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Where had the traces of herself gone?
The sense of being watched pulled her back into the room, where she found her husband standing by the four-poster bed with a tray of food. He wore a T-shirt and jeans now, the pants low slung on his hips as if he’d lost weight recently. Perhaps he’d been worried sick about her and Thomas. She tried to imagine what the past month had been like for him, but came up empty. It was hard enough for her to grasp her own situation, let alone empathize with his when she didn’t know him beyond what the past week had shown her. But all of those interactions had been in the hospital with its sterile environment and lack of privacy. The four and a half years they’d supposedly known each other were wiped clean from her mind. Not so much as a whisper of a memory.
“I thought you might be hungry. There wasn’t much of a chance to eat with the trip home, settling Thomas and my mother’s surprise arrival.” He set the tray on a coffee table in front of the sofa at the foot of their bed. His thick muscled arms flexed, straining against the sleeves of the cotton tee. She tried not to notice, but then felt slightly absurd. He was her husband and yet a stranger all at once.
“That’s thoughtful, thank you.” She watched him pour the tea, the scent of warm apples and cinnamon wafting upward. “Between a night nanny for the baby and a full-time cook-maid, I’m not sure what I’m going to do to keep myself occupied.”
“You’ve been through a lot. You need your sleep so you can fully recover. I’m here, too. He’s my child.”
“Our child.”
“Right.” Porter’s eyes held hers as he passed over the china cup of tea with a cookie tucked on the saucer. “He needs you to be well. We both do.”
The warmth of the cup and his words seeped into her and she asked softly, “Where are you planning to sleep?”
He studied her for a slow, sexy blink before responding, “We discussed that in the car.”
“Did we?” She wasn’t certain about anything right now.
“We did.” He sat on the camelback sofa, the four-poster bed big and empty behind him as he cradled a cup of tea for himself in one hand. “But just to be clear, nothing will happen until you’re ready. You’re recovering on more than one level. I understand that and I respect that. I respect you.”
His sensitivity touched her. She should be relieved.
She was relieved.
And yet she was also irritated. She couldn’t help but notice he still hadn’t said he loved her, that he wanted her. He wasn’t pushing the physical connection that obviously still hummed between them. Was he giving her space? Was he holding back because she couldn’t possibly love a man she didn’t know? She kept hoping for some kind of wave of love at first sight. But they were fast approaching more than a few hundred sights and still that wave hadn’t hit.
Attraction? Yes. Intrigue? Definitely. But she was also very overwhelmed and still afraid of what those memories might hold. She wasn’t able to shake the sense that she couldn’t fully trust him. If only he would say the right words to reassure her and calm the nerves in the pit of her belly.
She looked around the room, everything so pristine and new looking, a beach decor of sea-foam greens, tans and white. More of the matched set style that, while tasteful, didn’t reflect her preferences in the least. “How often did we come here?”
“I have a work office in the house. So whenever we needed to.”
She set aside the tea untouched. “You’re so good at avoiding answering my questions with solid information.”
A flicker of something—frustration?—flexed his jaw. “We spent holidays here and you spent most of your summers here.”
“Then how do I not have any friends in this area?” Where were the casseroles? The welcome home cookies? Or did the überwealthy with maids and night nannies not do that for each other?
“Many people around here are vacationers. Sometimes we invited friends or business acquaintances to stay with us, but they’re back home in Tallahassee or at their own holiday vacation houses. We also traveled quite a bit, depending on my work projects.”
“So I just followed you around from construction job to job?”
“You make that sound passive. You’re anything but that. You worked on your master’s degree in art history for two years. One of your professors had connections in the consulting world and our travels enabled you to freelance, assisting museums and private individuals in artwork purchases. You did most from a distance and we flew in for the event proper when artwork arrived.”
That was the most he’d said to her at once since she’d woken from her coma. And also very revealing words. “We sound attached at the hip.”
He rested his elbows on his knees, staring into his empty teacup. “We were trying to make a baby.”
His quiet explanation took the wind right out of her sails. She’d guessed as much since they were adopting and had no other children, but hearing him say it, hearing that hint of pain in his words, made her wonder how much disappointment and grief they’d shared over the years while waiting for their son. Then to have that joy taken from them both because she couldn’t remember even the huge landmarks in their relationship that should be ingrained in her mind—when she’d met him, their first kiss, the first time they’d made love...
“And starting our family didn’t work the way we planned.”
He looked up at her again. “In case you’re wondering, the doctors pinpointed it to a number of reasons, part me, part you, neither issue insurmountable on its own, but combined...” He shrugged. “No treatment worked for us, so we decided to adopt.”
Thomas. Their child. Her mind filled with the sweet image of his chubby cheeks and dusting of blond hair. “I’m glad we did.”
“Me, too,” he said with unmistakable love.
The emotion in his voice drew her in as nothing else could have. She sat beside Porter, their shoulders brushing. It was almost comfortable. Or did she want it to be that way? So many emotions tapped at her, dancing in her veins. “He’s so beautiful. I hate that I don’t remember the first instant I laid eyes on him, the moment I became his mother.”
“You cried when the social worker at the hospital placed him in your arms. I’m not ashamed to say I did, too.”
