Hollywood Ever After (25 page)

I shook my head. “It’s not the same. You’ll want a part of you.”

He kissed my nose. “Then I’d have to share you.”

“You might change your mind.” I knew I was grasping, looking for things to chase him away before I let myself believe what he was saying.

“We’ll figure it out then.” He tilted my chin up and kissed me, a sweet gentle kiss. “I’m not worried, Claire. I know this is right.”

He wasn’t just saying this, he meant it. I could see it on his face. I tried not to, but I sniffed as my eyes began to tear again. His smile turned somewhat tortured as I sniffled. “I’m trying to stop, really.”

He gave an uncertain laugh then, concern clear on his face. “I want to make you happy, not sad.”

“I’m crying because I
am
happy. I feel like I’m having a…a wonderful dream. I’m only afraid that I’m going to wake up.”

His face revealed myriad emotions before he settled on joy. His lips curled into a sweet smile and his hand rested against my face, cupping my cheek and pulling my lips to his. His kiss was warm, a smile against my lips.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked between kisses.

He whispered against my lips, “Blue.” He kissed my lower lip softly. “You?” His lips traveled to my ear, sucking my earlobe.

My breath caught and my voice wavered as his lips moved down my neck. “Blue…cobalt blue.”

He kissed my cheek and asked, “Favorite movie?”

I shook my head. “No, that’s not a simple question for me. It’s a mood thing, remember? More of the ‘mental’ charm.”

“Ah.” He smiled then froze. “I suppose there’s only one
real
concern. Do you like Monty Python?”

“My favorite is the
Holy Grail
.”

“Excellent. You see? We’re ideally suited.”

I laughed. “What about you? What’s your favorite? Or favorites?”

“Anything with Nicholson in it. The Godfather films. Tim Burton.” He shrugged before he added, “I suppose I agree with you. It
is
a mood thing. What about a favorite dessert?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Honestly? I gave up eating fun food a year ago. So I’d have to say a pear is my single favorite sweet food. It’s a bit indecent, the amount of enjoyment I get out of a really juicy pear.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” His eyes were amused as he searched my face.

“Do you have a sweet weakness?”

“I enjoy Pop-Tarts quite a bit.”

I was laughing again. “Pop-Tarts? Really? Any particular flavor?”

He laughed too, saying, “The ones with the colored sprinkles and the red jelly inside. I don’t know what they are, but I like them.”

“Strawberry. The kids love them, too.”

We stayed locked in our loose embrace. “Books?” he asked.

“We’re back to the mood-dictating thing again. I have several authors I enjoy, Orwell, Orson Scott Card, Austen, Winspear. Anything that makes me laugh. And I have a few choice historical romances for pure escape.”

“The first two aren’t lightweights. I’m a fan of the classics, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Bronte.”

I nodded. “A good story can be powerful.”

“Like yours,” he said, his hand smoothing a curl from my forehead. “Any news from New York and your publisher?”

I found myself leaning into his touch. “They want me to pick some dates and a few cities for a possible limited release tour. Shannon thinks I should make a stop in New York, too.”

“Are you thinking of New York as a possible home?” His brow rose in question.

“I’m trying to find a place I can afford, a place that’s a good fit for the kids.” I shook my head. “I know nothing about New York except that it’s too big a change for me and the kids. And the cost of living, there’s no way.” I shrugged. “I’m not in any real hurry, though. I’d hate to uproot them so close to the end of the school year. May isn’t so far away.”

“You’re a good mum, Claire.” He kissed me, his hands sliding around my waist.

“I want to be.” I kissed him back, my hands roaming over him. I sighed. “I like touching you.” Saying those words made me exceedingly nervous.

“That’s very nice to hear,” he said softly.

“It’s not easy to say.”

He kissed my forehead. “You just need more practice. It will get easier in time.”

I looked up at him, enjoying the feel of his arms tightening around me.

“I should get the bags.” His arms slipped from me.

“You said something about hot water?”

“Ah,” he answered, nodding. “Soak in the tub, eh?”

“Sounds like heaven to me.”

“Agreed. I’ll be right back.” And he headed out to collect our bags from the car.

