Carides's Forgotten Wife. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
to their own wings of the house. At the very least, he never brought women there. He had allowed her to keep it as her own. Had made it a kind of sanctuary for them both.
It was also a condition of their marriage. When her father had hastily commanded the union when his illness took a turn for the worse, the house and his company had been a pivotal point. If—before five years was up—he divorced her, he lost the company and the house. If she left him before the five-year term finished, she lost the house and everything in it that wasn’t her personal possession.
Which meant losing her retreat. And the work she’d been doing archiving the Tanner family history, which stretched all the way back to the Mayflower.
So only everything, really.
And she’d been ready to do it, willing to do it because she had to stop waiting for Leon to decide he wanted to be her husband in every possible way.
Except now here they were.
“Yes,” she said, feeling determined in this at least. “He will want to be moved to Connecticut as quickly as possible.”
“Then as soon as it is safe to move him, we will do so. I imagine he has private physicians that can care for his needs.”
She thought of the doctors and nurses that had cared for her father toward the end of his life. “I have a great many wonderful contacts. I only regret that I have yet more work to give them.”
“Of course. But so long as he is stable we should be able to move him to Connecticut soon.”
She looked back toward the room, her heart pounding. “Okay. We will do that as quickly as possible.”
Going back to Connecticut with Leon was not asking Leon for a divorce. It was not moving toward having separate lives. It was not finally ridding herself of the man who had haunted and obsessed her for most of her life.
But he needed her.
Why does that matter so much?
The image came, as it always did, of herself sitting in the rose garden on the grounds of her family home. She was wearing a frothy, ridiculous gown, tears streaming down her face. Her prom date had stood her up. Probably because going with her in the first place was only a joke.
She looked up, and Leon was there. He was wearing a suit, very likely because he had been planning on going out that night after meeting with her father. She swallowed hard, looking up to his handsome face. Dying a little bit inside when she realized he was witnessing her lowest moment.
“What’s wrong, agape?”
“Nothing. Just... My prom plans didn’t exactly work out.”
He reached down, taking her hand in his, and lifted her off the ground.
She couldn’t remember Leon touching her before. His hand was so warm, his touch so intense it sent a shock of electricity through her.
“If someone has hurt you, give me his name, and I will ensure he is unrecognizable when I’m through with him.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t need you or my father coming to my defense. I think that would only be worse.”
He curled his fingers around her hand. “Would it?”
Her heart was pounding so hard now she could hardly hear anything over it. “Yes.”
“Then if you will not let me do physical harm to the one who has hurt you, perhaps you will allow me to dance with you.”
She was powerless to do anything but nod. He pulled her against his body, sweeping her into an easy dance step. She had never been very good at it. One of the many things she had never quite mastered. But he didn’t seem to mind. And in his arms she didn’t feel clumsy. In his arms, she felt like she could fly.
“It is not you, Rose.”
“What isn’t?” she asked, her words harsh, strangled.
“It’s this age. It is difficult. But people like you, people who are too soft, too rare for this sort of assimilation required in order to fit in at high school, will go on to excel. You will go much further than they ever will. This is only temporary. You will spend the rest of your life living brighter. Living more beautifully than they could possibly imagine.”
His words had meant so much to her. Words she had held close to her chest. Words she had clung to when she had walked down the aisle toward him, thinking that perhaps this was what he had meant. That this would be the bright, beautiful living he had promised two years earlier.
Their marriage had been anything but bright. Far from soaring, she’d spent the past two years feeling as though her wings had been clipped. She had a difficult time reconciling the man he’d been then with the man she had married.
Still, that memory was so large, so beautiful in her mind, even with everything that had passed between them since, that she could not deny he deserved her help.
And once he was better, once he was nursed fully back to health, then she would take steps to moving on with her life.
“Just tell me what I need to do,” she said.
HE STILL COULDN’T remember his name when he was wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair and physically moved into a van designed to accommodate his limitations. But he did know that all of this ate at his pride. He did not like to need the assistance of others. He did not like to be at a disadvantage. And yet here he was, completely dependent, his pride in shreds.
Strange how he had no memories and yet he still knew these things. Bone-deep.
He knew his name. He knew his name because it had been spoken around him, over his head, as his wife and various medical professionals made decisions for him. But that was different than knowing his name. Than recognizing it. He was unable to remember who he was, but he wasn’t stupid. Still, that seemed to constitute a compromise that he could not be trusted to make his own decisions.
The drive to the airport was long, and painful, every dip in the road aggravating some injury or another. He was lucky to have less broken than he did. But he was still far too sore to walk on his own. He had a couple of broken ribs, but other than that it was mainly deep contusions. So he had been told. He knew his extensive list of injuries. Had done his very best to memorize them, just so there was something in his brain he knew. Something he knew about himself.
But it was a rather depressing list of facts, he had to admit.
Still, they were the only facts he had.
According to his doctor, there were basics that he would be told. But there were some things that were best allowed to return organically.
He hated that, too. Hated that he wasn’t just dependent on others for physical care. But that he was dependent on them for knowledge.
Every single person in the exam room earlier today knew more about him than he did. His wife knew whole volumes more than he did, undoubtedly.
He looked at her profile, her stoic expression as she looked out the window, watching the scenery go by.
“I know you very well,” he said. He hoped that by saying it it would make it so.
He must. He must know what she looked like beneath her clothes. He had touched her. Kissed her. Countless times, he would imagine. Because they were young—reasonably so—and in love, he presumed.
“I’m not entirely certain of that,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She blinked, looking startled. “Of course you do.”
The startled expression, he realized, was her correcting herself. Realizing she had done something wrong.
“Now