Love Untold

Love Untold: Chapter 17

Love Untold: Chapter 17

Chrissie endured as much of her mother as she could without appearing overly rude.  The two of them ate dinner in companionable silence, though her mother grumbled a little over the quality of the take-out Chinese that Chrissie opted for rather than cooking or going out.  Race grabbed a plate and disappeared into the basement, and no one had seen Dena since their argument in the backyard.

Finally, after a few hours, her mother announced she was tired from the plane trip, and Chrissie drove her to check into a hotel.  For which she was sure, everyone was thankful.  She hugged her mother, said, “Thank you for coming, Mom,” and Dolly replied, “Did you think I wouldn’t?”  Chrissie didn’t have an answer for that.  She loved her mother, but sometimes the two of them seemed to live in different worlds.   

Chrissie retired to her bedroom when she got back, vowing to have a long, apologetic talk with her sister in the morning because Dena refused to unlock and open her door when Chrissie scratched on it, saying, “D, I’m sorry.  Can we talk?”  No answer from her sister, so she sighed and left her alone.

As soon as she stepped into her own bedroom, there was that bed that freaked her out that morning, and she nearly fled the room again.  But she had to sleep somewhere, and somehow, after all that had happened that day, Chrissie found some spare bravery hidden away behind her stomach.  Besides, she told herself, she won’t be sharing it tonight, so just needed to suck it up and get over the fear of being thrust into a sexual relationship with a husband she didn’t know.  It wasn’t like she was a virgin, so her fears of having sex with one particular, handsome man were irrational, and she knew that, but it was there, nonetheless.  

And he promised not to touch her without permission.  Chrissie believed him.

But the quilt and sheets had to be changed.  She couldn’t sleep in that bed and smell Race all night.  She’d go crazy.  Already the scent of him from when he held her on the deck was burned into her nostrils.  She liked it.  And she liked him.  Too much.  There was a strange familiarity to him, and she didn’t know how to deal with that.

With one giant tug, she pulled the quilt and both sheets off the bed at the same time.  A white box that she didn’t notice before because it blended with the pillow casings, rolled off the far side and thumped on the floor.  What the hell?

Chrissie dropped the bedding by the door and went to investigate.  It was a present, wrapped in a white on off-white striped paper and tied with a simple white bow.  She recognized that paper.  She bought it to wrap a wedding present back in January.  

There was a card taped to the top.

Chrissie,
I got this for your birthday before today happened.  I still want you to have it, even though you may not remember how much you loved it when you saw it.  Happy Late Birthday.  Love, Race.

Chrissie smiled because the Love, Race had been scribbled out and replaced with just Race.  He must have done that sometime after their talk on the deck.  And after all that had happened today, she’d forgotten that yesterday was her birthday.

Intrigued by what she was supposed to have loved and forgotten, she quickly tore away the paper and opened the box...and dropped her gift with amazement.

No...he didn’t...he couldn’t have!

Chrissie got down on her knees and peered into the box without touching it.  He did!

Holy crap!  He did!  How?

Her fingers shook as she removed the thick, wooden bracelet from the nest of tissue paper, almost afraid it would disappear as soon as she touched it.  Now, she knew she was dreaming.  There was no way -- absolutely no way at all! -- that she was holding an Ian Fisk bangle.  At over an inch wide and almost half an inch thick, the pink ivory wood, with it’s light, reddish hue, was a treasure in itself, being one of the rarest types of wood in the world.  Add in the intricate carvings of primroses along the outside and the distinct IF trademark of the artist, and she now owned what no one else in the entire world -- besides Ophelia Fisk, herself -- will ever own.  

Ian Fisk was a renowned, local -- and blind -- artist who carved these amazing sculptures, but he’d never done jewelry...until he met his current wife, Ophelia.  He created an entire collection of bracelets, beaded necklaces, pendants and amulets for his wife.  In a news article, he complained that the pieces were so difficult and so small that the carvings took him almost two years to complete, and he vowed to never do it again.  Chrissie never understood how a person who couldn’t see could create such details in something so small as the bracelet she held.  

No other wood artist in the world could do what he did, and everyone wanted one of his pieces because of it.  It was even rumored that the Queen of England offered him a month’s vacation at one of her estates if he carved an amulet for her own jewelry collection.

How did Race get a hold of this?

Chrissie got tears in her eyes.  There was an inscription laser-burned on the inside.  She rotated the bracelet as she read the tiny script.  “Loving you was never a choice, it was effortless.  Happy Birthday, Chrissie.”

