The Tycoon's Forced Bride

Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope and withdrew a half dozen photos. There were snapshots taken of the beach and sunset, another one of the tent, glowing with fresh flowers and candlelight, and then there were four of her, talking, laughing, smiling, and then just of one looking off towards the horizon, her expression thoughtful, perhaps a little wistful, but there was no pain in her features, no tension in her expression.

“You are this woman, Ava. Beautiful. Intelligent. Passionate. Proud. Funny. Regal. I could go on.” He tipped her chin, looked into her eyes. “And you are ours…you are important and necessary to our family. We need you.”

A lump filled her throat and she pulled away and glanced down at the photos she’d spread in a half circle on the table.

One wouldn’t know she’d been so badly hurt from looking at these photos. She could see what Colm saw. The thick, long hair, tumbling down her back. The wide expressive eyes. The curve of her generous mouth. The slim shoulder and the skin pale and creamy against the rich plum of the silk camisole.

On the outside was beautiful, but the external beauty hid her damaged mind. And it was damaged. Every day she woke up and had to discover herself again. Every day she had to come to terms with whom she was, and what she now was, and if it exhausted her, how could it not exhaust Colm? And how could it not eventually embarrass her son?

She didn’t want to cause Jack more pain. Hadn’t she hurt him enough already?

She tapped the shot of her curled up on the couch, staring out at the horizon.

“I don’t remember you taking these,” she said softly.

“It was near the end of the evening. You took a couple of me. And then we took one together. A selfie.”

“A selfie? How indulgent of us,” she teased if only to hide the pain. She would go through life and not remember it. She’d go through life and forget everything that made life life.

“We had fun last night.”

She struggled to smile, not wanting him to see the tears that were making her eyes sting and grow gritty. “I’ll have to trust you on that.”

“That’s why I took the pictures. I wanted you to have memories—”

“But I don’t remember. They are your memories, not mine.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and he seemed to be choosing his words with care. “You don’t remember anything of last night?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, working the tender skin over. “I had a massage and Genevieve did my hair and helped me dress.”

“Yes.”

“And I took the gondola down, to the beach.”

“Yes.”

“We ate there.” She nodded to the photo of the tent. She frowned as she stared at the pictures. “I don’t remember what we ate. I don’t remember what we talked about, either.”

“But you remember meeting me on the beach, and having dinner with me.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you remember how you felt?”

She hesitated a long moment. “I think I was happy. Maybe. I think I was also unhappy.” She nudged a photo, sliding it over another. “Did we fight?” she asked, looking up at him.

“No. Why?”

“Because I think…I feel…there was something…something that wasn’t happy.”

“We talked about the accident last night. We talked about us, and how we were before the accident, and the fight we had the night of the accident.”

He’d spoken calmly, casually but each word felt like a blow. She put a hand to her chest, rubbing at the knot of pain. “That’s why I was unhappy. We were fighting because you didn’t want Jack, and I did, and yet because I got hurt, you have Jack and I don’t, and we both feel guilty.”

?

??You’re remembering something that was years ago. That’s not who we are today. We’ve changed. We’re a family—”

“No.”

“We are, and instead of you relying on your notebook for everything, I’m going to start taking pictures and showing you pictures and showing you what you don’t see…that you’re loved and wanted, but even more so, you’re needed. I need you. Jack needs you—”

“Stop.”

“You might not remember everything, but you are still you. Interesting, complex, beautiful. A miracle. Even the doctors agree that you are a marvel of modern medicine. Which is why you’re here. I’m not going to allow you to give up.”

“I haven’t given up! Look at me—I’m working, teaching, living. But at the same time, I know my limitations. I have a routine, and I’ve created order and structure, and I stick with that order and structure. I don’t try to multitask anymore. I’m realistic. You need to be realistic, too.”

“You didn’t become a principal with the ballet by being realistic.”

“That was the past. We know I’m not that Ava anymore.”

“Life isn’t about sulking in shadows, playing it safe. We have to take risks. And in this case, it’s a risk absolutely worth taking.” His voice dropped, deepening, feathering up and down her spine the way his hands used to travel the length of her. “Jack’s worth it, Ava. You know he is.”

She gasped for a breath, heart tumbling.

Jack.

Jack was the best part of her. Gorgeous, gorgeous little boy, her miracle boy, the miracle she thanked God for every day. But at the same time, she had to protect him. She had to protect him from her. He could have died that day she abandoned him in his stroller. He could have been kidnapped, or murdered—

“Yes, bad things could have happened that day,” Colm interrupted, able to read her emotions. “But they didn’t. Security found him. I was able to get him. Everything turned out fine.”

“But it wasn’t fine,” she whispered, still horrified, still deeply ashamed of what she’d done that day, and of how incredibly stupid and irresponsible she’d been. She had many highs and lows in her life, but that moment had been by far the lowest.

She fought a wave of nausea, her coffee and croissant perhaps not the best breakfast after all, and gripped the edge of the table, determined to keep her stomach from upending.