WORTHY, Part 1 (13 page)

“Uh-oh,” I said automatically, reacting to his serious tone of voice.

“There’s no ‘uh-oh,’” he reassured me. “But I did want to see what you think about coming back with me
—back to the city, the compound.”

He wanted me to rejoin society for him? I would do anything for Jonathan, but this tore my heart apart.

“You don’t want to go,” he said, making me realize that my face was betraying my surging emotions.

“I’ve been by myself for so long,” I said. “I want to be with you, Jonathan, I do. But I don’t know if I could survive back in civilization. I mean, my face …”

“There is nothing wrong with your face,” Jonathan said fiercely. “Nothing. Michelle, you’re beautiful. When I was in the city, away from you, all I did was miss you. You are my past, present, and future. I want to be with you, but it seems like I have responsibilities to fulfill in the city.”

His raw devotion to me made me tear up, but I tried to be strong.

“I missed you every minute of every day while you were gone,” I said. “It’s true—I have been alone for so long, but I can’t be without you anymore. You’ve spoiled me.”

“And I look forward to spoiling you even more,” Jonathan said, smiling as he feathered a touch over my lips. “I’m rich, apparently. I can support both of us easily. We can have whatever we want.”

“I think we’ve been supporting each other out here just fine,” I said softly. “But I know that it’s important for you to try this out. This is who you were—are—and you need to see if this is what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jonathan said, brushing my hair away from my face. I had to bite my lip to keep from flinching away from his touch. One person seeing my scars was bad enough. But did the rest of the world have to ogle my dark past?

“So when are you thinking about going back?” I asked.

“You mean when are
we
thinking about going back?” he corrected, putting his arm around my shoulder. “I was hoping as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you think we can.”

“Tomorrow?” I felt like my head was spinning on my shoulders. “I
—I don’t know, Jonathan. There are a lot of things to do here. I need to finish winterizing everything. What will we do with the chickens?”

“Dinner?” he suggested, his face the picture of innocence until I pinched him. “Ow!”

“You can’t just pick up and leave from a farm,” I said. “I have responsibilities here, too.”

“I know you do,” he said. “I’ll help you take care of whatever still needs to be done. And if it doesn’t work out for us in the city
—if we decide that life is better out here, we’ll come back. And I’ll get you some new chickens.”

Leaving this place was more than slaughtering a few hens. This had become my home
—my refuge. How could I leave it?

Looking at Jonathan as he continued to talk about the life he’d discovered
—the richness of the compound, the responsibilities of his job, the perks of having staff—I realized that I’d leave the cottage and everything for this man. I loved him. I’d never known love before I met him, and I knew I’d follow him to the ends of the earth.

“Michelle?”

I jumped at his quiet prompting. “What?”

“What are you thinking about?” His forehead had a single line of concern knitting his eyebrows together.

I smiled quickly for him, eager to erase that line. “I was just thinking that I don’t have anything to wear.”

“We can go shopping,” he said eagerly. “I’d love to buy you clothes
—especially since you bought me all those clothes when we first met. You saved my life, Michelle, and helped me build a new one. I can never repay you, but that won’t stop me from trying.”

“I don’t need you to buy me clothes,” I said, laughing. “I have money.”

“But I have lots of money, apparently,” Jonathan said, a fleeting, troubled look flitting across his face. “I’m going to take care of you like you took care of me.”

“Then I have an idea of how you can start,” I said, leaning forward and kissing him brazenly. I had missed him body, heart, and soul, and I wanted at least one more night with him in the place where our love had blossomed.

“We’re going to have to give the cottage a fitting send-off, aren’t we?” he asked, smiling at me and pulling my sweatshirt off my shoulder so he could plant a soft kiss there.

“I think we are,” I agreed.

We kissed for a long time on the couch, leisurely, as if we weren’t in any hurry. It hurt my heart a little—if we wanted to, every night could be like this, making out on the sofa without a care in the world.

After tonight, it was possible we’d never be here again.

Jonathan’s hand slipping up my sweatshirt and cupping one of my free breasts distracted me from my melancholy. Tonight was going to special, then. We would give this place a fitting send-off, just like my fiancé said.