A small smile hit her lips.  That was sweet...even if it weren’t true.  She knew she wasn’t an easy person to like, much less love.  Race was truly a good man, and she’d been horrible to him.  She’d been horrible to everyone, and she was ashamed of herself.  Cradling the bracelet to her chest, she huddled next to the bed and cried...and cried and sobbed and wailed until she trembled from the ache in her heart.  

Her brain told her that she lashed out at her sister and her mother and Race today because of the stress and confusion, but her very soul said that was no excuse for her behavior.  She had a temper; she knew that.  She’d never lied to herself about it, but she wasn’t a cruel person.  The person that stood in that backyard and said all those hideous things to Dena wasn’t her.  Dena was her best friend, her only friend most days, and she didn’t deserve Chrissie’s resentment.  

Then there was Race.  She looked into his face, felt no signs of recognition, but when he touched her, kissed her, held her, peace settled around her, exciting her, and that frustrated her.  Mostly because she wanted to touch and kiss and hold him again, so much that her body shook as though experiencing an addiction withdrawal.  

The smooth wood of the bracelet in her hand comforted the fever inside her a little.  It wasn’t him, but it was close enough.  Like a stick of gum for someone trying to quit smoking.  She needed to thank him...right away.  Wiping the tear streaks off her cheeks, she dashed out of the bedroom and barged right into his back, pushing him into the linen closet.

“Oh, God!  I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he said, righting himself and the stack of blankets that threatened to fall off a shelf.  “Where’s the fire?”  He noticed her red, puffy eyes and swallowed thickly.  “You’ve been crying.”

Chrissie laughed it off.  “I’m fine.  Everything just hit me all of a sudden.”

“Are you okay?  I can’t stand to see you cry.”

She nodded, but he obviously didn’t believe her.  However, her assumption about him was accurate.  He was a good man, and he diverted the conversation away from her pain.  Spying the bracelet in her hand, he flushed pink.  “Oh, so you found your present.  Um...do you like it?”

Chrissie tightened her fingers around it and hugged it to her chest, terrified it might still vanish into thin air.  “I love it!  How did you know?”

“That’s good,” he breathed.  “I was afraid that you couldn’t remember wanting it, and...  Wait -- do you remember?”

She glanced at the bracelet, recalling the art exhibit she went to and how she’d been mesmerized by the display of pieces that no one would ever get to acquire.  “What do you remember?”

He watched her carefully as he told her about going the same exhibit she remembered, only in her past, she’d been alone, invited through a client of hers to find a sculpture for that client’s office building.  In Race’s past, they’d been together.  Chrissie sighed.

“I went to that exhibit, too,” she admitted, “but I was alone...researching a piece for a client.”

“Oh.”  He shifted his feet and turned to gather some clean sheets from the closet.  Coming back around to face her, he cleared his throat.  “Well...then I’m glad you still remember it and you like it.”  

“Race, how did you get a hold of this?  It’s impossible.”

He smiled, a quick flicking her his lips.  “Don’t worry about that.  I promised Ophelia...well, just don’t worry about it.”

“Ophelia?  Ophelia Fisk?  You know her?”

“We met at the exhibit,” he supplied, closing the closet door.

“What did you promise her?”

“It’s nothing, Chris.  Really.  Don’t worry about it.”

She felt there was something he wasn’t telling her.  Well...duh!  “I want to know, Race.”

He clenched his jaw and breathed roughly for a few seconds, as though to suck in some patience or something.  “It doesn’t matter, Chrissie.  Just let it go.”

A flare of her stubborn temper ignited, but she pushed it down, not wanting to upset anyone again tonight.  “I want to know,” she repeated calmly.  “What did you do?”

“I made a promise that I can’t keep now, so please, just drop it.”

“Why can’t you keep your promise?”

He closed his eyes and groaned.  “Chris, please...it’s not a big deal.”

“Obviously, it is.  Tell me what you promised...please.”

He opened his eyes and flashed her a quick grin.  “I promised Ophelia that you would love your gift as much as she did when her husband made it.”

Chrissie snorted.  “You’re lying.  Just tell me the truth.”

He huffed.  “Okay, you really want to know?  I told Ophelia that your company would redecorate her house for her, and that you would come in during the holidays and decorate for their annual Christmas party.”

Chrissie was speechless.  She could only stare at him because she took great pride in her small business, but she never dreamed that she’d get a chance to work with The Ophelia Fisk.  The woman embodied class and held prominent sway over much of the art world.  Chrissie felt like she’d been given a second birthday gift with Race’s promise to Ophelia.  

