Behind Her Smile (8 page)

“Don’t think I’m crazy to tell you. Look at what’s happening in my life. One second, my family is alive, and the next, they’re all gone. In a few days, I’ll be forced to bury them. They didn’t—when I left the office earlier, it was business as usual. I loved them.” His voice gets thick again. “I love them, and I should have told them every chance I got. Don’t you see, Karolina? I love you, and you need to know it. There can never be any doubt in your mind that I love you fully, as you deserve to be loved.”

I don’t know why I say it back. Maybe because David just got the worst news of his life. Maybe because being around David makes me the happiest I’ve ever been. Maybe because he believes I’m something special. All the logic disappears when I meet his unblinking gaze.

“I love you too, David.” It slips out of my mouth without checking with my brain first. Blessedly, David doesn’t notice my hesitation. He reaches toward me, captures the nape of my neck in both his hands, and pulls me forward for a ferocious kiss. Pressure rings around my neck, squeezing tight until I struggle backward to gasp for air. David watches me hungrily, the intent clear.

“You’re going to marry me,” he says suddenly.

“Wait—what?” I stammer in shock. He can’t be serious.

“Karolina, I need you. You can’t leave me. Ever. Promise me you won’t leave me. Promise me you’ll be my wife.” His hands are still around my neck, applying enough pressure to frighten me.

“You’re hurting me,” I blurt.

David releases my neck instantly, shaking his head. “Promise me.”

“I won’t leave you. I promise. But wedding plans? David, we have a lot to get through before we can talk about that.” I’m still in college, and David is my first serious boyfriend. Marriage? Not now.

David casts a furious look toward the television. I follow his view and see the same pictures taunting us on the screen. “I need you,” he says simply as if he didn’t hear my response.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

All of a sudden, I’m flying backward. David’s above me on the couch, resting one hand on either side of my face. Our bodies are flush against each other, from chest to knees. David’s thick arousal throbs against my core, startling me again. He’s aroused?
Now
? David’s deep blue eyes flash. “You’re never leaving me,” he growls.

Underneath him, I tremble. A node of fear lodges itself in my chest. This is not the tender lover I know.

My only experiences with mourning are from my youth, and I remember anger and sadness—but sexual desire? I don’t know what to think. He must be in shock and confused and twisted inside out. That’s the only explanation for this outpouring of emotions. With a low rumble, David reaches between us and shoves my sweatpants and panties off my hips. He pushes his pants low enough to release his arousal from the constraints of clothing. David presses the tip of his shaft against my center.

There is no foreplay.

There is no tenderness.

There’s nothing but David’s animalistic desires.

He thrusts into me with a grunt, filling my tender flesh roughly. David clutches my wrists, restraining them above my head. He slams into me relentlessly, finally looking at me and revealing a wild, manic expression
.
I wasn’t ready for sex, let alone this level of intensity. Is this helping David? I want to help, but . . . this way is unpleasant. Each thrust brings a new stab of pain. I lift my legs and cinch them around his lower back. Digging my heels into his taut skin, I try to match his pace, but his movements are uncoordinated and choppy. Sex between us has never been this rough. I don’t like this.

I squeeze my eyes shut. David’s not hurting me, but he’s not paying attention to the signals my body screams at him. I’m tight. Dry. Not responding. Blinking my eyes open, I study his twisted features. At this moment, the David I know is far away. He’s in the midst of a tsunami of emotions, and I have to give him a pass. This time.

All of a sudden, David howls and jerks against me.
He finished,
I note with relief. As quickly as he entered me, David retreats. Without preamble, he collapses on top of me, not cognizant of the seventy pounds he has on me. The slick sweat on his forehead tickles my neck when he nuzzles my skin.

“I love you, my jewel,” he whispers.

This time, I don’t respond with a declaration of love. I can’t make myself say the words. Even though I want to give David whatever I can to help ease his pain, this is not what I intended. My heart aches for a whole different reason than the reasons it hurt only a few minutes earlier.

Somehow, I fall into a restless sleep.

A few hours later, I wake up with a large hand splayed across my stomach, snuggled into a warm, secure cocoon. David’s breathing is measured, the rise and fall of his chest steady at my back. Sometime in the middle of the night, he must have moved me to his bed. The duvet and sheets cover me nearly up to my chin. Despite how cozy it is, I need to go to the bathroom. Carefully, I untangle myself from David and climb out of the bed.

