WORTHY, Part 1 (14 page)

On either side of Jonathan and the girl were two older people who I surmised to be his parents. His father had platinum hair with a matching beard. His smile made me smile, too. It was charismatic and true. I could see that Jonathan got his good looks from this man, and I wouldn’t mind getting old alongside my soon to be husband if this was his future.

The woman, Jonathan’s mother, still had dark hair, like her children. I didn’t think it was unfair to assume that she was dyeing it—she had to be around Jonathan’s father’s age. But I also realized that she was where the girl got that look from. This stately matriarch knew how to get what she wanted.

“My mother and father, Amelia and Collier Wharton,” Jonathan said after we’d both studied the photograph for some time. “And my sister, Jane Wharton.”

“Jonathan and Jane,” I said, smiling. “They’re all abroad right now?”

“They wrapped it up as soon as they could,” he said, smiling at me. “We’ll see them soon enough, and they’ll get to meet my fiancée.”

“Ooh, meeting the parents,” I said, not even having to pretend to be nervous for my joke to work.

“They’ll love you,” Jonathan said,
his look consternated. “Damn it. I love you. Who knows what they love? I love you, and that’s all that matters.”

He looked like he was on the
verge of tears, and I knew that this was even harder on him than it was on me—if that could even be imagined. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other and remember to keep breathing.

“I love you,” I said, smiling for my future husband. “I’d love to see your room
—um, floor.”

We were going to get through this and come out on the other side even closer. I knew we were. We had to survive. We had to stick together.

“Then to the fourth floor we go,” Jonathan said, smiling gamely.

We took the elaborate curving staircase
—even though I found out that there was an elevator, too—and stopped at his floor. He had a suite of rooms, including one and a half bathrooms, a sitting area, a home office, a bedroom, and a gaming room. The gaming room looked to be where Jonathan would blow off steam. It had a pool table, foosball table, dart board, huge flat screen television, and what appeared to be surround sound. In one corner was a full service bar with a selection of beers on draft.

“Impressive,” I whistled, taking it all in. Jonathan
—the Jonathan he used to be, anyways—knew how to have a good time.

“It seems a little much, doesn’t it?” he remarked, looking as shocked as I was.

Everything seemed a little much, but I didn’t want to say so. It was very beautiful, but more than what I was used to being around. The floor in the gaming room was a deeply stained wood that matched the rest of the floor. It spoke of good taste and the money to make it happen. Even the bathroom—with its sunken tub and stone floors—had its own fireplace.

In the bedroom, we both sunk down on Jonathan’s sinfully comfortable bed.

“I don’t know who I’m supposed to be,” he murmured, clearly lost.

“You’re Jonathan Nelson Wharton,” I said. “And you’re my fiancé and lover.”

His mouth was on mine in an instant, demanding, desperate. I kissed him back just as deeply, just as passionately. We didn’t bother with a slow dance, gradually stoking our fires. We didn’t even bother with removing all of our clothes. We yanked aside the necessaries and joined our bodies in a way that grounded us both. The floor to ceiling windows, the wall paper that looked suspiciously like raw silk, the closet full of expensive suits all fell away, and the only thing that was important was the next thrust, the next breath, the next touch.

We came together, our voices calling out for help and answering simultaneously. We didn’t know who we were. But we were going to figure it out.

Lying with him in his bed, our arms around each other, I felt more grounded than I had since we’d arrived.

“All we have to do is love each other,” I said softly. “That’s all that matters.”

“I’m so happy you’re here with me,” Jonathan said. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

When I woke up the next morning, I didn’t know where I was. The window was on the wrong side of the room
, and I couldn’t hear the wind in the trees.

With a strange sinking feeling, I realized I was in the city. I rolled over and tried to bury my head in Jonathan’s neck, giving myself at least that comfort, but there was only a pillow there. Where was he?

I stretched and got out of bed, walking into the fancy bathroom to a perfect sight for homesick eyes. Jonathan was soaping himself up, completely nude in a glass-encased tiled shower.

“Now that’s better than breakfast,” I said sleepily, smiling at him. The water must have been scalding. The room was filled with steam.

“Care to join me?” he asked, grinning. “You could wash my back.”

Or other things. I slipped off my nightgown and stepped into the shower with him. What a wakeup call. The hot water relaxed and rejuvenated me.

“Why are you up so early?” I asked.

“Some people have to work around here,” he teased. “Your farmhand has to go to the office.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“I was thinking we could have lunch,” he said, trailing his fingers over my slick body.
“Noon, maybe?”

“You could just work a half day,” I wheedled, feeling terrible as I did so. I didn’t think I could handle being by myself in a new place all day long with loads of people staring at me. I cringed
at wondering what the staff members thought about me—especially with the way Winston had frowned after Jonathan introduced me as his fiancée. I was trying here, but it was going to have to be baby steps.

“I wish I could,” Jonathan sighed. “But I’ve got to get up to speed. It’s like I’m cramming, but for real life instead of a test.”