Oh, God, this man who’d not once mentioned love could make a serious dent in her heart with only a few words. It was enough to make her want to try harder to fit into this life she didn’t remember. To be more patient and let the answers come.
She touched his elbow lightly, wanting the feel of him to be familiar, wanting more than chemistry to connect them. “This isn’t the way Christmas was supposed to be for us.”
“There was no way to foresee the accident.” He placed his hand over hers, the calluses rasping against her skin, another dichotomy in this man who could pay others to do anything for him yet still chose to roll up his sleeves.
“I never did ask how it happened. There have been so many questions I keep realizing I’ve forgotten to ask the obvious ones.”
“We picked up Thomas at the hospital. Since it was so close to our beach house, we considered staying here for the night, but instead opted to drive back home to Tallahassee. A half an hour later, a drunk driver hit us head-on.”
“We wanted our son in our own house, in his nursery.”
“Something like that.”
“What does his nursery look like at our house in Tallahassee?”
“The same as here, countryside with farm animals. You said you wanted Thomas to feel at home wherever he went. Even his travel crib is the same pattern. You even painted the same mural on the wall here.”
She remembered admiring the artwork when she’d laid the baby in his crib, enjoying the quiet farm scene with grazing cows and a full blue moon.
“I painted it?” Finally, something of herself in this house of theirs. Her eyes filled with tears. Such a simple thing. A mural for their son in their two homes—or did they have more?—and yet she couldn’t remember painting the pastoral scene. She couldn’t remember the shared joy over planning for their first child, or the shared tears.
And right now she was seconds away from shedding more tears all over the comfort of Porter’s broad chest.
When would she feel she belonged in this life?
Three (#ua6f07b32-bd1d-5b7d-b03a-32b3c2e9b10a)
Porter woke from a restless sleep. He would have blamed it on staying in the guest room, but he’d bunked here more than once as his marriage frayed. He knew that wasn’t the reason he couldn’t sleep. Sitting up with the sheets tangled around his waist, he listened closer and heard it again. Someone was awake.
The baby?
He swept the bedding away and tugged on a pair of sweatpants. Even having a night nanny, he couldn’t turn off the parenting switch. Over the past few weeks, the accident and time in the hospital had kept him on high alert, fearing the worst 24/7.
A few steps later, he’d padded to the nursery, determined to relieve the night nanny and watch Thomas himself. He’d worked with minimum sleep before. Actually, this past month had made him quite good at operating on only a few hours of rest. He was still so glad his son was okay that being with him was reassuring, even in the middle of the night. Those quiet hours also offered the uninterrupted chance to connect with his child.
Stepping into the doorway, he stopped short. Instead of the matronly granny figure he’d hired to help out, he found his wife feeding their son a bottle in a rocker by the crib.
“Hey, little man,” she said softly, propping the bottle on her arm, “I’m your mommy. Forever. And I do want to be your mother. Who wouldn’t love that precious face of yours? I wish we could have had the past month together, but that wasn’t my choice.”
Alaina took his breath away.
Though her pale pink T-shirt was crumpled from sleep, it still hinted at the shape of her curves and the matching pale, striped shorts exposed her beautiful legs.
But Porter couldn’t see her face. Like any new mother, she was focused, homed in on her child. Her head was tilted down toward Thomas, blond hair spilling over her right cheek and shoulder.
She was beautiful and the warmth of her love for Thomas pulled at him. For the first time since she had woken up from the coma, she looked at ease. She looked almost happy. If he were being honest with himself, it was the first time she had looked truly happy in months.
A pang of guilt welled in his chest. Porter wanted to do anything—give anything—for her to stay like that. For her to be happy with him again. And she deserved it. Relationships hadn’t always been kind to her.
When they’d first started dating four and a half years ago, she had recently left an emotionally abusive boyfriend. He had controlled all aspects of her life, telling her who she could and couldn’t see. He’d shown up to check in on her. Slowly isolating her so she would have no one to turn to for help.
That was one of the reasons she didn’t have friends around to help now. She’d told him it had been hard to make friends after that experience. Possibly that was why she was struggling so much to trust him now.
He couldn’t blame her for feeling that way.
Five years ago, she’d tried to take charge of her life when she’d left the boyfriend. But the abuse hadn’t stopped. He’d stalked her. Only the restraining order had given Alaina her life back.
And even after all she’d been through, Porter admired the hell out of that. Her capacity to still love, to still believe in people. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her.
And tonight, he saw that spirit, that beautiful resilient spirit fill the room. A pang of guilt flooded him for not telling her about their marital struggles, but damn it, he couldn’t shake the sense he would lose her altogether if he did that. He would do whatever it took to get his family back. He would make sure she had no wants or desires not satisfied.
How had it taken such a terrible accident for him to appreciate how important his family was to him? Shouldn’t he have realized all of this on his own, without the fear of almost losing this chance to have a family he of his own?
She must have felt his eyes on her, because she abruptly looked up and met his stare, and the relaxed expression on her face faded. “Porter?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “What good is a night nanny if you don’t let her work?”
“I’ve already missed out on a month of his life. I want him to bond with me.”