The first thing I notice is the soreness between my legs. It’s a jarring reminder of last night’s sex. I try to push the disturbing memories away. Of course, David wasn’t himself—he had just received the morbid shock of a lifetime. This had never happened before, and as uncomfortable as it made me, I’m not sure now is the right time to discuss it with him. There is a funeral to plan, arrangements to make, and heaps of decisions to consider. The list is daunting. I’m sure last night was a one-time thing. Stressful situations cause all sorts of unusual behavior, and I’d say last night was the ultimate stressful situation.

“Karolina.”

I look up into the mirror above the sink where I’m washing my hands. David stands behind me, one hand clutching the doorframe. Dark circles sag beneath his lower lash line. His hair is messy as ever, and a dark blond stubble covers his jawline and cheeks.

“Good morning,” I say softly and turn the faucet off. Before I can pat my hands dry, David crumples to the ground, dropping his face into his palms. I rush to him, falling to my knees and placing my hands on his shoulders. “Oh, David. Talk to me, please.”

“Can you forgive me?” he asks hoarsely.

“For what?”

“For being rough with you last night. Karolina, that wasn’t me. I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me. One second, I’m furious that my parents and Chandler ever got on that plane, and the next, I’d do anything to get them back. Then I’m ravaging you like an animal.” I slide my arms around his bare shoulders, bringing him to my chest.

Thank goodness, he noticed. It won’t happen again,
I promise myself.

Rocking him back and forth, I murmur into this hair. “You don’t have to worry about me, David. I’m your rock. And when you need to rage, I’ll listen. When you need to cry, I’ll hold you. This is an unprecedented experience. Of course, your emotions are out of sync. Don’t give it another thought.”

David moves out of my embrace and rises to his knees. “There is one thing I said that night that I meant.” He stares at me intently. “I love you, Karolina Adamchik.”

“I love you, too.” This time when I say the words, it starts to make sense. If love is seeing someone in his darkest times and still respecting him, then I must love him. If love is trusting someone not to hurt you, then I must love him. If love is a feeling of peace in someone else’s arms, then I must love him. All of that is true with David. Our lips touch, a butterfly-gentle kiss, and tenderness fills me.

“I need to get dressed and start doing things. Call the family lawyers, figure out if my parents had anything prepared.” David winces then pushes to his feet. He extends a palm to me to pull me up. He tucks a messy strand of my hair behind my ear. “I need you with me,” he says.

“Yes. Always,” I promise easily. I love this man. Leaving him is unthinkable.

“Go home and get dressed. I’ll pick you up in an hour and we’ll go to my office,” he says matter-of-factly.

I hesitate, chewing on my lower lip.

“What is it?” he demands.

“Well, I have class today . . .”

David’s features tighten in displeasure.

“ . . . but that’s not important,” I say quickly. “All I need is an hour and I’ll bring my sewing stuff. If you don’t need me, then I can make myself scarce.” It seems like a happy compromise to me, but I’m a little worried. What did I just agree to? Midterms are around the corner, and I’m supposed to go into work today at the library.

David swoops down to brush his lips across the crown of my head. “Life as we know it is about to change, Karolina.”

A week passes by in a blur. There’s no more talk of marriage or other surprising declarations during that time. David and I are too busy planning a funeral. David decided that there should be one memorial ceremony for William, Georgia, and Chandler. He said it would be the best way to remember them as they were when they died—a family. Shockingly enough, David hands most of the responsibilities of the memorial service to me. Though our home base shifts to the Morgan family compound, he spends most of his time working. The intricacies of his job are a mystery to me, but he becomes distracted with work while I call florists, talk to the minister, and arrange all the other details.

School and work drop dramatically on my priority list. I only go home to pick up clothes and toiletries. We’re at his parents’ home before the sun has completely risen, and we leave late in the evening before going back to David’s condo and falling into bed.

All of sudden, I’m making decisions on behalf of the Morgan family. Thank goodness for Miranda, the Morgan family’s trusted housekeeper for twenty years. With her guidance, I make arrangements for a gathering of extended family members and close friends to be held after the burial.

By the time I climb into bed at the end of every day, my heels drag and my eyelids fall closed without any negotiation. I have no energy left to think about my disappearing paychecks and the growing pile of schoolwork. But I couldn’t imagine it any other way. The calm, steady David I know has returned. There are no more interactions with the angry, wild version of my boyfriend.

