It was heaven in a coffee cup. The warmth from the soup traveled all the way down to her stomach and settled there comfortably.
“Good?” he asked as he edged his way onto the bed beside her.
“Wonderful.”
He watched as she downed a significant amount of the soup and then he took her medicine bottle from the nightstand and shook out another pill.
“Here. Take this. Once you’re finished you can lie down and hopefully sleep until morning. I’ll wake you up in time to catch the flight. Don’t worry about your things. I’ll lay out something for you to wear on the plane and I’ll pack everything else and have it all ready to go. All you’ll have to do is get dressed and head out to the car when it’s time.”
Even though she was still devastated and angry, she couldn’t be so much of a bitch not to recognize or acknowledge that he was taking absolute care of her.
She leaned back against the pillows, cup in hand, and glanced his way.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
A flash of pain entered his eyes. “I know you don’t believe this right now, but maybe in time you will, Ash. I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted this to happen. I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world.”
She swallowed and brought the rim of the cup back to her lips. There wasn’t much she could say to that. She did believe that he wasn’t malicious. If she hadn’t discovered the truth on her own, maybe he would have never told her. She was quite certain he wouldn’t have. Maybe he thought he was doing her a favor by keeping it from her.
He pulled the mug away and then cupped her chin and gently turned her until she looked back at him.
“You’ll see, Ash. We’ll make this work.”
She nodded as she lowered the mug the rest of the way down to the tray in front of her.
“I’ll try, Devon. I’ll try.”
He leaned toward her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you in the morning.”
Twelve
The next morning was a total blur for Ashley. Devon gently woke her and after ascertaining that her headache wasn’t better, he arranged a light breakfast, hovered over her while she ate and then all but dressed her and whisked her into a waiting car.
They drove to the airport and once on the plane, he settled her into her seat and gave her another pill. He propped a pillow behind her head, put a blanket over her and then made sure every single window was shut around her.
She drifted into blissful unawareness as the airplane left the island and traveled back to the cold of New York City.
When they landed, once again Devon ushered her into a waiting car, taking the blanket and pillow with them so she was comfortable in the backseat. She dozed with her head on his shoulder until they reached his apartment and then he gently shook her awake.
“We’re home, Ash. Wait inside the car while I get out. I’ll help you inside.”
Home. She blinked as the looming building floated into her vision through the fogged window of the car. A cold rush of air blew over her as Devon stepped out. He spoke a moment with the doorman and then he reached back in to help her out.
“Careful,” he cautioned as she stepped onto the curb.
He wrapped an arm around her and guided her to the door the doorman held open for them. Once inside, he didn’t loosen his hold. He kept her close all the way up in the elevator until they reached his apartment. Their apartment. It was hard to keep that distinction in her mind.
Their home was already cluttered with her things. She’d moved completely in before the wedding. Devon had suggested having a cleaning lady come in which said to her that he didn’t appreciate the somewhat careless way she kept her stuff. She sighed. One more thing she’d have to work on.
When they entered the bedroom, Devon pulled out one of his workout T-shirts and tossed it onto the bed. “Why don’t you get out of your travel clothes and into something more comfortable. I’ll wake you for dinner so you eat something.”
“I’d rather just lie down on the couch,” she said, reaching for the T-shirt.
His expression darkened and for a moment she couldn’t imagine what she’d done to draw his disapproval. Then it struck her that he assumed she wouldn’t be sleeping in his—their—bed.
It wasn’t something she’d given any consideration. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. In her mind, if she was staying and making an effort to make their marriage work, she just naturally assumed they’d still sleep together.
Perhaps it wasn’t something she should assume at all. She sank onto the edge of the bed, still foggy and loopy from the medication. She rubbed wearily at her eyes before focusing back on him.
“I only meant that when I have a headache, sometimes I’m more comfortable propped on the couch so I’m not lying flat. However, it does bring up a point that I hadn’t considered. I assumed that we’d continue to…” She swallowed, suddenly feeling vulnerable and extremely unsure of herself. “That is, I just thought we’d continue to sleep together. I have no idea if that’s something you want.”
Devon stalked over, bent down and placed his hands on either sides of her legs so that he was on eye level with her.
“You’ll be in my bed every night. Whether we’re having sex or not, you’ll be next to me, in my arms.”