What was first a relaxed reacquainting of our bodies became a more heated, more passionate, more demanding dance. Jonathan’s fingers against my nipples made me squirm, made me fight to run my hands down his fit torso. We pushed and pulled against each other, kissing all the while, sharing breaths as the room suddenly became much too hot.

We yanked the clothing off each other, and I was eager to see what he looked like. I’d missed him, missed this, missed us so much. Seeing his naked body was like seeing a beloved friend after a long time apart. I wanted to worship it, to never let it out of my sight again.

“Come here, baby,” he
groaned, dragging me into his lap. I loved the feeling of his cock pressing against my pelvis, of his potent desire. It was intoxicating.

I straddled his legs
, and he helped me to lift myself up, sinking back down again onto his erection. It was as if I’d been a puzzle missing a piece but didn’t realize it until now. Everything seemed so right with him inside me. I felt strong, hopeful. I’d leave the cottage, and it’d be hard, at first, but I’d have Jonathan there with me every step of the way.

He thrust up into me, dragging me back into the present, and the movements of him inside me were all I could think about. Each pumping motion, the rock of me across his lap, the way he held onto me, his arms circling my
waist, reminded me that Jonathan was the man I loved. I loved him, and I would do anything for him.

My heart melted and so did I
—I came, needy and wanton and moaning as his cock pushed against that secret spot inside of me, my clitoris making contact with his pelvis each time he thrust up and into me. There was nothing better than this, nothing better than reaching completion with the person I loved.

Jonathan echoed that sentiment as he groaned out his climax, squeezing me to him so tightly that I had trouble breathing. I hugged him back, holding him as he shuddered.

“God, I missed you,” he said, his words muffled with his mouth against my neck.

“Let’s go to bed,” I suggested, smiling.

“Not for sleeping, I hope.” Jonathan lifted his head to meet my gaze.

“No, not for sleeping.”

It didn’t take as long as I’d hoped to get everything in order in the cottage and surrounding property. We built a crackling fire
—the first and last of the season—just so all that wood we’d chopped wouldn’t go to waste.

“Do you think we should take some of the canned food?” I asked, then felt stupid as soon as the question left my mouth. Of course we wouldn’t need any of the canned food. We were going to live in a “compound.” The winters would be much more seasonable there.

“You take whatever you want to,” Jonathan said. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

“Ooh,” I said, teasing. “Can I take a chicken?”

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “If you must.”

I laughed. We’d been eating a chicken a day, feeling fat and sassy. I’d finally resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to slaughter the rest and freeze them. As long as the power never failed, they’d be good for months.

“We can come back and visit,” Jonathan promised. “Maybe even on weekends. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

It sounded nice, but it also sounded like a platitude. Once we were both back in the city, we’d probably find excuses to keep from going out here. Having a cottage that required upkeep would be more and more of an inconvenience.

Finally, dressed in my nicest jeans and boots and a sweater that wasn’t too terribly ratty, I was ready to go. All I’d packed were a few essentials and the framed photograph of my family when I was young.

“Are you sure that’s all you’re taking?” Jonathan asked, eyeing my backpack. “I’ve got a big car, you know. We can even take furniture.”

“Everything that’s here belongs here,” I said, looking around at the innards of the cottage for what would probably be the last time. “It would be strange to take it out of its element.”

“Is that what I’m doing to you?” he asked, his voice soft. “Taking you out of your element?”

I stepped into his embrace, the feel of his chin on my head, the way I simply fit into his body comforting me.

“Yes,” I allowed, “but you’re my element. I’ll go where you go.”

“If the thing in the city doesn’t work out, we should come back,” Jonathan said, holding me close to him. “This doesn’t have to be goodbye forever. I promise.”

“I know.”

I paused outside of Jonathan’s SUV as he tossed my backpack inside. The cottage looked so small, but it was so dear to me. Even with the gray skies overhead and the leafless trees, this place was still beautiful. It held a magic for me I’d never get tired of.

I slipped into the SUV, tamping down a small moment of panic. It’d been a long time since I’d been inside a car.

“How did you first get out here?” Jonathan asked. “You know, when you first moved out to the cottage.”

“I took a taxi,” I said, smiling at the memory. The driver had been horrified
—almost as horrified as I was when I got the bill.

“That must’ve been a hell of a fare,” Jonathan said, grinning.

