TWO
GWYNETH
Spending time with the kids at Savannah Hope Hospital was the highlight of my day. Thanks to my dad, I didn’t technically have to work, but I enjoyed my position on the Savannah Hope Foundation board of directors. Working directly with the hospital meant I could spend as much time as I wanted with the children.
Originally, I was only a part of the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the hospital’s grand opening. My father had donated millions of dollars to the creation of the pediatric wing, and I was the one to hand over the check.
That afternoon, I found myself inside with the kids who would benefit from my father’s donation, and from that point on, I was hooked. They’d stolen my heart—pulled me in with their innocent smiles—and begged me to spend time with them without ever saying a word.
Something about the kids in the pediatric wing of Savannah Hope had become my weakness. They reminded me of someone very special to me—my baby sister. I’d watched my little sister, Alexis, slowly wither away until she wasn’t the carefree, loving little girl she once was. The money was donated in Alexis’s name.
After a day of meetings and some time at the hospital volunteering, I went home with aching feet and a throbbing back. I wasn’t old, but I gave my all alongside the doctors and nurses, some days getting on my knees to play with a three-year-old with cancer. Or a six-year-old who’d just had a heart transplant.
My job wasn’t hard, and volunteering was a joy, but no matter how tired I thought I was or how much my muscles ached at the end of the day—I knew I had it easy. Chemo at the age of four was hard. Six surgeries in one year for an eight-year-old was hard.
My job, it wasn’t hard because tomorrow I would still be healthy, and they would still be sick.
Tossing my keys on the table by the door, I slipped off my flats and went into the kitchen where I found Mitchell leaning into the refrigerator.
“How was your day?” I asked.
He jumped at my voice, slamming the back of his head into the top of the refrigerator.
“Shit,” he hissed, rubbing his smarting head.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He swiped a bottle of water from the top shelf and closed the refrigerator.
“It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you home this early.”
I didn’t bother to look down at my watch to know I was home at the same time I usually was. But Mitchell wouldn’t know that because he was never home this early.
Lately, Mitchell always had something work-related that needed one hundred percent of his attention, and it managed to be something that kept him out until all hours of the night.
For the past six months—four of those I had spent engaged to Mitchell—things had changed dramatically between us. I chalked it up to Mitchell’s promotion, wedding planning, and just everyday stress, but there was something more, and I couldn’t figure it out.
Or maybe I didn’t care enough to?
I loved Mitchell, I knew that much, but the less time he had for me, the more I became lazier in our relationship. We’d been together for two years, and when I thought about our relationship in the beginning, I barely recognized who we’d become as a couple now.
From the first time my father introduced us, I’d known he and I were completely different people. Mitchell was career driven to the max. He was a little on the selfish side and one hundred percent competitive with everyone … including me.
After our first encounter, I hadn’t given Mitchell another thought, to my father’s disappointment, but that didn’t stop him from pursuing me. In fact, nothing I said or did deterred him, and after a month, I finally gave in and went out with him.
He’d been charming and sweet, and he could make me laugh, which was a big deal. One date led to another and then another, and after four months, we decided to be exclusive. Despite the things I wished were different about Mitchell, he made me happy, and I had slowly fallen in love with him.
My father had been more than happy about the growing development between Mitchell and me … his words, not mine. From the very beginning, this was what he’d hoped for. It made me happy to know my father was happy. After everything we’d been through when Alexis passed, I loved seeing him smile again. That made it much easier to fall for Mitchell.
Now, I didn’t know what I felt for him or our relationship. I wasn’t happy anymore, and something was desperately missing from our connection. I’d hoped that after accepting his proposal, we’d get back on track and things would go back to the way they’d been in the beginning, but I was wrong and left wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life by agreeing to marry him.
I thought about calling off the engagement, but I felt like I was giving up too easily. I’d become just as distant and distracted as Mitchell had, so I couldn’t completely blame him for the lack of spark between us. Before I entertained the idea of leaving Mitchell further, I needed to know I at least gave it everything—even if I was the only one giving.