“Well, okay then,” she murmured.
He rose and took a step back. “Now, if you’re more comfortable on the couch, change into my shirt and I’ll get you pillows and a blanket for the couch.”
She nodded and sat there watching him as he walked away. She glanced around the room—to all her stuff placed haphazardly here and there—and sighed. When she got rid of this headache, she’d whip the apartment into shape. She’d been away from the shelter more days than she’d ever been away before but the animals were in good hands and they’d be fine while she got the rest of her life in order.
Devon would no doubt be back to work in the morning, which meant she’d have plenty of time alone to figure out things. She wrinkled her nose. Being alone sucked. She was always surrounded by people. In her family she didn’t have to look far if she wanted company. There was always someone to hang out with. And aside from her family, her circle of friends was always available even if for a gab session.
But what was she supposed to talk to them about now? How wonderful her marriage was? Her husband? The aborted honeymoon?
Her head was too fuzzy to even contemplate the intricacies of her relationships right this second. She reached for the T-shirt, shed her own clothes and crawled into Devon’s shirt.
She started to leave her clothes just where they’d dropped on the floor, but she stopped to pick them up and then deposited them into the laundry basket in the bathroom. It was technically Devon’s basket and he might not want her mixing her clothes with his, but she didn’t have a designated place of her own yet. One more thing for the to-do list.
She trudged out to the living room to see that Devon had arranged several pillows and put out a blanket for her. As she started across the floor, Devon appeared from the kitchen. She crawled onto the couch and burrowed into all of the pillows while Devon pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. Then he perched on the edge close to her head.
“Are you feeling any better yet?”
She nodded. “Head doesn’t hurt as bad. A few more hours and it should be fine. Just fuzzy from all the medication. I’ve never had to take three in a row like that.”
He frowned as if he realized the significance of her having the worst headache of her life after their confrontation.
“Rest for a few hours then. I’ll check on you in a bit and see if you’re up for some dinner. I thought we’d eat in, of course. I can order anything you like or if you prefer, I can make something here.”
She nodded.
“I have some calls to make. I’ll let your family know we’re back and why. You just concentrate on feeling better.”
Her ey
es widened in alarm. “What are you going to tell them?”
He frowned again. “I’m only going to tell them that you came down with a severe headache and that we thought you’d feel better if you were back in your own home.”
She sagged in relief and the knot in her stomach loosened. “They’ll want to come right over, or at least Mom will. Tell her not to bother, please. Let her know I’ll call her soon.”
“Of course. Now get some rest. I’ll sort out dinner later.”
He kissed her forehead, pulled the covers up to her chin and then quietly walked away, flipping off all the lights. She heard the door to his office close and she lay there alone in the darkness.
It wasn’t anything she hadn’t experienced before. In the evenings when Dev got home from work, he often sequestered himself in his office for a time while she watched TV or ordered in their dinner. But she hadn’t felt so alone then. Because she’d known he was just in the next room and that in theory she could walk in there at any time. Only now it was as if a gulf had opened between them and he may as well be on the other side of the moon. She didn’t feel as though she had the right to interrupt him.
She lay there as the haze slowly began to wear off. She braced herself for the inevitable onslaught of pain, but there was only a dull ache that signaled the aftereffects of a much worse headache than she’d experienced in at least two years.
For that matter, she hadn’t been forced to take the pain medication prescribed for her headaches in months. Emotional stress, the doctor had said, was a trigger for her. The last time she’d battled frequent headaches had been when her mom and dad had briefly separated and she’d feared an eventual divorce.
It was the very last thing she or any of their family had ever imagined because it was so obvious her parents loved each other. The separation hadn’t lasted long. Whatever their issues had been, they’d worked through them quickly and her dad had moved back into the apartment with her mom and they’d gone back to being the loving couple that Ashley had always witnessed.
But for the entire period of their separation, Ashley had been deeply unhappy and stressed and she’d battled headaches on a weekly basis. The doctor had counseled her on coming up with more effective ways to manage stress but Ashley had laughed. Now she realized she was as guilty as Devon had accused her of being when it came to wearing her feelings on her shoulder. She absorbed too much of the world around her and it affected her. That wasn’t something she could change, could she?
She sighed. If she had any hope of not spending the next year in bed knocked out on medication, she was going to have to harden herself. She couldn’t go around being a veritable sponge and reacting so emotionally to everything.
