The Lewis Legacy Series Box Set: 4-in-1 Special Edition Page 41

  She wasn’t blind to the way most other red-blooded, breathing women eyed her husband. It didn’t make her jealous, exactly. At least Marc seemed oblivious to it, or didn’t care, and he focused his attention on keeping her happy, her needs met. She didn’t deserve him, and all the thinking made her head hurt.

  Marc called to her after about fifteen minutes. “You coming?”

  “Be right there.” As she hung the ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron on the peg on the wall, she frowned. Even the apron’s message mocked her. Her feet dragged as she joined Marc in the family room, and she gave him a shaky semblance of a smile.

  “Come sit by me.” Patting the spot next to him on the sofa, he gave her an expectant grin. He looked so happy, and she hated to think she’d soon take away that optimism. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he’d understand she was doing it for him. For both of them. It wasn’t fair to Marc to keep up this pretense.

  She expected him to pick up the remote and start the movie, as he’d done before. They sat a couple of inches apart. Last week, he’d put his arm around her a few times, but it proved awkward. So, they sat like friends in a movie theater, both feet on the floor, not touching except for their fingers reaching into the bowl of popcorn at the same time. Maybe it was ridiculous, but it was all she could muster. Something must be wrong with her. She felt Marc’s disappointment in her bones, but it was all she could offer.

  I hate you, amnesia. You’ve stolen my life.

  ~~**~~

  From Marc’s perspective, things had been going well. Each day brought unique challenges, but also a step closer to reuniting with Natalie. He stole a glance. She looked so uncomfortable, her pretty mouth downturned as he pushed the remote and started the movie. Tucking her feet beneath her, she snuggled into the sofa cushions. Of course, she left a good space between them. He wanted nothing more than to kiss away her trepidation and carry her upstairs. Wanted her to let him love her again. But that was his way, not the way back to Natalie’s heart.

  Women needed more than the physical connection. It was one of the credos in advertising—touch the emotions of the female target market, and you’d have a winning campaign. But female emotions were difficult to manage at best. Growing up in a house with two women, he’d learned a few things about the way a woman thinks firsthand. Didn’t make it any easier.

  That’s also when he used to run away from a relationship—when the heart got involved, when a woman wanted more than he was willing to give. Always before, the inevitable closed-in feeling would suffocate him and he’d find a way out. His wife was the opposite—he’d pursued her relentlessly, couldn’t get enough of her. With any other woman, he’d have needed a prenuptial agreement. Even though his lawyers and financial advisors insisted—as did Natalie’s—it wasn’t a consideration.

  Now, in an ironic twist, Marc couldn’t touch his own wife. She’d withdraw and give him a look like he was doing something she didn’t want. She’d always been so passionate, and it was killing him. What a difference amnesia made. He only prayed it wasn’t God’s payback in some way, punishment for some past sin. He had enough of those. He wasn’t proud of his thoughts, but it’s the way it was.

  The glimmer of hope was the look in Natalie’s eyes: that undeniable look of the most basic, human attraction. It was something other than lust or desire. From her, it was more a longing. She’d been through so much, and he couldn’t imagine how confused she must feel. Granted, her hormones were probably also out-of-whack with the pregnancy.

  He treasured the few times she allowed him to hold her since getting home from the hospital. It chipped away at the protective hedge she’d erected around her emotions. He’d smooth her hair and assure her everything would be okay. He’d tell her how they’d work through it together, and dare to steal a few small kisses on her forehead, her cheek. Sleeping in the guest bedroom was a bad joke, but he’d gotten used to it since it was better than being in a bed with a woman who didn’t welcome his touch. “Natalie, what’s up? Tell me what’s on your mind. Something’s bothering you.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she turned to look at him more directly. “We need to talk.”

  Marc’s heart stopped. When a woman said that, it couldn’t mean anything good. “Just tell me straight out.”

  She looked petrified. Retrieving the remote, she reached for his hand and held on tight as if trying to derive strength from it. “Marc . . . I think I should move out.”

