Chapter 9: The Child He Lost

“Don’t go.”

Rosalie looks up at him, green eyes wet and unfocused, her lips flushed from his kisses.

Adrian stands beside the bed for a long moment.

He has never been good at leaving her.

He sits down again, removes the ring from his hand, and places it on the nightstand.

“Be good.”

Then he bends and kisses her.

His hand slips beneath the blanket. The thin fabric hides what he is doing but none of Rosalie’s reactions.

Adrian remembers every response.

He knows where to linger until she forgets to be stubborn.

Whenever she chases his hand, he stops until a frustrated sound escapes her.

At first, Rosalie tries to match his patience, but she does not last long.

“Adrian…”

She reaches for him, but he catches her wrist and presses it beside her head.

“Stay still.” His voice remains low as the hand beneath the blanket resumes its maddening rhythm.

Rosalie’s back arches.

Adrian kisses her again, swallowing every broken sound.

When the blanket becomes still, she lies boneless against the mattress, each breath trembling on the way out.

Adrian holds her until the tension leaves her body. Then he throws back the blanket and heads for the bathroom.

“Adrian Mercer, you bastard.”

A pillow strikes him between the shoulders with little force.

Adrian is too close to losing control to look back. He shuts the bathroom door, and the shower starts moments later.

Soon the water turns louder, hiding anything else.

Rosalie grabs another pillow and buries her head beneath it.

There has to be something wrong with him.

What other man gets that far and refuses to finish?

He must be afraid she will laugh.

By the time Adrian comes out, Rosalie is asleep. He watches her from beside the bed, then gives in and lies down next to her.

Sleep pulls him back five years.

Snow had fallen the night before their engagement party. A thin sheet of ice covered the drive outside the hotel.

One moment, Adrian was greeting guests with Rosalie. The next, police officers were leading her father away.

Rosalie stood on the steps, white with shock. She had adored her father all her life.

Adrian had not chosen the timing.

He only used the party to keep Richard Hayes from leaving for London before the police could act.

In the dream, Rosalie runs after the police car.

She races down the icy steps in heels and never sees the sedan sliding toward her.

Brakes scream. Tires skid uselessly over ice.

Adrian reaches her first.

He catches her wrist, pulls her into his chest, and turns.

The impact hits him from behind.

His head strikes the curb, and the world goes black.

When consciousness returns, Rosalie is crying beside him.

“Rosie…” He tries to sit up, pain roaring through his skull. “Are you hurt?”

He checks her desperately. She seems unharmed.

Then he sees the blood spreading across her pale skirt.

“Where are you hurt?”

Rosalie looks down. What little color remains in her face disappears.

“I’m pregnant.”

Adrian stares at her. “What?”

“I took the test this morning.” Tears stream down her face. “I was going to tell you after the party.”

Paramedics rush toward them, asking how far along she is and how heavily she is bleeding.

Adrian tries to reach for her, but his arm will not move.

The red stain grows darker as he slips under again.

Then comes the report left beside his hospital bed.

Their baby was gone.

Adrian wakes with a violent breath.

His skin is damp with cold sweat. He turns immediately.

Rosalie is still asleep beside him, her back to his chest and half her face buried in the pillow.

He reaches toward her, stops, then pulls the blanket higher over her shoulder.

She thought he did not want her.

God, how wrong she was.

There were no condoms in his office.

He refused to gamble with a consequence that would fall most heavily on her. If she became pregnant and still left, he would lose both of them.

He could not survive losing another child.

Lately, he has lived on late nights, business dinners, and the occasional cigarette.

If they ever have a baby, he wants them both to choose it and have time to prepare.

Adrian checks his watch.

April third. Two ten in the morning.

The spring memorial retreat at St. Gabriel’s Abbey begins tomorrow. For five years, he has spent three days there, attending prayers and having Mass offered for his mother and the child he believes he lost.

Two candles burn for them in the abbey chapel.

He messages the retreat coordinator, then sends Evan instructions for the next three days.

Before leaving, Adrian slides the ring back onto his hand and kisses Rosalie’s forehead.

When Rosalie wakes, she is still weak enough to resent him all over again.

She reaches for her phone and finds two unread messages.

Rosie, you missed dinner. There’s lobster bisque in the refrigerator. Heat it up when you wake.

I’ll be away for three days. Stay where I can find you—and miss me.

Rosalie reads them twice.

They sound like messages left between two people who have been married for years and are still hopelessly in love.

If the past had been different, perhaps this would have been their life.

Adrian seems determined to pull them back into the place they once belonged, as though calling her Rosie, remembering what she likes, and wearing their ring can close the five-year distance between them.

Her throat tightens.

If she did not need another child, she might never have come back to him at all.

Rosalie closes her eyes and buries her face in his pillow.