Mitchell was busy on his phone, completely unfazed by my lack of response to his comment or my silent trip down memory lane. I could probably walk out of the room without another word and escape to the bedroom without him even noticing. But I promised to give it my all, and the fact we were both home tonight was a good time to start.
“My father wasn’t being a slave driver tonight, was he?” I joked with a smile.
I was still holding a box of handmade gifts from a few of the kids at the hospital, so I walked to the kitchen island and set the box down on the counter.
“Huh?” He looked up from his phone to frown at me. “No, of course not. Please don’t tell me you ever call him that to his face. I don’t want him to think I complain about my workload.” His attention dropped to his phone again.
I sighed.
This was already starting off badly.
I took a deep breath and tried again. “I was joking, Mitchell.”
“Oh, sorry.” He pushed a button and set his phone down on the counter. “I guess I’m a little stressed. I didn’t mean to take that out on you.” He smiled and took a drink of his water.
His softening mood gave me the encouragement I needed to continue.
“I’m happy you’re home actually. It’s been a while since we’ve had dinner together. Maybe we could order in?”
“Oh, umm ...”
“It’s been forever since we’ve had an actual conversation, Mitchell. You could tell me about work, and I could tell you about the hospital.”
I knew that was the last thing he would want to hear or talk about, but it was important to me, and he needed to know that. I always encouraged and supported his career, so it was only fair he did the same for me. Especially if in just a few more months, we would be husband and wife.
He smiled and pushed away from the counter to lean on the island too. We hadn’t been this close in forever, and suddenly, I missed being intimate with Mitchell. Like everything else, our sex life was suffering, and maybe that was what we needed to get back on track.
“That actually sounds like a brilliant idea. Chinese?”
“That sounds heavenly.”
“Why don’t you go change, take a shower and wash away that hospital smell.” He crinkled his nose in disgust. I tried desperately to ignore the tightening in my chest at his words and forced a smile on my face. “And then we’ll relax with a nice bottle of wine.”
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
Stepping under the hot stream of water instantly soothed my nerves. For some reason, I was feeling nervous about tonight and how it would end. Wanting to rekindle whatever was missing between Mitchell and me wasn’t going to be easy or an overnight fix.
While I wanted to leisurely stand and enjoy the hot water, I didn’t. Quickly, I washed my hair and shaved. Even during our dry spell, I’d made sure to keep myself presentable. There was no need to feel worse just because I wasn’t getting attention from Mitchell.
I hadn’t expected sex with all his late nights at the office, but it made me feel better about myself that I hadn’t let myself go. Most nights, I was too tired to do anything, even if Mitchell was around, but others, I became desperate enough to fulfill my own pleasure.
Getting out of the shower, I dried off and went in search of something comfortable in my closet. I wanted casual but still appealing. I finally decided on leggings and a low-cut top—I felt sexy but comfortable. I ran a comb through my hair and then tied it in a knot on top of my head.
I dabbed a few drops of Mitchell’s favorite perfume in all the right places and then surveyed myself in the mirror. I was happy with what I saw, and I hoped Mitchell was too.
I met Mitchell in the living room just as he was opening a bottle of wine. Two wine glasses were set on the table, and he started to pour the red liquid into one of the glasses.
“Looks like I’m just in time.” I smiled up at him.
“Perfect timing. Dinner should be here any minute. I ordered from that place you love.”
“The Golden Dragon?”
“Yep.”
“We haven’t had that in forever.”
“I know. I figured it was time we fixed that.”
He finished filling the second glass and then brought one over to me. He seemed different tonight from the last few times we’d had a simple conversation. I was starting to think I was worried over nothing.
“Here,” he said, handing me a glass. He was so close, closer than we had been in months, and the heat from his body relaxed me. “Cheers,” he toasted when I took my glass from his hand.