His talk helped me relax, got my mind off of the cottage that was becoming smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, and helped me forget about the fact that I was in a car. I hated cars.

Jonathan and I talked cheerfully about what we’d do when we got to the city. Wharton Group was headquartered in Chicago. It was about three hours away from my little cottage.
I was grateful for the chatter. It helped keep me calm and focused.

It was actually interesting to see the sights of the road. I’d been so removed from civilization for so long that seeing things like pavement and street
signs was novel. But as we got closer to the city, more and more cars joined us on the highway. Buildings sprouted from the ground like enormous concrete and steel and glass trees, and I had to admit that even the urban jungle was beautiful in its own way.

“Doing all right?” Jonathan asked, glancing over at me.

I smiled and nodded. As long as I was with him, everything was all right.

Soon, we were in the city proper, the tall buildings obscuring the horizon and everything else around us. There were people all around us, and I brought my hair in front of my face. So many eyes had the chance to gawk at my ruined face, but everyone bustled, absorbed in their own lives. Was it possible for me to exist in the city without getting a second glance? Maybe I could hide in the crowd instead of the wilderness.

“Here we are,” Jonathan announced, turning in front of an assortment of buildings.

I understood immediately why they called it
“the compound.” The business side of Wharton Group was contained in a series of glittering glass buildings. They looked extremely modern and clean.

We pulled up to the turnaround
, and attendants immediately sprang to action, opening my door. I assumed my defensive stance—turning to the right—to try to avoid their curious stares. Taking my hair out from behind my ear, I further concealed my scarred face.

“Anything I can take for you, ma’am?” the attendant asked, assisting me in getting out of the car. Didn’t anyone do things for themselves here?
The cold wind took my breath away for a moment. How did it find its way through all the buildings from the lake?

“I’ve got it,” I said, opening the door to the backseat and snagging my backpack. “Just this.”

“Very good,” the attendant said stoically. Jonathan walked around the SUV and joined me on the other side.

“Ready for this?” he asked, sounding, if possible, even more nervous than me.

“Now or never,” I said, trying to hide my anxiety with cheerfulness.

We walked into the first building, through the opulently modern lobby.

“This is, apparently, my company,” Jonathan announced, taking me by the hand and squeezing it. I realized how strange it had to be to be in charge of a place he couldn’t remember.

“Tell me about it,” I suggested, snaking my arm around his waist as we walked.

“Well, the buildings house the different facets of Wharton Group,” Jonathan said, sounding as if he were reciting a speech he’d memorized by heart. “There’s the development and testing sectors, the marketing and promotion sectors, the sales sector, and about half a dozen more I can’t remember.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” I said, feeling miniscule and inadequate as we passed by an enormous fountain with a beautiful marble nude woman in the middle. She was perfect and well suited for this place. I was not. Even though I’d taken care with my clothes and appearance before leaving the cottage this morning, I felt irreversibly shabby. I struggled to tamp down my insecurities. Jonathan needed my support, not my weakness. I was here for him, not to drown him in my hang-ups.

“I hope I’ll get everything,” he said, frowning as he glanced at the fountain. “I am in charge of all of it. Or I was.”

“You are,” I said. “We’ll get it figured out. Don’t worry.”

“With you by my side, I’m not,” Jonathan said, smiling and kissing me. The statement warmed my heart. We relied on each other. That’s what a relationship was all about. We were equal partners and balanced lovers. He needed me and I needed him. And because we loved each other, we were able to support each other.

For the first time, I thought that we might succeed here in the city.

“And beyond the courtyard here, we have the living portion of the compound,” Jonathan said, holding the door open for me. The courtyard was magnificent, and I was sure its beauty would only grow in the spring. There was a stream snaking through the pavers and flowerpots dotting the sides. Bare trees and bushes studded the property, as well as café tables and chairs. I could see myself spending a lot of time out here, especially during the summer—if we were here that long. That was a strange idea. Out in the cottage, I had to always keep planning ahead. Here in the city, nothing was certain.

“So this is home,” I said, passing
through the next door that Jonathan held open for me.

“That’s what they tell me,” he said. It would’ve made for a clever joke if it weren’t true: his staff had probably had to tell him everything.

The living quarters were splendid and plush. The foyer opened up with magnificent high ceilings, a crystal chandelier dripping down. I could see several sets of stairs.