  His heart immediately dropped to a depth he didn’t think possible. Shaking his head, his eyes glazed. “No.” His voice was froggy, and he grunted.

  “No?”

  He released her hand. “Tell me why.” He flexed his fingers and his hands fell to his sides. Tiny lines formed around Natalie’s mouth and eyes. She wasn’t sleeping well and had taken to getting up in the middle of the night to read or get a cup of tea. Sometimes he’d join her if he was awake, and at other times he listened, not sleeping until she came back upstairs. She pushed food around on her plate like tonight, and ate very little. Her clothes hung on her, evidence of the several pounds she’d lost. She should be gaining weight, not the opposite.

  “It’s not fair to you to stay here and give you hope for something more than I’m capable of giving you right now.” She started to reach for his hand, but dropped it to her lap. “Please know this isn’t anything final. It’s not forever. Just until I get my bearings. We pass each other coming-and-going like polite strangers. We’re co-existing under the same roof, but it’s so awkward for both of us. I can’t bear the disappointment I see in your eyes. You work hard all the time and stay in town late a lot.” Her lovely eyes finally met his. “I know it’s because you’re afraid to come home.”

  He shook his head slowly. “It’s not fear.”

  “Then what is it?” Exasperation tinged her tone.

  He hated to answer that question. “Honestly? It’s dread.”

  She choked, her stare incredulous. “Dread? Of me?”

  “Of seeing that look in your eyes that tells me you don’t love me, don’t want me. It’s killing me a little bit every day. I’m trying . . .” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “I’m trying to show you in every possible way that I’m devoted to you and making this marriage work, but it’s hard to do when all I see is . . . indifference and . . . apathy.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not either of those things.” Her voice broke, and all over again, it made him want to pull her into his arms and hold her. But his hands remained at his sides. It’d be even worse if she pushed him away, especially now.

  “Oh, I understand more than you think, Natalie. Believe me.” His lips formed a thin line. He couldn’t lose his temper with her. It wasn’t her fault. Not really. He shook his head. Of course, it’s not.

  “You apparently knew the type of woman I was when you married me. Knew I was a strong Christian.”

  “I loved that about you, but you can’t tell me it wasn’t hard for both of us. Especially as we got closer to the wedding date.”

  She shook her head, the sadness in her eyes piercing through his heart and straight to his soul. “That’s just it. I don’t remember.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Right.” He felt like screaming or slamming something, but counted to ten under his breath, waiting until her eyes made a slow path upward to meet his again. “Trust me. Christians or not, it was a struggle, but we waited.” Lowering his voice, he captured her hands in his. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Natalie, and you were made for me in every conceivable way.” Conceivable. His shoulders dropped under the weight of it all. “I don’t know what else to do. This isn’t just about the physical aspect of marriage, you know.” With two fingers, he anchored her chin and tilted it toward him. “I miss my best friend.”

  “She’s right here.” Her voice sounded incredibly forlorn.

  It wasn’t the same, and she knew it. They sat and looked at one another for a prolonged moment. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything. I
feel helpless.” He felt like begging, and more or less, that’s what he was doing.

  “I don’t know either, and that’s the hardest thing of all. But I’ll be starting a new school year again soon.”

  What did that have to do with anything? Her fingers started their little dance on her lap. Grasping both her hands in his, Marc stilled them. He couldn’t bear to see it. God help him, it irritated him although that little idiosyncrasy sometimes made him smile under different circumstances.

  “Maybe getting back into the routine of school will be anchoring, give me a sense of normalcy. I’ll be able to focus on that part of my life, and I’m hoping it’ll provide some stability.”

  True enough. The saving grace was that she’d be starting fresh with a new group of students. It would have been more traumatic if her accident happened during the school year. Her kids would be crushed if she didn’t remember their names. It would crush her. So, there were some small blessings to be discovered in all this mess.

  “Marc, please understand I’m not doing this to hurt you, hurt us. If anything, I’m doing it to help us. If I can’t remember who I am, or our history together, how can I be the same person you married? I need to find that person.”

