Page 47 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Fiona

I order a pepperoni and sausage pizza for dinner and stare out at the crimson roses in the backyard.

What was going through his mind when he chose those roses? Was his reason as romantic as Akiko believes? It’s possible I meant so little to him that he didn’t care what the roses were called. But if that were the case he wouldn’t have been so nasty when I barged into his office to borrow money…

Did I make a mistake in trying to put up a huge shield against Bryce out of fear? Am I acting in ways right now that might sabotage my happiness? If I’d opened up a little after meeting him again, would things be different between us?

The door opens, and I turn around. Bryce walks in, holding a pizza.

I stare at him. The man is as gorgeous as ever in a dark navy pinstripe three-piece suit that molds to his body perfectly, his mustard tie impeccably knotted.

Dark circles underneath his eyes don’t take away the beauty of his face, which has to be blessed by the gods, because nobody should be that stunning.

His full mouth quirks in a small smile. “Took it directly from the delivery guy. Hope you don’t mind.”

He turns and places the pizza on the counter. My heart freezes at the sight of a long red gash on his cheek and a small scab in the corner of his mouth.

“What happened to your face ?” I shriek, rushing toward him. I rise to my toes to study the wound, but he’s too tall. I drag him to one of the stools at the counter and push him down onto it.

“Tilt your head so I can see better.” Not an accidental scratch for sure . It’s too deep and too straight. And the bloodied lip? Has to be intentional. “Who did this to you?”

He pulls back a little. “Whoa, calm down.”

“I am calm!” I shout, then click my teeth closed. I clear my throat. “Sorry.”

“Better now?” he asks.

“Tell me the other guy went to the ER. Or at least that you’re going to sue him to death. You’re a lawyer. You can do it for free.”

Bryce laughs. “It’s best not to be your own lawyer. Too close to home.”

“Fine. Your father can sue him. Or your aunt.”

Warmth softens his eyes. “I appreciate the outrage, but it’s okay.”

“But look at that scratch! It’s all bloody.

Well, scabby now, but it must’ve hurt.” I let out an exasperated sigh.

Frustration and disapproval pile into my heart, one layer after another until I want to scream.

What kind of asshole did this to him? And why hasn’t he done something to it?

At least put a bandage or something on it. “Let me get something for your cut.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t. I need a Band-Aid. Where do you keep them?”

He gives me a half-amused, half-confused look. “The first-aid kit is in the powder room by the staircase.”

He starts to move. I put a finger on his chest and push him back into the stool. “Don’t even think about it.”

“My legs aren’t hurt.”

I glare at him. “Just sit .” I go to the bathroom.

The cabinet contains only a stainless-steel box with cute anime characters and the Thai Airways logo.

I blink at the shockingly adorable box, then pop it open.

Inside are some painkillers, individually wrapped rubbing alcohol swaps and Q-tips, cotton balls, Band-Aids, anti-itch cream for bug bites and a small jar of green ointment with a label in some foreign language.

I bring the whole thing out. “Very cute,” I say, pointing at the box.

“Would be better if you put on a nurse outfit,” he says with a grin.

I shake my head. “So you can pounce on me before I can do something for your cheek? I don’t think so.”

“Priorities.”

“Shut up.”

“When a woman says, ‘Shut up,’ like that, it means she agrees.”

Ignoring him, I open the box. “So. Which one?”

He points to the jar with the ointment. “This one. It helps heal open cuts.” My gaze lingers on the rubbing alcohol. He quickly adds, “It also has some antiseptic properties.”

“Okay.” I pull out a Q-tip, dip it into the white ointment and dab it gently over the cut. “So. Who did this to you? A client who got mad because you lost a case?”

He shoots me a baleful look. “I don’t lose cases.” He sobers. “It was Mom.”

I tense. “Zoe?”

“Yup. She was upset about our marriage.” Taut fury seethes underneath the outwardly careless tone.

I press my lips together. The woman is a menace. “Is she going to harass us even though we’re married?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“But she hit you.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

I hesitate, trying to find a diplomatic way to ask, but then there’s no careful way to talk about it. “Did she…hit you before?” My voice is small.

“No.” His eyes grow dim with disgust. “She wouldn’t, as long as I was her good boy .”

He sneers the last two words like he wants to go back in time and beat his younger self for being good. There’s a strong urge to hug him and tell him he shouldn’t be upset with himself for having been young and sweet, but the familiar fear of making myself too open and vulnerable holds me back.

“Look, I handled her.” He lifts his eyes to mine, then points to his cheek. “It didn’t hurt that much, and now”—he wraps his warm hand around my wrist—“it’s quit hurting altogether.”

My mouth dries as his thumb brushes over my pulse point. My belly flutters. I blink, trying to shut out the gush of sweet need and affection—

A loud growl shatters the moment. Bryce’s ears turn red. I look at his belly, then his face. “No time for lunch?”

“I was working hard.” Although his tone is somber, a bright gleam in his eyes betrays him. “Wanted to come home early to my wife.”