We touched them together softly and then took a drink. His eyes never leaving mine as our lips touched the glass. Even though the evening was off to a great start, something still felt off to me. While I felt like we were both trying on the outside, whatever was missing wasn’t there on the inside.
“So how was your day?” Mitchell asked, interrupting my thoughts and leading me over to the couch.
“It was good.” I smiled, thinking of the littles I’d gotten to hang out with today. “The board was able to use some extra funds toward a new play space for the older children. It was a productive day. Then I hung out with the kids. I love when I have time to volunteer in the afternoon. I think you’d like the kids there.”
The smile he’d been holding since I entered the room was still in place. He didn’t respond to my comments, and I knew he was waiting for me to switch the subject, just like we always did when he was uncomfortable talking about the kids I worked with at the hospital. This time, I held my ground and continued despite his lack of interest.
“You know, I have the perfect idea. On your next day off, you should come to the hospital with me. Meet the kids. They’ll definitely make you see everyday life differently.”
He took a long drink, but I still didn’t switch the subject as I stared at him. Finally, he dropped the glass away and made an effort to respond.
“That sounds nice.” He nodded, and then he did it. The slight jerk of his head to the left. He only did it when he lied. It was annoying, but I wasn’t about to tell him about it. “We’ll definitely plan something the next chance I get.”
Another jerk.
I could hear it in his voice, see it on his face ... he would find ways to get out of it until I finally let it go.
My smile grew. “Perfect. When is your next day off?”
His smile slipped, and I knew he wasn’t expecting that. “My next day off?”
“Yeah, so we can make plans.”
His brows pulled, and his face pinched. “I’m not sure. I’ll have Debra check my schedule.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow. I know you’re really busy, and I don’t want you to forget.” I placed my glass next to his and switched the subject before he could make an excuse about why I didn’t need to call Debra. “How was your day? You’ve been working so hard since my father gave you that promotion. I feel like we’ve hardly gotten to see each other.”
“It was good. Busy, but good,” he said, running his hand down his worn-out face. Our brief, one-sided conversation about the hospital seemed to have aged him in the short five minutes.
“We should go on a vacation.”
He smiled, but it was tight. I hated it. “We are. It’s called a honeymoon.”
“That’s not what I mean. Just for the weekend.”
“I can’t, Gwyn. I have to work.”
“But maybe I can talk to my father and—”
“No!” He shot up, cursing silently when the wine spilled over the rim of the glass. He moved to the kitchen to wipe off his hands, and all I could do was sit there. “Listen, I’m sorry I snapped, but you can’t run to your father demanding special privileges for me.”
I should have been proud that Mitchell took his position in my father’s company so seriously and never expected a handout because he was dating the CEO’s daughter. I should have.
“I’m sorry,” I said barely above a whisper. I brought the wine glass to my lips and finished off the rest.
“Look, things will lighten up at work, and then we can plan something, okay?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice not to break the minute I put it to use. “Mmmhmm.”
He sighed, and whether it was in frustration over my hurt feelings or annoyance for them, I didn’t know.
“I’m going to go take a shower before the food gets here, and then we should probably go over the details of the engagement party. My mom’s called me every day this week about it.”
“Okay,” I said, thankful there was no break in my voice.
When he was gone, I filled my glass with more wine, almost overflowing it. So far, the night wasn’t going as I had hoped, and we’d only been together for ten minutes.
I felt like crying, but not because Mitchell had snapped at me or even because so far, this evening looked like it would be a complete disaster. I felt like crying because it terrified me that this could be the next fifty years of my life with Mitchell, and that thought had me staring at the front door like my life depended on it.
When Mitchell returned, we co-existed through the rest of the night on eggshells. Neither one of us wanting to say something to set the other off. We stuck to safe topics such as the wedding and our upcoming engagement party, and I promised to call his mom tomorrow and answer all her questions.