  Shaking his head, he wondered if he was being selfish or if she was being unfair and not giving them a chance. Could it be true in both circumstances? “I fail to see how your moving out of the house to ‘find yourself’ will help our situation, Natalie. If anything, it’ll probably drive the wedge further between us.” He withdrew his hands and stood up. “I’ll pack my things and move to the club downtown. I’m the one who should leave, not you.”

  “I talked with Kim and Monica, and they still have the house in Newton. I don’t remember it all, but I understand I lived with them after we graduated. While we were dating.” She raised her head and met his eyes. “You need to stay here, and I’ll move back in with them.”

  Nothing in his world made sense, but he didn’t have the heart to fight. “Fine. Whatever you want.” The muscles in his cheeks flexed like they had a life of their own. Turning aside, he couldn’t look in those beautiful eyes for fear they’d tell him what he wouldn’t want to see. He had to get away. Now. Before he said something he’d always regret. He left the room without another word.

  “Where are you going?” Coming into the kitchen behind him, Natalie’s eyes were wide, making her look as small and vulnerable as a child. “Please don’t leave me alone. Not tonight.”

  Marc snatched his lightweight jacket draped over a chair in the kitchen, thinking of the irony of that statement. He had to do this, had to be strong. “I can’t. Don’t wait up.”

  “Why?”

  Shoving his arms into his jacket, he closed his eyes for a second, but it couldn’t take away the hurt and pain in her voice. “Because it’s what you want. Be happy, Natalie. Just don’t ask me to help you move out. You’re on your own.”

  Chapter 7

  Venturing home well after midnight, Marc spied cardboard boxes stacked in the upstairs hallway. Afraid she’d already gone, he walked into the master bedroom. Dropping into the heirloom rocking chair made by his grandfather—the one he hoped to rock their baby in—he watched Natalie sleep. He alternated between praying and dozing. Part of him wished she’d awaken so they could talk, so he could convince her of the foolishness of her plan. But she slept soundly. While a good thing, he suspected the house would be a whole lot emptier later in the morning.

  Finally dragging himself to the adjacent guest bedroom in the middle of the night, he fell with exhaustion on the bed, fully-clothed except for his shoes. When he woke up a few hours later, Marc rubbed his eyes and stumbled out in the hall. The door of the master bedroom was wide open, the boxes in the hall gone, as he suspected. Sitting down on the end of the bed, he stared in disbelief at the half-empty closet, hoping it was all a nightmare and Natalie would come around the corner any minute.

  Saturday morning was always their favorite time of the week. They’d snuggle and enjoy being lazy together. Either she’d make pancakes or he’d fix microwave eggs and sausage, and feed each other in bed. Eventually they’d go for a run or a bike ride before settling into one of their many fix-it projects around the house. Marc shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, rising from the bed. He had to stop thinking about what he couldn’t share with his wife right now or else he’d succumb to a major pity party or go nuts.

  His head throbbed. Definitely a morning for some meds. Plodding down the servant’s staircase, he stopped halfway, on the curved stairs by the small picture window. A dark-haired, beefy hunk of a man stood in the middle of his kitchen, holding a cardboard box marked—ironically enough—Natalie’s Fall Clothes. Mr. Muscles stood in his house, holding a box full of his wife’s possessions.

  The thought made his stomach lurch, and Marc felt the surge of rising heat. What a way to wake up. Not only did he feel sick, he must be hallucinating. That’s the price he paid for ingesting two beers the night before. He hadn’t touched alcohol for two years of his own volition, and now he knew why. Drinking never solved any problems, and it was better to stay away altogether. Thank the Lord he’d made it home safe. Home. Right. He didn’t know which end was up anymore.

  He rubbed his eyes again and tried to focus. Maybe it was all a bad dream, and this guy was a figment of his overactive imagination. Nope. Still there. “Who are you?”

  A dark brow raised, a little too arrogant for his liking. “Roger Clemson.”

