Isabella. He could see himself in her face. In her dark, sharp eyes and her sullen mouth. It was a miracle. To see yourself in a child. Which he was not entirely certain he had appreciated the first time around. But he had been young, and he had not been touched by loss. A baby had been an accident that they were working to contend with.
This
baby was not planned, either. But this baby was a miracle. A miracle he had never thought he’d get a chance to experience again. “I gave this away. I was going to give this up.”

“You were afraid,” she said simply.

“Do not defend me. I don’t deserve it. I was taking the easy way. Perhaps I was afraid because of my experience with Michael, but I’m certain that not wanting to disrupt our marriage came into play. Not for your feelings. For my own comfort. For the protection of my ownership of the company.”

She looked away. “You’re so certain of that?”

“Like I am about so many things regarding myself. I am certain about this, too. Regrettably so.”

“Change it then.”

“A fresh start would’ve been much easier. But that isn’t what we have, is it?”

“No. It isn’t. But we do have a second chance. You got another chance to live. You have another chance with Isabella.”

As she said that, he realized he wanted those things. And along with it, a second chance with her. Though he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for it.

And he noticed she hadn’t listed it.

He had been so determined to try to fix things between them when he couldn’t remember what it was he’d done. But once his sins had come to full, horrifying light, he had given her space.

He was through with that. He was through with allowing her to sit back and take her time as she decided what to do with him. He had decided.

He would be the father that Isabella needed. He would withhold nothing from his daughter even with what he remembered.

And he would be a faithful husband to Rose.

Those blue eyes that had once looked at him with so much affection were cloudy now. They were guarded. He would not rest until she looked at him the way she once had.

He was not a man who failed at what he set his mind to.

* * *

By dinnertime Isabella was safely in her nursery, but Rose was nowhere to be found. She had spent the past couple of days avoiding him, but he had always imagined that had he looked for her, she would be easy to find. That was not proving to be the case.

It was eternally frustrating. If he could remember even one thing about her, about the past, then perhaps he might have better luck figuring out where she slipped off to at the estate.

He closed his eyes, picturing the grounds. He had walked all over them in the weeks since his accident. He had nothing else to do.

There were great lawns, a maze comprised of hedges and a few little alcoves with benches and flowers.

Roses.

There was a rose garden that she went to. It was the garden that her mother had planted when Rose was a little girl. That was where she went.

He walked straight out of the house and down a winding, narrow path, closed in with foliage on either side. It was...exhilarating to have figured this out. To know something about his wife. To realize that somewhere inside of him he did hold knowledge about her. Thoughts about her. Feelings.

As frustrating as it was not to be able to connect more dots, knowing this now was a high unlike any he’d experienced in his recent memory.

Possibly in any memory, but with him it was very hard to say.

The little alcove came into view, a running fountain, large mature rosebushes that were in bloom. And seated on a carved stone bench in front of a bush with crimson roses was the namesake of the flower itself.

She looked up when he came into the clearing, a startled expression on her face.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You did?”

“Yes. I was thinking about you. And where you might be. And I remembered this garden. Your mother planted it for you. After you were born. Roses were her favorite flower, and that’s why she named you Rose. And after she got sick she left this for you.”

“I didn’t know you... I didn’t know you knew anything about me.”

He drew closer to her, kneeling down slowly on the ground in front of her, the dew from the grass soaking into his pants. He looked up at her, something about the position familiar, something about the moment echoing in his mind.

He could see her blue eyes, full of sadness, tears tracking down her cheeks as he looked up at her from his position. Here in this spot. In this very garden.

He lifted his hand, cupping her cheek, mimicking what he had done back then. He slid his thumb along her cheekbone, his heart pounding hard.

“This is where you always go when you’re upset.” He didn’t move his hand from her face, and she didn’t pull away.

She just stared at him, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. “How do you know that?”

He never took his eyes from hers. Those eyes. Eyes he had seen just before his accident. The only memory in his mind when he had woken up in the hospital.

“Prom night,” he said, the words coming at the same time as the memory. Just as it had been back in the nursery.

“What?”

“Your prom night.”

“I didn’t know you remembered that,” she said. “What I mean is... I didn’t even know you remembered that when you...remembered everything else.”

“I do. Your date stood you up.”

“My date was a joke to begin with. Nobody wanted to go to the prom with me. I was so weird. And bookish... And afraid of everything.”

“You don’t seem so scared to me. Not anymore.”

She turned her face away from his. “I definitely can be,” she said, her voice soft. “I have been. Afraid of my own shadow. You were right when you said I was hiding here.”

“I was angry when I said that.”

“Yes. But just because you were angry doesn’t mean you weren’t right.”