I turned on the hot water and put the stopper in. There was a tall bottle of peppermint bath salts sitting on the counter. I opened it, sniffed the invigorating mint, and sprinkled some under the running tap. The steam off the water rose, scenting the air.

“Your bag’s on the bed.” He leaned in, smiling at me.

“You’re fast.”

“Yes. We’re about to have a bath together.” He was yanking his clothes off while he spoke.

I laughed, leaving him long enough to dig out my silk robe. “Do you need anything?” I called out to him.

“You, whenever you care to join me.”

I peeked into the bathroom. His clothes were piled on the floor. He sat, smiling, in the steaming water with one foot dangling over the edge of the large claw foot bathtub. “This is quite a tub.”

“Mum used to hide in here for her quiet time. It’s a nice place for that.”

“Did your father ever join her?” I asked as I began to remove my clothes.

His brow elevated, a small smile forming. “I don’t care to know that information, Claire.” He watched me as I undressed.

“It’s a huge tub, lots of room for one person.” I giggled and threw my bra at him. I stepped over the edge, sinking to my knees in the delightfully warm water at his feet. He was staring at me and I paused, looking at him. “What?”

His gaze traveled over me as he murmured, “You’re lovely.”

I smiled, blushing. I loved that he thought I was beautiful. But it was hard to accept, even from him. In the past, flattery had been used as a lure, always leading to something bad.

“Does it bother you? For me to tell you how beautiful I find you?”

He doesn’t miss a thing.
I met his eyes. “A little.”

He smiled slightly. “You
are
beautiful. It astounds me that you don’t see that.”

“I’m a little self-critical. Focusing on my flaws.”

His eyes slid over my form. “What flaws?” His brow furrowed.

“You want me to catalogue them?” I tried to tease.

He wasn’t amused. He shook his head, regarding me steadily.

I held out my right hand, turning my arm over to expose the long thin scar that ran from the inside of my elbow to my wrist. “That’s not lovely.”

He took my arm, dropping soft kisses the length of the scar. I stared at him. I stood and turned, exposing the scar from my broken rib. The doctor had done wonders with a needle and thread.

Josh’s hand covered it, rubbing over the scar. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss over the indention, his breath warm on my skin. I raised my left arm, displaying the line from under my breast into my armpit.

He looked up at me as his fingers traced along the scar. “You don’t need to show me anything else.” His hands clasped my wrists and pulled me into the water to face him. “Your scars aren’t flaws, Claire. The only flaw is what you can’t let go of. Somehow you think you’re responsible for what
he
did.” He pushed the hair from my shoulder.

I felt myself withdrawing a bit, my eyes dropping to the water. But I stopped, forcing myself to consider his words, to hear the truth in them. “Yes, I guess…maybe.”

“Why?” He sounded strained.

I shrugged. “I told you. I let him down.”

His voice was low and taut. “You truly believe being a ‘better wife’ would have prevented this?” He looked at me with wide eyes. “Prevented his abuse?”

I looked at him curiously, then blew out the air I felt trapped in my suddenly tight throat.

His hand found my hand in the water. “You’re not to blame for any of what happened.” His voice was low as he spoke. “I can understand the need to find a reason, some explanation.” He held me against him then. “But you’re not that reason. Claire, nothing you did was responsible for his actions. You were a victim, whether you like the word or not.”

“I know that, sometimes. Other times I think I
must
have done something. Because I thought I knew him and understood him. And it’s terrifying that my judgment was so messed up. How can I ever trust myself again?”

“You have to try.”

“I will. I am. It’s just hard to start over.” I paused before saying, “I know it’s pathetic, but, as you said that night, self-examination can be hard.”

He made a face. “I didn’t know what I was saying, Claire. I spat out words without knowing what you’d been through. I was looking for a way to get your attention.”

I smiled at him. “You have it.” His hands tightened around mine. “I can’t forgive myself because I didn’t leave earlier. I put the kids in danger.
I
did that.”

Josh was staring at me, his jaw locked. He pulled me into his lap. “You did protect your children. You finally left him. You did
that
.”

I nodded, half-hearted.

