Chapter 3

 

Cherish

 

 

I open my eyes to find that it’s dark now. I instantly remember I’m still on the plane, lying in bed. Naked. I flip over to see if Monty’s here. He’s not. I visit the bathroom briefly then leave the stateroom in a robe to find him. He’s sitting on the sofa with his dress shirt unbuttoned, wearing trousers, watching a business channel.

He looks up, sees me and opens his arms. Invites me over.

I take the invitation to sit on his lap.

“Welcome back,” he says, then places a kiss on my jaw.

“Hey.”

“You slept for a long time.”

“What time is it?”

He glances at his Rolex. “A few minutes after nine.”

“I must’ve been exhausted.”

“I’m sure you were. You had quite the workout to supplement the one I gave you last night.”

“I did, didn’t I?” I kiss his lips.

“Are you ready for dinner?”

“Yes. I’m starving.”

He presses the attendant button to call Inca – advises her to prepare a late dinner for us.

Moments later, we’re dining in the front section of the plane. Soft music plays through the speakers. Monty tells Inca to dim the lights after she brings our food. A little turbulence makes the wine bounce around in our glasses.

We’re eating crab legs, potatoes and corn on the cob. Monty looks at me and says, “That’s right. Eat up because tonight I get to be the needy one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He slurps butter on the corn, instantly making me close my legs tight. I’m sure it was intentional. “By the way, I want to know what’s going on with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you were all over me earlier and somewhat emotional. Last night when we made love, you were in tears.”

“It’s not the first time you’ve brought me to tears during lovemaking and I’m sure it won’t be the last. You’re gifted in that department. You’re gifted in everything you do.”

He dips some crab meat into a cup of butter and devours it. He glances up at me and says, “Making love is mental for a woman. It’s more physical for a man. Therefore, it doesn’t matter how gifted I am. It’s all about your mental connection to me. I noticed last night was different as was this afternoon.”

I shrug.

“Don’t shrug.” He sucks butter from his fingertips and gulps down a glass of wine.

Now, I’m left in limbo trying to determine his mood. Gosh. Which one is he tonight? The serious Monty? The one who analyzes every word I say? The one who takes control of the conversation? Who dominates?

I glance up at him. Can’t read anything on his face. I feel like I’m sitting in front of a judge who’s job is to determine if I get parole or life in prison. I hate it when he goes all CEO on me.

With no clue what I’m dealing with, I say, “I was emotional, yes, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“You’re going to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be concerned about?”

An exasperated sigh escapes. “Monty—”

“Why were you emotional, Cherish?” he asks, cutting me off.

“Because we got married and the magnitude of it all came down on me. I mean, I knew we were already married, but last night was the first time it hit me that you’re mine—like actually mine.”

He cracks a crab leg with unnecessary force and says firmly, “You’re deflecting.”

“Monty, stop trying to analyze me. You’re making something out of nothing. Lighten up. I’m fine. We’re flying to an exotic island for our honeymoon and I’m happy. I’ve never been happier.”

He eats, sips wine. Analyzes me even still. I can tell by his dominant stare. I can feel his energy changing. It’s affecting my mood. Changing me. Instead of enjoying dinner with my husband, I’m keeping up my defenses. I never know what sort of interrogation he’s going to hit me with next.

“For the record, though, I don’t need all this to be happy.”

“All of what?”

“Private jets, money, extravagant trips, expensive clothes, rings, etcetera. All I need is you.”

“Don’t say that,” he tells me.

“It’s the truth.”

“Well, I appreciate being first in your life over all these things, but understand something, Cherish. I want you to be happy even if something were to happen to me.”

I understand what he’s saying, I do, but I think about how sad my mother was when my father passed. She’s never gotten over his death. He was the love of her life. She changed when he died. It’s what happens when you lose part of your soul.

Monty is an intricate part of my soul. I can’t go back to the woman I was before him. No way. Was I even happy before Montgomery St. Claire came into my world and flipped it upside down? Depends on how you define happiness.

I had a job. A home. A car. My freedom. My health. In a relative sense, yes, I was happy, but I wasn’t as happy as I am now. With him, I’m alive. In love. Thriving off of life. I wouldn’t be this version of me without him. He’s everything to me. I can’t put a price on that and I definitely can’t imagine not being with him.

“Did you hear me, Cherish?”

“Yes. I heard you.”

“What are your thoughts?”

I sip wine, then say, “My thoughts are, I don’t want to talk about something that’ll ruin our honeymoon.”

“It won’t. As husband and wife, there are legitimate topics we need to discuss no matter how difficult they may be, baby.”

“Like—?”

He clears his throat and says, “If something were to happen to me, I wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

I clench myself. I feel like I have cramps in my stomach with what he’s saying. Why? Because the car accident flashes in my head – the images from TV. The panic when I realized it was Monty’s car crushed like a junkyard recyclable on the highway. Back when it happened, I didn’t know him as well as I do now. I was just infatuated with him. Secretly lusting after him. I didn’t love him. Now, I do. I love the man. If I was crazy for him back then, I’m insane for him now. I couldn’t imagine ever losing him. I’d rather lose myself first. Being with someone else is completely out of the question.