Her husband didn’t love her? So what. She’d have to find a way to be happy. As Grammy always said, you make your nest now lie in it. Well, Ashley had certainly made the biggest, messiest nest of a marriage and now it was hers to wallow in.
As the medication wore off, she found it impossible to sleep. Her mind was buzzing with a mental list of everything she needed to do. Or not do. The list of things not to do was every bit as long as the list of things that needed to be done.
Learn to cook. That one popped uninvited into her head. She frowned because how did one simply learn to cook? Even Devon possessed rudimentary know-how in the kitchen. He could prepare simple dishes. She wasn’t even sure she could boil water if necessary.
Okay that one should be simple enough. Pippa was a first-rate cook and it wouldn’t be strange that Ashley would want to learn to cook a fabulous meal for her new husband. She could say she wanted to surprise him with a romantic meal for two.
And cooking shows. There was an entire television network devoted to cooking. Surely there was something she could watch there that would help.
Cleaning. Okay, she knew how to clean. She just didn’t possess the organization skills to do it well. But she could muddle her way through it. It simply required discipline and less of a scatterbrain mentality.
She had to curb her tongue and her reactions. That should be simple enough. Smile and nod instead of shriek and wave her hands. Her mother was an expert at all the social graces but then she’d had to be with all the business functions she’d arranged and managed for her husband.
Ashley could certainly draw on the resources around her. She’d never particularly had a desire to be more like her family. She hadn’t really considered that she was so different. She hadn’t thought much about how she compared. Why would she? But they could help her. She just had to make sure she employed their help in a way that didn’t give away the true reason for her transformation.
The door to Devon’s office opened and he stepped out, looked her way and then started toward her.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked. “Do you need anything?”
She shook her head and pulled the blanket closer to her chin. “I’m fine. Just getting comfortable.”
He took a seat in the armchair across from the couch. Their gazes connected but she didn’t look away, as tempted as she was. She couldn’t keep avoiding him, no matter how desirable the prospect was.
It was hard for her because humiliation crept up her spine every time she had to face him, but eventually that would go away or she’d harden enough that it would no longer affect her. Or at least she hoped so.
“I spoke to your parents. Your mother is naturally concerned for you. She’d like you to call her when you’re feeling up to it. Your father wants to see me in the morning, so if you’re okay by then, I’ll be out for a few hours.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said softly. “Headache’s gone. No reason for you to stay home and babysit me.”
“If you need anything at all or if you begin to feel bad again, call me. I’ll come home.”
Hell would freeze over before she’d ever call him at work again, not that she’d tell him that. She nodded instead and sighed unhappily. So this is what her marriage boiled down to. A stilted, awkward conversation between two people who were clearly uncomfortable in each other’s presence.
“Do you think you could eat something now?” Devon asked, breaking the strained silence. “What would you like?”
Deciding to take the olive branch, or perhaps create an olive branch out of a dinner offer, she shifted and pushed herself up so that her back was against the arm of the couch.
“You could cook, if you don’t mind. I could sit at the bar and watch.”
He looked surprised by her suggestion, but his surprise was quickly replaced by relief. He looked almost hopeful.
“That would be nice. Are you sure you’re up for the noise and the light?”
Again she nodded. She hadn’t talked this little since she’d been a nonverbal toddler. Her parents always swore that because she was late to talk she’d spent the rest of her life making up for lost time.
He stood and held down his hand to her. “Come on then. Bring the blanket with you if you’re cold. You can sit on one of the bar stools and wrap it around you.”
Hesitating only a brief moment, she slid her hand over his, enjoying the warmth of his touch. He curled his fingers around her wrist and helped her from the couch.
She stood up beside him but he waited a moment for her to get her footing.
“Okay?” he asked. “Fuzziness gone yet? I don’t want you falling.”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t relinquish her hand as he started toward the kitchen. He guided her toward one of the stools and settled her down. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and tucked the ends underneath her arms.
“What’s your pleasure tonight?”
He walked around to open the refrigerator, surveyed the contents and then glanced back at her.
It was probably another sign of her shortcomings that she had no idea what was or wasn’t in the fridge. Heat singed her cheeks and she dropped her gaze. Tomorrow she’d take inventory. After she cleaned the house.