Race shook his head with chagrin, misunderstanding her silence.  “That was before all of this happened today.  I have no intention of following through.  I’ll just call her sometime this week and make a new deal.  I’ll supply bikes for their kids for the rest of their lives if I have to.”

Chrissie stepped backward, holding her bracelet to her body.  He saw her possessive action and smiled again.  “Don’t worry, Chris.  Whatever it takes...you won’t have to give it back.  We’ll move to the Canaan Islands if we have to.”

“No, no,” she said, gulping in breaths.  “You made a promise.  I’ll be very happy to decorate her house.”

“Chris..”

“It’s okay, really,” she reassured him hurriedly, laughing softly.  “Actually, it sounds like something I would have promised myself.”

Race hefted the bulk of linens in his arms.  “It was your idea,” he said sheepishly.  “You told me you would do anything for that bracelet, even redecorate her house at no cost.  When I asked Ophelia if she could ever part with the bracelet, it was the only thing she would take.  She said she didn’t know the first thing about interior design, and with her husband being blind, she already had a special designer to make their new home livable for him, but she hated the cold functionality of it all and wanted a designer that would collaborate with the special one on redoing the house.  I knew you’d be upset about it, and I was prepared to sell my soul and every second of my free time to you to help you with the job.”

Chrissie felt guilty all over again.  “I can’t ask you to do that, and I’m not upset.  You got me the bracelet.  You don’t have to give me your time, too.”

“I want to, Chris,” he said.  “But I know you won’t be comfortable around me all day like that, so I’ll figure out something else to make it up to you.”

“Race, you don’t have to make it up to me...”

“Yes, I do,” he argued, getting annoyed.  She could tell.  Those dimples in his cheeks flashed when he smiled, but they also appeared when he feeling peeved.  “I can’t give you a gift and then expect you to pay for it.  It’s not right.”

“It got me the bracelet,” she disputed, eager to see those adorable dimples again, and she wondered what it’s feel like to have her mouth pressed right there when they materialized...and slowly move up to his ears...nibbling them...

“Listen, I don’t want to fight about this,” he said with a sullen, tired tone.  Chrissie smiled because he was the one fighting about this.  “You just tell me what you want from me in exchange for the promise I made for you, and I’ll do it.”

Those dimples...Lord, those dimples!  They were like the starting point.  She could begin there, move to his ears , down his neck, inhaling his scent along the way, and...  An uncontrollable urge to taste this man standing before her overcame her.  “A kiss,” she whispered, staring at his cheeks.

He blinked at her.  “What?”

“What?” she asked, bringing herself back to reality, and heated up to a fiery red when she recalled what she asked of him.  

“You said ‘a kiss’.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said quickly, backing away.  He grinned again, and those sexy divots grinned at her, too.  Chrissie melted.

“Yes, you did,” he said, moving toward her, still grinning.  

“Yeah, I did,” she sighed.

The blankets and sheets hit the floor.  He was standing right in front of her, her lips just a few inches away from his cheeks.  “Are you giving me permission to touch you, Chrissie?” he murmured, his striated blue eyes darkening.

She had to get a hold of herself.  This was a situation that could quickly get out of hand, and if he kissed her right now, they were only ten feet from her bed, and she wasn’t the type of person to tumble between the sheets with a man she barely knew.  “Um...would you take a rain check?  Maybe things will be...different...tomorrow...”

He searched her gaze for the longest time.  Chrissie’s breathing grew heavy, but he had not touched her, just like he promised, and she secretly wished he’d touch her.  Bending to pick up his bundle, he stepped backward away from her.  “Yeah, sure.”  He moved down the hall to go back to the basement.  Chrissie stopped him with a gentle hand on his elbow.  His eyes were so sad and lost, she was lost and sad, too.

“Race...”

“Don’t Chris,” he said, not looking at her.  “Don’t tell me you’re sorry, or try to make me feel better.  I’m happy you like my present, and if you’re not going to tell me that you wish things were different right now, or that you might not find me in your heart again if you never get your memory back, then I don’t want to hear it.  I can’t, Chris.  I can’t take anymore tonight.  I’m tired, you’re tired, and I think we should both go to bed and figure all this out tomorrow.”  He shrugged off her touch and disappeared down into his basement.

Chrissie slipped the bracelet on her wrist, vowing that if she woke up tomorrow and this whole day was only a bad dream, then she wanted to keep her present with her all night.  If she woke up tomorrow, married and remembering her marriage, then she’d be content with that, maybe even happy about that.  But if not, then...what could she do about it anyway?  And if tomorrow brought another day like today...?

She grabbed her own clean linens and proceeded to make up her bed.  She’d discover the answer to her questions tomorrow.