“You’re strong. And kind, even now,” he said softly. “When I read your manuscript, I had no idea it was true. I couldn’t imagine a woman that forgiving, that loving, that she would continue to give chance after chance.”

“It was stupid,” I murmured.

“You held on to hope. That’s not stupid.”

I admitted, “I was afraid, too.”

“Understandably.” His arms were warm and gentle around me. “I don’t know how you found the courage to leave.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Natalie came in and saw us. I hadn’t been able to catch myself when he hit me, so I fell and…that’s when I got this.” I pointed to my arm. The words spilled out. “I fell into my grandmother’s curio cabinet and shattered the glass doors. The noise woke Nat and she ran in to see what had happened. She was so scared. Until Daniel told her I’d fallen. Again. But seeing her, her fear, made me face the truth. I’d been putting them in danger every day. Me, the mother who was supposed to protect them. Leaving was the only choice.”

Josh’s face was ashen.

“God, I’m sorry, Josh. I don’t know why I just—” I choked.

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t be sorry anymore.”

I stared at him, my heart in my throat, before settling my head against his chest.

His hand rubbed up and down my back as he spoke, “I want you to share everything with me, even when it’s painful.” He kissed the top of my head. “You’re not a victim, you’re right. You’re a survivor. And as condescending as this may sound, I’m proud of you.”

I smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

His eyes traveled over my face. He kissed me once, softly, then tucked me back in against him.

We sat in comfortable silence until the water grew cool. Shivering, we had no choice but to move. He turned on the hot water and I leaned forward, grabbing the soap and washcloth.

“Let me.” He took the washcloth and lathered it up. “I’ll get your back.”

His touch was firm, rubbing my back. It felt heavenly. “You’re next,” I said.

“Fair enough.” I could hear the smile on his face. “So, where did we leave off? Books?”

I nodded, arching my back forward as he used firm strokes across my lower back.

His voice was soft. “On to music. Top four favorite groups and least favorite groups.”

I giggled. “I’m assuming you don’t mean lullabies or kids’ stuff?”

“What do you listen to when it’s just you?” He laughed. “I bet I know.”

I stared at him over my shoulder. “I bet you don’t.”

“Eminem?” He was teasing me.

He was in for a shock next time my iPod was around.

***

Morning came, the soft patter of rain waking me. I lay still, listening to the peaceful sounds of morning. Between the faint drumming of the rain, the distant sound of a train whistle, and Josh’s steady breathing, I savored the sleepy morning languor from beneath the duvet.

I rolled onto my side to let my eyes explore Josh as he slept. His face was half buried in the pillow. The relaxed planes of his face, the column of his neck, and the curve of one strong shoulder provided a glorious view. Looking at him made me happy.
He
made me happy. I smiled a very satisfied smile.

I wanted to do something for him this morning. Breakfast in bed? If there was anything to cook. I crept from the huge four-poster bed and slipped into my robe. I tiptoed down the hall and into the kitchen.

The large diamond glass panes filtered the light, bringing me up short as the splendor of the view caught my eye. I peered out the panes in awe. For such a gifted wordsmith, Josh hadn’t come close to summing up the vista.

Green? It
was
green—a brilliant rainbow of green hues. There were weeping willows, small sculpted bushes, and hedgerows surrounding the pond. The pond was flat, bouncing the greens back in subtly deeper hues. There was an old stone bench on the far side and a gardening shed that invited even a non-gardener like me. The forest and a possible orchard bordered that, a single path inviting further exploration. Flowering shrubs and trellis vines wrapped around the columns of the small pergola.

I was entranced, envisioning an elf or hobbit bounding out of the woods on some magical stag or unicorn. I could imagine the adventures young Josh and Helen had set out on in their younger years. I could imagine Will and Natalie doing the same.

I turned away, focusing on the task I’d set out with: breakfast in bed for my sleeping prince. Opening one cupboard, I found the china. In another a small supply of newly purchased groceries, including tea and a loaf of bread. I popped some bread in the toaster.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stayed up late talking about nothing and everything. We’d climbed from the tub, shivering, and jumped into the bed to continue our question and answer session. There’d been no shortage of conversation. I didn’t remember falling asleep.