“Just how big is this place?” I marveled, gaping. The first thing I thought of was what a pain it would be to keep clean. I was so used to the limited space of the cottage. Where would you even get enough stuff to fill this place?

“It’s five stories,” Jonathan said, as casually as someone can say something like that. “The bottom floor is the common area, where the family gathers to eat and socialize.”

I could see how much it pained him to say the word “family.” It was his family, but he was an outsider.

“Where is your family?” I asked. “Have you…seen them yet?” I’d been about to say “met,” but saved it at the last moment.

“No,” he said, his frown deepening. “They’re still abroad. It was business related to the Wharton Group, and they couldn’t get away
until today. They’ll be here in a couple of days. Anyways, the rest of the floors are for the family—one floor per member—and the top floor is staff and utilities.”

“Tell me what you know about your family,” I said, as we passed into a sitting room. It had fine leather furniture and a gas fireplace. It made me homesick for my rustic fireplace
—fed by wood.

A staff member immediately materialized
, a kindly looking old man dressed smartly in black trousers, a white button down shirt, and an apron. “Something to eat or drink, sir? Ma’am?”

“Do you want something?” Jonathan asked, looking at me. He was dressed so nicely and so obviously fit in with this life, clean cut and gorgeous. What was I doing here? I wanted to pull my hair out in despair.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure I should be here?” I asked in a whisper.

“Baby, I’m not even sure if I should be here,” he said. “But it makes me feel better that you’re here with me.”

“Okay,” I said with a small voice.

“Perhaps something for lunch?” the staff member asked. “I’ll have the cook whip up something nice. Soup and a sandwich to ward off the cold?”

It was pleasantly warm inside the home, but something appealed
to me about soup and a sandwich. It was comfort food.

“
That sounds really nice,” I said, smiling at the staff member. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Winston, Miss …?”

“Just Michelle is fine,” I said quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said, putting his arm around me. “It was rude of me not to introduce you. Winston, this is my fiancée, Michelle. Michelle, this is Winston, head of staff.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Winston said, his eyebrows drawing together briefly before resuming his stoic placidity. I was taken aback. What was so shocking about Jonathan becoming engaged that it would crack Winston’s professional veneer? I knew the answer before I’d even formed the question in my head. The shocking part was me—me in my ragged clothes, me with my ugly face, just me. I wanted the marble floor to open up and swallow me whole.

“It’ll just be a moment, then,” Winston said briefly, leaving us.

“Talk to me, Michelle,” Jonathan said immediately. His face was full of worry. I didn’t want to see the expression on my own face—or the scar that would be with me for the rest of my life.

I
attempted a smile, but my lips quavered. “Everything’s very new,” I managed to say. “I’m trying, Jon.”

Jonathan held his arms out to me and I practically fell into them, taking comfort in his strong chest, hiding my face in his shirt. This was where I felt safe. This is why I came to the city in the first place. I tried to remind myself of the important things, tried to keep my eyes on the prize. My prize was Jonathan. He completed me. As long as we loved each other, we could do anything.

I felt better after lunch. Maybe I’d just been hungry from the long drive. Or maybe the soup and sandwich were just that good.

“We have an excellent chef,” Jonathan told me. “She’s fix
ed me dinner several times now.

“Not as good as you, though,” he added loyally, grinning at me.

“I’d love to meet her,” I said. “And to see the kitchen.”

Jonathan took me on a tour of his enormous home.
The kitchen was state of the art, something I’d only expect to see in restaurants or on the pages of magazines. Each room of Jonathan’s family home was more beautiful than the last. I was so busy being in awe of everything that I was able to forget about my relative inadequacy.

The first floor was dominated with luxurious furnishings and decorations. We paused in front of what had to be a large family portrait. It was displayed prominently on a wall in one of about three separate sitting rooms. In the photograph, Jonathan was grinning cheekily, that pomade making his hair slick and shiny, handsome and well kept. It was the Jonathan who was a stranger to me
—a stranger to us both.

Standing beside him was a girl who looked to be a couple of years younger than him. She had the same smile
—mischievous—and the look on her face told me she was used to getting what she wanted. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and hung in glossy waves to her collarbones. She was a beauty.