“Mrs. St. Claire.”

I look up to capture my husband’s alluring, green eyes.

He asks, “Can you acknowledge you heard what I just told you?”

“I heard you, Monty.”

“You don’t have anything further to add to it?”

“No.”

I sip more wine and look up at him. He’s wiping his mouth, then drops the cloth napkin on the table and hits me with that challenging stare that makes my throat tighten. He strokes his beard, thinking of a new approach.

“Why are you being short with me?” he asks in a frustrated breath.

I stand my ground and say, “I’m not being short. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I do. So, how do we compromise, Cherish?”

“In other words, how does Montgomery St. Claire gets his way?”

“If that’s what you want to call it. I’m trying to negotiate with you.”

“Negotiate? I’m not a freakin’ business deal.”

His nostrils flare just slightly. He splays his hands on the table. I can literally see him controlling his temper as it’s happening. “You’re my wife, girl, and I shouldn’t have to pull teeth to get you to open up to me.”

My chest bears the weight of my frustration. I say, “I couldn’t imagine losing you, Monty, so forgive me if I don’t want to talk about it—even hypothetically. I don’t want to think about it, talk about it, I don’t want to speak it into the universe because I can’t,” my voice crumbles. “I can’t fathom ever being without you.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t sweetheart me with your mean butt! I tell you I don’t want to talk about something and you make me do it, anyway. So, here’s your answer. You are the love of my life. If I’m not with you, I’d rather be alone. No one could ever take your place. You don’t have to worry about me being alone. I’ll be surrounded by family and friends, but not another man. I couldn’t handle that. All I want is you. There is no replacement. No fill-in. No in-the-meantime man. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved—the only man I’ll ever love. No one could ever take your place in my heart. Is that clear enough?”

He twirls his wine glass while looking at me. I see his fingers twitch. I don’t know what he’s going to do. In my head, I can picture him grabbing me across the table and making love to me right here with Inca accidentally walking in on us.

What does he do? He cracks a smile. Pisses me off.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Smile when you know you’ve managed to irritate me.”

“I’m smiling because I’m happy I’ve accomplished the task of drawing emotion out of you. That’s what I want, baby. That wasn’t so bad now was it?”

I narrow my eyes at him and gulp some wine.

“Now, we can move along to the next topic at hand,” he says. “Let’s talk residences. My goal is to counterbalance my lifestyle to suit the needs of you and the family we’ll have. As it stands, there are three separate houses all attached to one at the estate—one for us, Major and mother. How do you feel about living at Hawthorne Estates?”

“I like it there.”

“I like it, too, but when we have children, do you think our current living arrangements will be suitable?”

“I do. I like the idea of having family around.”

“Good. I just wanted to be sure because we can move to a single-family home anywhere. It can be however big or small you want it.”

“Seeing as though we already have a lot of memories at the estate, I say we should stay put.”

He grins. “We do have a lot of memories there, don’t we?” He resumes eating then asks, “Do you think children would like it there?”

“Yes. They’ll have Grandma Sylvia and Uncle Major. Then there are the pools, the massive yard—we could build them their own playground.”

“We could. I like the sound of that.”

“And there are four extra bedrooms in your residence alone.”

“Our residence,” he says, correcting me.

“Yes. Our.”

“And what’s your take on a nanny?”

“A nanny, Monty?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“How so?”

“You’re already talking about a nanny like we’re expecting.”

“As many times as we make love, we’ll be soon if not already.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Our gazes lock. The corners of his mouth turn upward.

“It’s cool, though. If it happens, we’ll be ready. In fact, I was having a conversation with Naomi the other day. She told me she used to be a nanny.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. She also lives in an apartment building—some mid-level retirement community in Gastonia. That’s why she can’t get to the estate early in the mornings. I was thinking of making her the live-in nanny. She’d help you tend to the children and other duties.”

“That would be awesome. I love Naomi.”

“I know you do. It’s why I want to keep her around.”

“And with her being there, it’ll free me up to cook and stuff.”

“You’ll be too busy to cook, sweetheart.”

“Busy doing what?”

“Being my wife.”

“And one of those wifely duties is cooking.”

“Maybe a few times a year, perhaps.”

“A few?”

“Yes,” he answers straight-faced. “Just to get it out of your system.”

He sips more wine. “You still haven’t gotten used to the idea of who I am. Of who you are. You’re a St. Claire now, baby. You’re a billionaire like me.”

No, I haven’t gotten used to that. I’m sure it’ll take some time to sink in like everything else.

“While I have it on my mind, I have some things for you.”

He goes to get a Louis Vuitton duffle bag and comes back to the table. He places a black card in front of me. A black card…

He gives me a Rolex. A pair of earrings. All material stuff. Things I told him didn’t matter to me. He’s showering me with gifts. Then he hands me a necklace with a silver heart-shaped pendant attached.

He says, “The heart represents mine. You own it. Protect it. Take care of it.”

Happiness glows on my face. This is the kind of gift I love. One that has meaning. I put it on immediately and touch it as it hangs around my neck. I have his heart. His name is engraved on it.

Monty.

My Monty.