So far, Mitchell had left most of the wedding planning up to me. I guess most brides would be fine with that, but I found myself not really interested in the whole process. It wasn’t exactly how I had hoped to feel planning the event that would set my life up with the person I was meant to be with.
Mitchell had asked for a short engagement, which meant planning had started right away. I expected him to be excited about the wedding and go with me for the shopping and help with the planning, but that wasn’t the case.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked before taking a bite of his Kung Pao chicken. He wasn’t looking at me as he waited for my reply, almost as if he was too nervous to. He was chewing unusually fast.
“Are you okay?” I questioned. He looked up, and his jaw stopped moving completely.
His brows pulled, he shrugged, and then he was back to staring at his plate again. “Yes. I’m fine.”
He sure as hell wasn’t acting fine, but I moved on and answered his question. “I’m going to the bookstore. I wanted to choose some books for the smaller kids at the hospital.” I couldn’t help myself as I tried once more. “Anything you think some of the boys might be interested in reading? What did you like to read as a little boy?”
His shoulders lifted quickly, and then he was up and out of his seat, taking his plate with him. “Reading was never my thing, then and now. I’m sure whatever you get will be good. Do you want more chicken?”
My eyes dropped to my full, uneaten dinner, and I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
He sat across from me again, and he picked up his fork. “What bookstore will you be at?”
I stared at him, feeling completely confused. I couldn’t get him to care enough about the children who fought every day to stay alive, but which bookstore I would be at seemed important. Now I was just pissed.
“Newman’s,” I answered tightly.
“Oh, which one?”
My brows pulled, and I dropped my fork, which clattered against the expensive china my aunt had sent us when we announced our engagement. The angry sound didn’t faze him.
“The one on 32nd street.”
“What time are you going?”
“Okay, what’s going on?”
My tone was enough to catch his attention, and his eyes lifted until they found mine. “What?”
“What’s with the third degree? Is there something you want to ask me?”
Was there a possibility Mitchell thought I was cheating on him?
Could that be what was straining our relationship?
It made me sick to think he could think so little of me, and underneath that feeling was annoyance. How could he think so little of me?
I’d never given him any reason to doubt my loyalty, and I never would. I knew what cheating could do to not only a relationship but also a person. I had seen it up close and personal, and I vowed never to do that to anyone.
“Do you think I’m … cheating on you, Mitchell?”
He nearly choked on a piece of chicken, and his face turned red as he pounded his chest with his fist. “What?” he managed to gasp out.
I moved to sit in the chair next to him, putting my hand over his that was pressed over his heart.
“You know I would never cheat on you, right? You know what happened with my parents and how I feel about my mother.”
He was staring at me wide-eyed, still red, and nodded. He swallowed what hadn’t managed to choke him and spoke. “Of course, and I would be devastated if anything like that ever happened. You’ve just been so busy, and things have been … different.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me.” I cupped the side of his face.
It had never occurred to me that with all my time spent at the hospital and hanging out with the children that Mitchell might doubt where I spent my time.
I guess because I always knew he was working, I just assumed he knew I was doing the same with my time spent away from him. I instantly felt guilty for not putting in more time with Mitchell.
“I promise I’ll make more time for us, Mitchell,” I told him softly.
Leaning over, I brushed my lips against his and waited, holding my breath. “I want you, Mitchell.” My lips moved against his, begging him not to turn me down.
I could almost sense his hesitation, and I knew it was coming, but then his hands were pulling me into his lap, and our dinner was completely forgotten.
Later that night, while we lay in bed together, pretending to be asleep but both very wide awake, I couldn’t help but wonder if Mitchell was feeling the same disconnection between us after the sex we just had. It was awkward, and uncomfortable, and my faked orgasm had left me sexually frustrated.
What if I was holding on to something that wasn’t there?
What if I was being unfair to both Mitchell and me in pushing this relationship because I didn’t like feeling like a failure?
My what-if questions were enough to keep me up well into the early morning.