  “I mean, who are you to my wife?” He couldn’t bother being cordial. Natalie only talked about moving out the night before, and the troops had already invaded. She’d obviously planned this move in advance. It was no last-minute decision.

  Natalie bounded in the side door, way too perky and happy. “Morning, Marc.” It was like the heart-wrenching conversation the night before never happened. “I made coffee, and your breakfast is in the microwave.”

  She looked fetching, as usual, on a Saturday morning—in her well-worn Wellesley sweatshirt, jeans and tennis shoes, her hair scooped into a high ponytail. A sudden, sharp pain seized his chest, especially when Roger looked her way. It was no I like you in a sisterly kind of way platonic glance. Was this some ex-boyfriend of hers ready to swoop in and take his place? He prayed under his breath he wouldn’t have a heart attack with some strange guy standing in his kitchen. A heart attack at thirty-two was bad enough, but the speculation would be rampant with this little scenario.

  Roger shifted the box in his arms and avoided his direct glare. Marc cleared his throat and lowered his voice, keeping it just loud enough for Hunk-O-Man to hear. “Tell Roger to leave, Natalie. Now.”

  Drawing in a sharp breath, she moved to the base of the staircase. “That’s not nice.” Her voice was low, but controlled. “You told me last night you wouldn’t help me move, so what’s a girl to do?” Her stare was bold, those rosebud lips pressed together in a defiant line. Oh, yes, she was yanking his strings. Hard.

  “I don’t care,” he growled. “If anyone’s going to help you move, it’s going to be your husband. Excuse me, Roger,” he called, elevating his voice, “please be so kind as to get out of my house.” After only a moment’s hesitation, the man ducked his head without a word and scurried out of the kitchen. Marc gave her a smug, self-satisfied grin, guaranteed to irritate her even more. “Better?”

  Natalie crossed her arms and one foot tapped. “I hate to tell you this, husband, but there’s another guy outside loading my car full of more boxes.”

  Her boxes couldn’t be that heavy, and it wasn’t like she was taking pieces of furniture requiring much muscle. All Roger carried was a box of clothes. Bulky, yes, but how heavy could it be? “What happened to your girlfriends? They’re not available to help you move out of my life, our house . . . my heart?” He couldn’t resist that last one. Twist the knife a little deeper. Again, he wanted to hurt her the way she’d wounded him with all this crazy, moving out business. A long-forgotten curse slipped ou
t under his breath.

  “What did you say?” Saint Natalie looked appalled.

  Marc snapped his head back to meet her angry gaze head-on. “You heard me. Thanks, sweetheart. You’re making this ridiculous moving out scene a whole lot easier.” First drinking, and now cursing. Not to mention acting like a world-class jerk around the woman he loved.

  “For the record, my roommates have a retreat this morning. They’re going to help me unpack this afternoon.”

  “Well, I’m sure Roger what’s-his-name is more than happy to help you move. And in case you didn’t hear, I just offered to help, but it seems my offer comes a little too late. Who is he?” He crossed his arms and waited. Surely this guy wasn’t waiting in the wings for his wife to cry on that big, broad shoulder. He knew all about vulnerable women since he’d consoled a few in his lifetime. That thought sent him reeling. Guys would line up to take advantage of Natalie. Even if she wasn’t vulnerable, she could be naïve. Marc reached for the kitchen counter and gripped it hard. Roger Harvard—Princeton, Clemson, whatever his name was—wanted to be her rebound guy. Over his dead body. Natalie was his wife, and that’s the way it was going to stay. “Don’t even tell me you’re already going out with him.” If that was the case, she might as well drive the stake in his heart, hammer it home and call it a marriage.

  Natalie’s eyes grew wide and her frown deepened. “Have you lost your mind? Especially after our conversation last night, I can’t believe you’d think I’d go out and latch onto the first man I see. If it makes your ego feel any better, I can’t even remember any of my previous boyfriends.” She had the audacity to flash her diamond and wedding band in his face. “Besides, need I remind you, of all people, I’m a married woman?”