“You shouldn’t push yourself.”
“I’m an adult. I know my limits,” she said with a tight, bristly tone. Thomas squirmed and whined. She brought him to her shoulder like a natural, patting his back and tapping the rocking chair into motion. “Do you?”
He chuckled drily. “Now that sounds like the wife I remember. Yes, I’m a workaholic.” He gave her a sideways smile. “But you taught me to slow down and admire art.”
“That’s a nice thing to say.” She patted Thomas’s back faster, and still he fussed and squirmed, kicking his casted foot.
“Here, pass him to me.” Porter walked deeper into the room, his arms outstretched.
Hurt and irritation flashed in her blue eyes, but she handed over the baby, anyway. “Sure. I want him to be comfortable.”
“Alaina,” he said, taking the baby and cradling him like a football, while massaging his little leg above the cast, “you aren’t expected to know everything any more than I am. We’re a team here and together we’ll get it all covered.”
She nodded once, shoving up from the rocker. “I know. It’s just difficult feeling like I bring so little to the table right now.”
“You told me once that marriage isn’t always fifty-fifty. The pendulum swings back and forth.” His mind drifted back to when she’d spoken those words.
She’d been so angry. He’d come home with a cast on his wrist, fresh out of the emergency room because he’d fallen off a scaffold while inspecting a work site. He’d broken his wrist, but he hadn’t wanted to worry her. She’d made it clear she should have been called and included, allowed to help him and drive him home. She’d wanted to tend him and he’d wanted to get to change clothes to go back to work...
He damn well wouldn’t let his job interfere with repairing his family now.
Porter felt Thomas drift off to sleep again, his body relaxing. Later he would tell Alaina the baby hadn’t been hungry. His leg had been aching from the weight of the cast and the surgery. Alaina felt insecure enough right now. “Let’s pass over the nursery monitor to the woman paid to stay awake.”
“Sure, but I’m not tired. Maybe it has something to do with that month-long nap I took.”
He stifled a laugh to keep from waking the baby, glad that she could joke about their ordeal. He set Thomas in his crib again, stroking the baby’s head for a few seconds before turning the monitor back on. Porter nodded to the door and walked into the hall. The night nanny, Mrs. Marks, poked her head out of her bedroom, waved with her puzzle book and ducked into the nursery.
Porter held out a hand to his wife. “Want to see the beach view from the balcony? It was too foggy at supper time to enjoy much. The Christmas lights along the yachts will be more visible now.”
“Yachts?”
He winced. From the beginning, she hadn’t been comfortable with some parts of their wealthy lifestyle. She’d grown up with hardworking parents who ran a beach food cart in North Carolina’s Outer Banks. Their business had paid the bills, but hadn’t provided much in the way of extras. What would she say when he told her one of those yachts anchored off the shore was theirs?
“Forget it. You should rest even if you can’t sleep.”
“I can make decisions for myself,” she said with blue fire in her eyes. “Show me the lights.”
“Right this way,” he said, once again extending his hand to her. Gingerly, she took it, but her grip was loose, as if she was ready to tear away from him at any moment.
Porter led them down the stairs, guided by the muted twinkle of Christmas lights that were twined with garland and wrapped around the banister.
There was an audible silence that followed them, but Porter tried to focus on the fact that she had chosen to come with him instead of retreating to the privacy of her room. It was a good sign.
They reached the stairway landing where the sleek black baby grand piano stood beneath one of Porter’s favorite portraits: Alaina in her wedding gown. Her hair had been curled in loose waves that framed her face and the lace wedding gown accentuated her slender figure. She had looked like a princess that day. And it was Porter’s renewed intention to make sure he treated her like royalty so she would want to stay once her memory came back. So the good now would overshadow the bad then. That she could forgive and move forward with him and Thomas, building a future.
And if her memory didn’t return? He still needed to convince her to stay and build that life with him and their son. Family was everything and he refused to lose his.
Alaina squeezed his hand as they passed in front of the portrait. He watched her gaze lock on the photograph. She didn’t say anything for several minutes, and he didn’t push her as they strode out onto the patio that overlooked the Atlantic.
Rebuilding his family was a game of growing trust. And she deserved to raise questions without him dumping information on her. He wanted to give her the space she needed to realize she belonged here.
“Tell me about our wedding.” The words came out almost like a prayer. Soft. Earnest.
“There’s a photo album around the house somewhere. And plenty of extra pictures on the computer.”
“But here’s the bridal portrait, and it doesn’t tell me anything. Not really. I feel a disconnect with the person in the pictures you’ve already shown me. Maybe if you tell me, then I will recognize the emotions of the moment.”
“Maybe?” His heart hammered.
“Men don’t get all emotional about weddings.”
He considered her for a moment. She dropped his hand and moved to the piano bench. She sat with her back against the keys, eyes fixed across the room and on the ocean. The Christmas lights from the yachts illuminated the edges of her face, framing her in an otherworldly glow. Damn. She was gorgeous, even when she was stormy. He wanted her in his bed now as much as he ever had. But he wanted to put his family back together even more, and he had to remain focused on the end goal.
Quietly he offered, “I was happy the day we married.”
