All the Pretty Poses (Pretty #2)(47)
Author: M. Leighton

“Has she claimed the plane tickets yet?”

“No, sir. From what I can ascertain, Brian has helped her make her own arrangements for her return trip. It seems she’s determined not to avail herself of your assistance”

I can’t say that I’m entirely surprised. Kennedy is strong and stubborn and she’s had to let me go before. This time should be easy for her. And although I don’t want her to hurt, especially not over me, it still feels like I’m being stabbed in the chest over and over and over.

“Keep an eye on her, Karesh. You watch her get on the plane. You watch her make her connection in Los Angeles. And you watch her unlock the door to her townhouse. I want to know she’s taken care of the entire way and I want to know when she’s home safe.”

“You know, sir, that you could go with her. I’m perfectly capable of managing the rest of this cruise in your absence.”

“I know you are, Karesh, but she doesn’t want me following her. She needs space. Besides, there are some things I need to do.”

“As you wish, sir.”

At just after 9:00 PM, my phone rings. I’m still knee deep in contracts and accounting ledgers, just like I’ve been all day. My mood is testy to say the least and I’m really in no mood to deal with anyone. Unless it’s Kennedy, of course. Knocking at my door, telling me that she’s changed her mind and that she’ll never leave me. But it’s not. When Mr. Bingham identifies himself, I’m both disappointed and irritated.

“What is it, Mr. Bingham?” I ask sharply.

“I have located the heir that was in question. Mary Elizabeth Spencer.”

I sit up, aggravated but interested. “And?”

“It turns out she is deceased, sir.”

“Deceased? When?”

Mr. Bingham clears his throat. “Thirteen years ago, sir.”

“How was she tied to our family? I mean, was she an ex-wife we never knew of? An illegitimate child?”

“It appears she was, in fact, an illegitimate child, sir.”

“Do you know whose?”

“I do.”

There’s a long pause during which I have to bite my tongue and keep a firm hold on my temper. “Well? Are you going to tell me who?”

“She was yours, sir.”

I stand so fast my desk, which is bolted to the cabin floor, creaks. “What?”

My mind races back through all the women I’ve slept with, wondering who I might’ve accidentally impregnated. But I’m always so careful. I always have been.

But then, like the first domino in a long line, one telling puzzle piece falls into place and kicks all the others over.

My world is shaken.

Thirteen years ago.

“Who was the mother?” I ask, my heart racing.

“Kennedy Moore, sir.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX – Kennedy

It’s cold upon my return to Chicago. My fingers shiver as I turn my house key in the knob. It’s not the eighty-two degree outdoor temperature, of course. It’s the internal hypothermia that has settled into my soul, a bone-deep chill that I just can’t shake.

When I push open my front door, a legal-sized, manila envelope is on the tile in the foyer. In what feels like slow motion, I scoot it out of the way to roll my suitcase inside. Someone must’ve squeezed the package under the weather stripping. With my last bit of energy, I reach for it to check the name and address on it. I don’t recognize it, so I toss it on the counter to open later, once I’m unpacked. Once I can think a little better. Once I can move with less effort.

I wheel my case into my bedroom and park it at the foot of the bed. Exhausted, I perch on the end of the mattress. Every step I’ve taken away from Reese has felt like I’ve walked a mile. Every breath I take seems to be almost more energy than I can expend. The minutes crawl by like lifetimes and each lifetime stretches out into a succession of long, arduous moments of pure misery.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, closing my eyes. In the blackness behind them, in the split second that my mind isn’t otherwise occupied, my thoughts return to Reese, as they have every few minutes since the agonizing one when I left him on the ship two days ago.

Hours pass before I even move off the bed, and more still before I make my way into the kitchen to feed Bozey. As I scrape food from a can into his bowl, I notice the lightly bronze hands at work. My hands. I’m reminded of my time in the sun. My time with Reese.

I manage to get Bozey’s food on his mat before I wilt into the floor, before I let go once more the tears that seem to have no end.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN – Reese

I grit my teeth and suppress a growl of frustration as I get transferred to yet another useless imbecile at the offshore bank that I use. I wish for the millionth time that there were more hours in the day, and more minutes in the hours. I need time. I need more of it and I need it to move faster. The faster I can get things done, the faster I can get to Kennedy.

Since I watched her being ferried away from my boat four days ago, an urgency has been building inside me. I work tirelessly toward my goal, but still the urgency builds. With every day it escalates, it escalates to…here. Here, where I can’t move any faster. Here, where I can’t make others move any faster. But I have to try. Because I have to get to Kennedy. I have to get to Kennedy, but I have to get this done first. I can’t go to her with anything less.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT – Kennedy

Hours have passed. Days have passed. Clive has come to check on me. He must’ve seen me return a few days ago. I’m not surprised. He’s always pressed up against his front window, watching the goings on of his neighbors.

More than once, he has kindly offered an ear, and then a shoulder once he got a good look at my ravaged face. I’ve declined both offers, telling him that I’m just tired and that I need some time alone.

By the sixth day—six excruciatingly long, empty days since I left Reese—I’m not sure I’ll recover this time. The love that a twenty-nine year old woman feels is far, far different than that of a fifteen year old girl. I have no doubt that I loved Reese even then, all those years ago, but I know it paled in comparison to what I feel for him now. I’ve loved him and hated him with equal measure. Why can’t I just not care?

Day and night have lost their meaning. I’m up all hours and sleep in short bursts. The shades are always drawn to keep the harsh world out and me in. So when the bell rings, I don’t realize it’s the middle of the night until I answer the door and see the pitch black surrounding Reese’s beautiful face.