I smile softly at his olive branch. “Did you?”

“I’m tired of coming home late.” He wraps his arms around me and buries his face carefully on my chest. “I missed my wife.”

I run my fingers through his soft, silky hair. “Want to split the pizza? Pepperoni and sausage. Even better than pepperoni alone.”

“Sure. I’d love that.” He tilts his head to look up at me, his eyes soft. When he’s clinging like this, he doesn’t look like a mean lawyer, but an adorable puppy wagging his tail, offering playful affection—and asking for it in return.

I bring out plates and some Diet Dr. Pepper. It’s a good thing I ordered a large, because Bryce mows through three-quarters of it like he hasn’t seen food in ages.

We chat easily, Bryce telling me some gossip from the firm, keeping the conversation light, like he doesn’t want the darkness of encountering his mother invading our time. “How about you?” he asks. “What’d you do today?”

“I got together with Akiko. She’s lovely.”

“Oh. Well, that’s nice. Yeah, she’s amazing. The best mom we could ask for.”

I nod. “She told me a lot of things.” I hesitate, but my gut says this is the opportunity. If I let it go, I may never get another chance. “Like about the roses outside. That they’re called Fionas.”

Bryce stops for a second, then resumes chugging down the soda. “Yeah.”

“Why did you choose those, knowing their name?” I ask softly.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times as though searching for an acceptable explanation. Finally, he wipes his hands with a napkin, then grabs a bottle of whiskey from his liquor cabinet and pours a glass. “Remember how I told you Mom tried to kidnap me and my brothers—and succeeded with Ares?”

I nod, leaning forward a little and hoping the story isn’t going to be too dark and harrowing.

He knocks back the glass, pours another, then drains it too.

Air shudders out of him, and he rubs his face.

“Grandma and Dad were worried, so they hired a therapist to help us. When the first one didn’t seem to work, they hired more.

They went through several prominent doctors to heal us.

I had Gardy to help me cope, but early on, she wasn’t enough.

That’s when Dr. Wellington—my last therapist—told me I should try to find at least one beautiful thing in my life every day.

It could be anything, but it had to be beautiful enough to make me stop and notice.

“Well, I gradually got better, mentally, and quit spending so much of my time trying to look for beautiful things. But the habit must’ve stuck, because sometimes I just stop in the middle of whatever I’m doing and have to appreciate it if I see something especially lovely.

“When I was younger, I was sometimes invited to Ted Lasker’s place.

You know, the movie producer? He and Aunt Jeremiah had a thing once, and they have a son together, which is why she still admits he exists.

Anyway, he has this unbelievably gaudy house with even more ridiculously gaudy gardens where he likes to throw extravagant parties.

At one of those, I was stuffing myself with pastries, trying to pretend I wasn’t upset about the fact that my grandfather didn’t think I was important enough to deserve justice.

It was right after I’d learned the truth about what happened to Mom after the clusterfuck of the kidnapping. ”

My heart breaks for the young Bryce. I wish I could go back in time and hug him and tell him things were going to be okay. That the pain would pass, he’d heal and become the amazing man I’m blessed to know.

“As I was gorging myself and trying not to seethe with anger, I saw some bright red roses I’d never noticed before.

They were so pretty and cheerful that my fury and resentment disappeared, and all I could think about was how nice the flowers were.

I asked Ted’s assistant what variety they were. And he said, ‘Fiona.’”

My breath catches.

“Then, years later at Harvard, when the vet called and said that Gardy had been seriously hurt in a hit-and-run accident, I was devastated. And at his office, he told me you’d saved Gardy, I just couldn’t look away from you.

You made me feel the same emotions as the roses.

It was like time stopped, the world quieted down… and I was okay again.”

I press my knuckles against my teeth, feeling a sharp pang in my heart.

“You said your name was Finn, and it just didn’t suit you at all.

But then you said that was what everyone called you.

And when your real name turned out to be Fiona, it felt a little bit like fate.

” He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I know it sounds dumb, but back then…that was honestly what went through my mind. You’re like a little rose that careless people might miss, but once somebody notices, they can’t look away.

The rose that comforted an angry, devastated teenage boy. ”

“Not dumb,” I manage hoarsely. My eyes burn with tears, my heart aching with guilt and love.

I never understood his pain, the reason he fell for me.

I thought it was just gratitude at first, then chemistry—because God knows every time we saw each other, the air sizzled.

I knew there must’ve been some affection, but I never knew he put me on the same pedestal as the roses that gave him comfort when he needed it the most.

I should’ve told him I couldn’t be honest about Jude’s blackmail because I loved him desperately and wanted him to love me back.

Now I’ll never know if Bryce would’ve loved me if I’d told him everything honestly.

Would a rose trod on by another man be just as beautiful in his eyes as the day before, when it was still blooming flawlessly?

The wall around my heart crumbles. I’ve been fighting a losing war all this time.

My hands grip the lapels of his jacket. His eyes go wide as I crush my mouth against his.