WORTHY, Part 3 (The Worthy Series) (20 page)

“We’ll bring them, but we’ll be charging,” Jonathan said, sidling up and putting his arm around me. Just the heat of him was enough to make me want even more of him — even though all the recent sex since we’d been back at the cottage had been just as hot and passionate as ever, even that first day on the kitchen floor. We’d already agreed that the table and chairs and countertop all deserved their individual christening, piling on our already busy sexual workload. I’d never looked forward to working at anything as much as I was that.

“That’s right,” I said, hoping nobody asked me why I was blushing. “We’re going to start up a small bakery out here. You can order online, of course, and we’ll ship anywhere. Will you tell your friends about us? I’ll give you the website.”

“I’ll tell everyone I come across about this,” Ash said, blinking at the cupcake before taking another bite. “It’s incredible, really. What’s your secret, Michelle?”

“It’s Jonathan, actually,” I said. “He’s always been better at baking than I am.”

“No!” Hans said, delighted. “I love it.”

One by one, our guests started departing. The sun was sinking low in the sky, casting everything in gold, but I knew everyone was busy. It was a long drive back to Chicago, besides.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” Lucy said, giving me a big hug. “It’ll be quiet without you two at the compound.”

“I’m sure my mother will keep you plenty busy,” Jonathan said wryly. “But thanks for coming, Lucy. You don’t know how much you’ve meant to us throughout our time together.”

“Look at that makeup,” Rowan crowed, clapping her hands. “You cried like a baby, and there isn’t a single smudge.”

Jonathan tightened his arm around my waist at the mention of “baby,” but I didn’t so much as flinch.

“You’re a miracle worker, Rowan, really,” I said.

“Honey, there aren’t any miracles left for me to work,” she said. “Even when you still had your scar, you were beautiful. Now, you’re otherworldly. You’re stunning. You should model.”

“You’re too much,” I laughed. “I’m working on getting my degree in environmental science. I don’t think I’ll have time to do any modeling.”

“An online bakery business and an environmental science degree?” Rowan asked, gaping. “You’re going to be one busy couple.”

“Plus Jonathan’s still going to consult for Wharton Group,” I added, looking up at him proudly.

After the investigation, Jonathan had taken the folder I’d given him and shown it to Collier. It took a lot of courage to do so, but somehow, Collier had already known. Maybe he had conducted his own probe, or maybe he just knew what kind of person his son had been and just what he was capable of. To Collier, it was just important that Jonathan eventually confessed to the embezzlement and apologized. Collier had forgiven him for it long ago.

Out of respect, however, Jonathan had quietly resigned. Collier had tried to keep him in the CEO spot, especially in light of how hard Jonathan had worked to earn and keep it once he’d lost his memories. Plus, he was an even more formidable leader now, with both his morality and knowledge completely intact.

But Jonathan had refused, encouraging Collier to take the reins of the family company once more.

“You may think I deserve this, but I’ve already messed too many things up, Dad,” he’d told Collier that night, with me by his side. “You helped build this company, and you deserve to run it.”

“I wish you’d reconsider,” Collier urged. “You have a bright future in this company, son. This little thing?” He hefted the folder for a second before sending it through the shredder. “All in the past. The ancient past, in fact. You’re not that person anymore, Jonathan. You’ve changed for the better.”

“My interests lie elsewhere, now,” Jonathan said, looking at me. “We want to live at the cottage, Dad, out in the woods. Away from Chicago and all of this.”

In the end, businessman as he was, Collier had convinced Jonathan to agree to do consultations on key issues. I thought that was for the best — after he’d lost his memories, Jonathan had worked so hard for the right to sit at the helm of Wharton Group. I was pretty sure he would miss it if he left it altogether.

“You two will be missed dearly at the compound,” Collier said, hugging both Jonathan and I as the sun sank below the tree line, casting us all in shadow.

“Don’t lie,” Jonathan laughed. “I’m sure Jane already has machinations on taking over my floor.”

“Your sister’s in rehab, actually,” Collier said.

“Really?” Jonathan blinked a couple of times. “Was that her choice?”

“In the end, yes,” Collier said, his face placid. “It wasn’t much of a choice — get cut off or get sober — but it was hers, in the end.”

“Ouch,” Jonathan said, wincing.

“I think she’ll be better for it,” I said, aware that it was just a platitude. By Jane’s own admission, I’d never interacted with her when she was sober before. If she came out on the other side successfully, she’d probably be a complete stranger to me.

“Well, I wish you all the best in all of your pursuits,” Collier said, taking each of us by the hand and squeezing. “You all deserve only happiness from here on out. Be good to each other, and to yourselves, as well.”

“Drive safely, Dad,” Jonathan said. “Let me hear from you.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than that,” Collier said, winking at me. “I already have a case I need your advice on.”

“My advice?” Jonathan rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Dad, you’re the expert, not me.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Collier said, waving as he walked away.

“No, tell me right now,” Jonathan said, following his father to the car. “I don’t want a damn wakeup call over something I can solve right now.”

I laughed and shook my head at them. They were such a pair. It was so interesting to see how they interacted. Jonathan had been nothing but deferential to Collier without his memories. With them, on the other hand, he was a wonderful mix of fire and love. I adored learning new things about my husband every day.

“So, Ms. Smith.”

I turned to see Felix lingering. That was like him. He observed everything and missed nothing.

“It’s Mrs. Wharton, actually,” I corrected, smiling. “In fact, it always has been.”

“Is this the happily ever after part?” he asked, and I had to laugh at the dour expression on his face. For such a happy occasion, his ever-present grimness was something of a comfort — if only for its consistency.