“A
sh?”
She yanked her gaze back up. “Uh, I don’t care. Honestly. I’ll eat whatever.”
“Oh, good. I’ve been dying to cook this cow’s tongue before it goes bad.”
She blinked for a moment before she realized he was teasing her. The memory of the night he’d first made love to her came back in a flash. The dinner they’d had when he’d asked her if she was a vegetarian.
Unbidden, a smile curved her lips. He smiled back at her, relief lightening his eyes.
“No?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No cow’s tongue. But I’d eat his flank. Or his tuchus even.”
“So you’ll eat cow’s ass but not his tongue,” Devon said in mock exasperation.
Her smile grew a bit bigger and she leaned forward on the counter, resting her chin in her palm. This pretending felt nice. Who said denial was a bad thing?
If she could effectively put out of her mind the whole debacle that had been her honeymoon and take some time to work on her shortcomings, maybe at some point the pretense could become real. He could love her. He was committed to their marriage. It was a step. He was attentive, caring and he obviously hated to see her hurting. Those weren’t the characteristics of a man who loathed her. So if he didn’t hate her, and he seemed to like her well enough even if she annoyed him, then eventually, possibly, he could love her.
It was a hope she clung to because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. He didn’t want a divorce, but she couldn’t remain married to a man who could never love her. If she lost hope that he’d never reciprocate her feelings, it would signal the end of their marriage whether he wished it or not.
Devon tossed a package onto the counter and then returned to the fridge, where he pulled out an onion, what looked like bell peppers in assorted colors and a box of mushrooms.
“How about I do stir-fry? It’s quick and easy and pretty damn good if I do say so myself.”
“Sounds yummy.”
She watched him in silence and soon the sizzle of searing meat filled the room. While the meat cooked, he sliced the vegetables. He stopped to give the meat a brisk stirring and then returned to the cutting board.
She decided he looked good in the kitchen. Sleeves rolled up, top button undone, his brow creased in concentration. He was efficient, but then he seemed efficient at everything he did. She wondered if there was anything he wasn’t accomplished at. Was he one of those people who could pick up anything and do it well?
“Name one thing you suck at,” she blurted out.
Then she promptly groaned inwardly because this was precisely what she wasn’t supposed to be doing. She had to demonstrate more…control. More decorum. Or at least stop blurting out her first reaction to everything.
He glanced up, his brows drawn together as if he wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly. “Say that again?”
She shook her head. No way. “It was stupid. Just forget it.”
He put down the knife, glanced over at the skillet and then returned his gaze to her. “Why would you want to know something I suck at?”
She closed her eyes and wished the floor would just open up and swallow her. So much for her campaign to become less…everything on his complaint list about her.
“Ash? Come on. Don’t leave me hanging here.”
She sighed. “Look, it was a stupid question. It’s just that you seem like one of these people who is good at everything. You know, a person who can pick up something and just do it and do it well. I just wanted to know one thing you suck at. Gives hope to us mere mortals.”
He shrugged. “I suck at lots of things. I’m definitely not one of those people who is good at everything. I’ve had to work hard for everything I’ve earned.”
This was going from bad to worse. “It didn’t come out right, Dev, okay? Can we just forget it? I wasn’t insinuating that you haven’t worked hard. I think it’s evident that you’ve worked for everything you have. That wasn’t what I meant at all. Sorry.”
She pushed her hand into her hair and focused her stare down at the countertop. Running out of the room seemed overly dramatic even if it was what she wanted more than anything.
“Then what did you mean?”
There wasn’t any anger or irritation in his voice. Just simple, casual curiosity. She chanced a peek back up at him to gauge his expression.
“Well, like cooking. You seem good at that. I just wanted to know something you aren’t good at. You seemed to me to be one of those people who have a natural ability to pick up on things. You know, like sports. You ever see kids who just pick up a ball and know how to play? I bet you were one of those.”
He groaned. “Oh, man. Clearly you’ve never watched me try to play basketball. And I say try, but that’s probably not even an accurate word to use. Rafael, Ryan and Cam like to torture me at least once a year when they drag me down to play a ‘friendly’ game of basketball. What it really is is an opportunity for them to pay me back for every imagined slight. And then they don’t let me forget it for the next six months.”
“So you aren’t good at basketball? Is that what you’re saying?”