The dire circumstances bring David and me closer. He relies on me for support, and I thrive on such a powerful, brilliant man needing me.

The morning of the funeral, I’m running late, rushing through my morning routine to make sure I’m on time to leave the condo in thirty minutes. Wrapped in one of David’s bathrobes, I exit the steam-filled bathroom and head into the bedroom. There, in the middle of the spotless white duvet, lies a plain black sheath and pearl studs. Black pumps sit on the floor directly beneath the outfit.

“What’s this?” I ask David.

“St. John,” he says as he stabs a cufflink through his formal white dress shirt.

“For me?” I squeak. That’s a wickedly expensive designer. I don’t miss the red soles on the modest-heeled shoes at the foot of the bed. Big bucks. David loops a black tie around his neck and begins tying it.

“Something appropriate for the funeral,” he explains offhandedly.

A tiny part of me is offended. I’m a fashion designer major; I know how to dress. “Oh. Well, I brought a black dress. Here.” I walk over to my duffel bag and tug out the black shirtdress. To my chagrin, wrinkles crease the silk jersey. David studies the garment with an arched brow, silently condemning its disarray. “I was going to iron it,” I rush to explain.

“The St. John would be more appropriate for the funeral,” David says with finality. I finger the garment, and the matte crepe slips through my fingers gracefully. This
is
a lovely dress. One I’d never be able to purchase on my own. It’s actually quite thoughtful of David to provide me with something to wear.

“Okay. Thank you. That was very considerate.” Swiftly, I move through the process of getting ready, twisting my hair into a low knot at the base of my skull and keeping my makeup to a minimum. When I’m finally ready, I hurry to where David waits impatiently in the foyer. At the sound of my heels clicking against the hardwood floor, David lifts his gaze away from his phone to give me a once-over.

“Perfect.” He decides with a decisive nod. I exhale a little, relieved sigh, thankful he approves of my appearance. I’m beginning to take pride in meeting his needs. David touches the small of my back, propelling me forward. “Carlo will drive us,” he tells me. William’s driver has carted David and me to and from the Morgan home every day this week. David decided he would continue to employ the driver and his wife.

Once we’re in the car, David tugs me into the middle of the seat, pressing the length of his hard body against mine. He weaves our fingers together. His pulse thuds in his wrist. I squeeze his hand in mine and give him a tender smile. “We’ll get through this together,” I murmur.

“I want you with me from now on, Karolina,” David declares resolutely. David has been tense the whole morning. His emotional turmoil reveals a domineering side of him I never knew existed.

Carlo guides the black sedan away from the curb, beginning the trek to the church.

“I’m not going away,” I soothe.

“It’s more than going back to your apartment after an evening together. I want you as my wife. After today, I want to get married. I knew I loved you before this tragedy, and I’m not willing to lose you as I lost my family. We can have a small legal ceremony now, and in a few months, we’ll have a big party. I won’t lose you, too, Karolina. I won’t.” His grip on my fingers tightens painfully, and I wiggle my hand until he loosens his hold.

“But—but wouldn’t it be a little odd to get married right after the passing of your family?”

David’s frown deepens. “Absolutely. That’s why we’ll need to be discreet for the time being. Judge Beck was a close associate of my father. He can preside over the ceremony.”

“Marriage is a massive step. A legal one at that.” The argument comes out tentatively, and in response, David’s jaw ticks. “I don’t understand why you would want to marry me.” Insecurity makes my cheeks heat, and a knot tightens in my chest.

“Look at me.” David’s thumb brushes roughly against my knuckles. Hesitantly, my gaze drifts to his. “It’s true we haven’t known each other a long time, but I am old enough to know that I have found my partner for life.” He squeezes my hand tighter still to emphasize the point. Now my heart’s seizing for a completely different reason. “If I’ve learned anything from this horrific tragedy, it’s that nothing is guaranteed. One day you’re alive, and the next day, you could be in a casket. I don’t want to live with any regrets, and if I don’t get your commitment, I’ll be devastated. I’ve lost what’s left of my family. I don’t want you to replace them, but I want to build our family. It’s unconventional to get married in secret, but that’s only because no one will understand just how vital it is we don’t waste any more time. I promise to give you the wedding of your dreams once a little more time has passed.”