“Yes, Felix,” I said. “This is the happily ever after part.”

“I wasn’t sure it would happen for you,” he confessed. “Even though I was pulling for you.”

That was a sweet revelation — hard-faced Felix pulling for my happiness.

“Thank you,” I said. “That really means a lot. I didn’t think I’d get my happily ever after, either.”

“It’s what your parents wanted, you know,” he said. “Not all the tragedy and the suffering, of course. But for you to be happy. All they wanted was your happiness.”

My breath caught it my throat. Felix never really talked about my parents. Hearing about them from someone who’d known them so intimately while they were alive made all the difference in the world for me.

Before he could back away, I threw my arms around the old man and hugged him for all I was worth.

“Thank you for everything,” I whispered in his ear. “I know you’ll be great as CEO of the firm.”

I backed away from him to see his eyes widen.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice faint. “CEO? But that’s — that’s — you’re the CEO.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m done with my moonlighting. I have other things to do now. And I’m going to be very busy with those other things. You’ve always been the right person for the job, Felix. I know my parents trusted you with everything. If running the firm wasn’t in my cards, I know you’re the most qualified person for it. You’ve poured everything into that place, and it’s time it starts giving back to you.”

“I — I don’t know what to say,” he said, his face ashen but eyes bright.

“Say you accept,” I said. “Say you’ll carry on what my parents wanted the firm to be. Say you’ll honor their memories and how much they loved you by leading this company.”

“I accept,” he said. “And I will do everything to the very best of my ability.”

“I know you will,” I said. “Let me know if you ever need anything, Felix, all right?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wharton,” he said. “I won’t let you down.”

As the dust from Felix’s car faded into the deepening evening, and Collier waved goodbye to me one more time before driving off, my husband walked me into our home and kissed me deeply.

“That was a nice day, wasn’t it?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

“It really was,” I said. “We’ll have to have cottage parties more often.”

“It’s the cottage after-party I’m more interested in,” Jonathan said, leading me to the front door. “Let’s not wear clothes for a whole week. Deal?”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Wharton.”

“I like how that sounds, Mrs. Wharton.”

-----

“I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to be sad,” Jonathan said carefully, holding my gaze with his arresting blue eyes. We’d been at the cottage for nearly half a year, the cold of winter making us don sweaters, build fires, and generally eschew anything that looked like work in favor of snuggling beneath warm quilts and afghans together.

This was the way life was supposed to be. It was so peaceful here in the winter, and we wanted for nothing. I still liked to can the things we grew, but Jonathan wouldn’t let me work as hard as I was used to. We still enjoyed working with our hands, growing things, and controlling the courses of our lives, but we never struggled in some of the ways I’d been used to struggling.

I never had to worry about making it through the winter anymore. Not with Jonathan by my side.

“I can’t promise anything,” I said finally, smiling at my husband. “I’ve been downright weepy today.”

“Fair enough,” Jonathan said. “You’re on your period, right? I wanted you to know what happened to the baby things.”

I held my breath and willed my eyes to stay dry, not bothering to correct my husband. Was now the time to tell him? I’d been putting it off to make it special — or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. The truth of the matter was that I was afraid to tell him, afraid of how he’d react, afraid of how I’d react.

“Michelle?”

“Yes?”

“The baby stuff.” Jonathan leveled his gaze at me, and I knew he was trying to assess whether he should continue in this vein of conversation. I’d been weepy all week, crying at the least little thing, whether it was sad or not. I cried one morning after a particularly beautiful sunrise that we’d watched together, bundled up against the cold, mugs of hot, steaming coffee warming our hands.

“Do you want me to continue?” he asked. “Because I don’t have to.”

“The baby stuff,” I repeated slowly. The baby stuff — the things I’d been collecting for our child before tragedy struck. When we’d come back out to the cottage to live, I hadn’t been able to go inside, knowing that everything I’d amassed was still there, still waiting for the child who would never be born. I’d tasked Jonathan with getting it all out of there. Did he burn it? Bury it? Dump it somewhere?

“I didn’t want you to know until it was all said and done,” he said, “but it was the beginning of a donation service for needy new mothers from all walks of life.”

I gasped, my hand flying over my mouth.

“Oh, baby,” Jonathan murmured, taking me into his arms just as I started to sob. “I didn’t want this to happen, Michelle. I knew it. The last thing I want to do is make you cry.”

“They’re happy tears,” I said, hiccupping as I buried my face into his sweater, not caring that I was getting it wet from my blubbering. “I think. Well, bittersweet tears. Oh, I don’t know. Just hold me and shut up about it.”

I felt Jonathan sigh, and he tightened his embrace, stroking my hair until I was all cried out. My hair was nearly past my shoulders — an achievement I was incredibly proud of. I was seriously considering never cutting it again, even if it would get in the way of gardening and everything else.

“I’m thankful that all of that stuff could go toward something positive,” I said. “I probably would’ve burned it. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“No more tears,” Jonathan commanded, holding up a finger in my face. “I named you the CEO of the nonprofit. If you want, you can be responsible for the fundraising, the collections, the press, everything.”

“Who’s in charge of it right now?” I asked, cocking my head. “You said it was already said and done.”

Jonathan smiled. “Amelia.”

I blanched. “Jon, she doesn’t know, does she?”

“Of course not,” he said. “She’s doing this as a favor to us. The only thing she thinks she knows is that you’re passionate about helping those less fortunate.”

“She probably thinks I was a teen mother or something,” I grumbled, wiping my nose with a tissue.

“Oh, let her think whatever the hell she wants to think,” Jonathan said. “If you don’t want to, you’ll never see her again.”