Page 55 of Fairy Tale Marriage

CHAPTERNINE

To My Long-Lost Bride,

Another year has gone and winter has arrived again. Or has it always been here? Sometimes it feels that way. Ilook outside and see a blanket of white as beautiful and untouched as you were the first time we kissed. So many years have passed and yet the memories haven’t dimmed.

I don’t understand that. Our love died long ago, the embers long since turned to ash. And yet I look out my window and there you are, as clear to me as the first time I saw you in the Montagues’ garden.

You’ll stay in my thoughts, wife of my heart, asweet memory I’ll allow myself to recall just once a year. You linger in the far recesses of my mind. Alaughter-filled voice. Atantalizing scent. Aheart-stopping smile.

I’m keeping you there, where you’ll be safe, where we can visit in my yearly dream, where you remain my wife from long ago, the only one I’ve ever loved. AForeverLove.

Chazeventually found his wife in their bedroom, curled up on the mattress, fully clothed and sound asleep. An hour had come and gone long ago, but an emergency with one of his animals had intruded.

Gazing down at Shayne, he wondered again why she'd been so upset earlier. He frowned over the protective way her arms were folded, the fetal position she'd assumed, and the slight reddening of her nose. And suddenly he knew the truth beyond any shred of doubt.

He sank onto the edge of the bed. She'd discovered she wasn't pregnant and thought it meant a fast end to their short marriage. That's why she hadn't told him, because she'd suspected he'd send her away. He sat there for a long time, struggling to understand the disappointment that ate at him. He didn't want more complications in his life, did he? And yet...

A soft knock sounded on the door and Chaz opened it, surprised to find Mojo standing there, holding an overloaded tray. “The little missy just picked at her dinner, so I thought I’d drop this off,” the cook explained with an abashed expression. “Maybe you can get her to eat something.”

It amazed Chaz to realize how quickly she’d found a place in the hearts of his men. But then, hadn’t he tumbled just as hard at their first meeting? “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised.

Taking the tray, he set it on the dresser and glanced at his wife. She looked frighteningly vulnerable, adrift in the center of their mattress. Perhaps he’d slip her into a nightgown. If she woke, he’d feed her as he had their first evening together. Only this time, he’d try not to make hercry.

For some strange reason, her tears worked him into an uproar, something he’d prefer to avoid, if at all possible. He opened one of the dresser drawers he’d cleared out for her use, intent on finding the briefest scrap of nightwear he couldfind.

The drawer was empty.

What the hell? One after another, he yanked them open, finding every last one bare. For a horrifying moment he thought she'd decided to leave him. That instead of telling him she wasn't pregnant, she'd just go. Fury grippedhim.

This was all Isabella's fault! She'd agreed to turn over his daughter and Shayne had taken that to mean he didn't need her anymore and packed her bags. Only one thing had kept her from disappearing into the night. She'd fallen asleep before she could make good her escape.

He crossed to the closet and ripped open the doors. Asingle dress hung there, but it was enough to loosen the fist like knot forming in his chest. And then he saw it. Shoved off to one side on the floor of the closet he found her suitcase. Bits and pieces of silken underclothes spilled haphazardly over the side and she’d draped a knit shirt on top. The clothes were in reasonable order, but something about the way they’d been pushed around told him they weren’t packed in anticipation of a hasty departure. Afrown pulled his eyebrows together as understanding slowly dawned.

She’d never unpacked.

For one full month she’d lived out of her suitcase and he’d never even noticed. His breath expelled in an audible hiss. He knew what it meant. She’d known practically from the start that she didn’t carry his child. This was her silent acceptance of the impermanence of their marriage.

Her unstated fatalism nearly brought him to his knees. She planned to leave. Not today. But sooner or later, she’d neaten those bits and pieces of silk and lace, zip up her case and he’d lose her, just as he had all those years ago. Only this time it would be permanent.

No. Noway.

He didn’t know when it had happened, but at some point in the past few weeks, he’d gone from wanting a swift end to his marriage, to wanting to keep her

He stared at the bed with hungry eyes. Maybe he could give a gentle hint, tell her without words how hefelt.

The idea appealed immensely. Removing the suitcase from the closet, he carried it to the ladder-back chair and set it on the seat. The sun had given way to dusk and he wouldn’t be able to see for much longer without switching on a light. But he didn’t want to wake Shayne until he’d finished.

Quietly, he opened the drawer to the nightstand table and removed the matches stocked there. Winter storms frequently knocked out the power and the first time he’d fumbled for a flashlight and found the batteries dead, he’d made a habit of keeping a hurricane lamp filled and ready. He lit the wick and turned it low. The soft glow barely kissed the small mound Shayne made in the middle of the bed. Satisfied that it wouldn’t disturb her, he turned his attention to the suitcase.

Yanking open the first dresser drawer, he loaded it with delicate scraps of temptation. He stood there for a full minute trying to decide whether he’d be considered perverted if he folded her female fripperies instead of leaving them in a jumbled heap of pastels. Gingerly, he sorted the pile, not quite folding, but carefully arranging the tiny scraps into sections based on usage.

That finished, he made short work of the rest, either stacking the articles of clothing into a drawer or hanging them in the closet, the decision based solely on its wrinkle-ability. At the very bottom of the suitcase, he found the mask she'd worn to the CinderellaBall.

The bells greeted him with happy, silvered voices. Lifting his Stetson off the top of the bedpost, he draped the mask there, slapping his hat on top. The combination of hat and beaded mask made him grin. Then he turned and eyed the suitcase, his amusement fading. He picked it up and crossed to the nearest window. Shoving up the sash, he sent the case hurtling out into the frigid night air, taking a perverse delight in his actions.

“Chaz?” Shayne lifted onto one elbow, blinking at him with huge sleepy eyes. “Was that my suitcase you just threw out the window?”

“Yup.” Supreme satisfaction edged his voice.

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