I fell silent, absorbing his light touches against my skin, enjoying the feel of him. Soon, he’d be at work and I’d be on my own. If only we could make this shower last forever.

“What are you going to do today?” Jonathan asked, stroking my wet hair.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I have a recommendation,” he said. “Let me give you my credit card so that you can go buy some clothes for yourself.”

“I don’t need your credit card for that,” I laughed. “I’ll just get some stuff online. I have cash, too, you know.”

“Michelle, let me buy you some clothes, okay?” he said, hugging me to him. “I told you I wanted to do it. So let me. Go on a shopping spree. Hit the Miracle Mile. Have fun.”

Blowing Jonathan’s money at fancy stores didn’t really appeal to me very much, especially since I’d be at those stores in person. There was a reason I did all my shopping online. On the Web, there was no one to stare at me.

“Why don’t you want to go shopping?” Jonathan asked softly, turning me around to face him.

“It’s a new place,” I lied, “a big city. What if I get lost?”

“You’ll have a driver,” Jonathan said as if that were a normal thing. “It’ll be fine, Michelle. We could even get one of the female staff members
—Lucy’s nice—to go with you, if you need a second opinion.”

Invite another person to gawk at me? No, thank you.

“I don’t mind shopping alone,” I said. “But I still think it’s more convenient to shop online. Never have to leave the comfort of home!”

Jonathan contemplated me quietly, and I knew he could see straight through me.

“I thought we were past all this,” he said, touching the right side of my face softly. I squirmed away. There was never any “past all this” with the scar. It was my constant passenger, reminding me of the ruin of my life. I forgot about it sometimes when I was with Jonathan—or at least I had when we were still at the cottage. Now, with people all around us, I had to endure horrified glances and double takes at my face.

“If it’ll make you happy, I’ll go,” I said.

“You make me happy, Michelle,” Jonathan told me. “But I want you to be happy, too. I don’t like seeing you unsure of yourself.”

“I’ll go,” I said quietly. I didn’t want to worry him. He already had enough things on his plate without having an insecure fiancée.

“And you’ll take the credit card,” he said.

“I’ll blow your cash, yes,” I sighed. “But it’s completely unnecessary.”

“No, it’s not,” Jonathan corrected. “Money spent on you is money well spent. Now, I’ve got to get out of here and get run to work. Good thing I can actually run to it. Maybe my family had a good plan with this whole compound thing.”

He kissed me deeply and left me in the hot water. I swiftly shampooed my hair and rinsed. By the time I was done bathing, Jonathan was fully dressed. He was so handsome in a gray suit and a blue tie that matched his eyes. Using some pomade, he styled
his hair, slicking it back like I’d seen it on the Wharton Group website. This was the CEO Jonathan, but he was no stranger. He was mine.

“My farmhand cleans up nicely,” I said, wrapping myself in a fluffy white towel.

“I try,” he said, turning and kissing me. “Now, by noon, I want you to have an entirely new wardrobe. We’ll meet back here.”

“Sounds good,” I said. Then, feeling corny, I added, “
Have a good day at work, dear.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” Jonathan laughed,
setting his credit card down on the countertop. I realized he must’ve gotten replacements made when he first came back to the city. His wallet was likely at the bottom of the river back out in the woods. “You have a good time today.”

Once he was gone, I took a deep breath
, twirling the credit card in my fingers. It was surprisingly heavy for just a piece of plastic. I hadn’t been honest-to-God shopping in a long, long time. I used to like shopping. I would get some pretty new clothes, and Jonathan would be happy. It was a win-win situation.

The fog on the mirrored walls in the bathroom cleared, and I looked at myself in despair. The hot water had
turned my pink scar lobster red. I was a monster. There was no artful way around that. How could I even think that I could go out in public? I just wanted to lock myself away in Jonathan’s room for the rest of the day. I knew how disappointed he’d be in me, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go shopping.

I wrapped myself in what had to be one of his luxurious terrycloth robes and sat down on his bed. I was used to rising early at the cottage, so going back to sleep was out of the question. Was there anything I could do?

A light knock on the door startled me.

“Who is it?” I called, clutching at the robe around me. It engulfed my body, but I was still naked underneath
—naked and in a strange place.

“It’s Lucy,” a voice called. “I’ve come to clean up a bit.”

Oh—Lucy the staff member. Jonathan had recommended that I take shopping. That she was nice.

“That’s all right,” I called back. “I can take care of everything.” There wasn’t really much that needed to be done. I’d just wipe down the bathroom and make the bed. I could unpack my backpack, too. There. There were plenty of things for me to do today.

There was a long pause. “Ma’am, cleaning is my job,” Lucy said. “You don’t have to take care of anything. Mr. Jonathan said that you were going shopping and that I would go, if you wanted.”

“I don’t think I’m going to go shopping after all,” I said. “I
—I was going to unpack my things.”

“I can do that, too,” Lucy said, sounding a little impatient. “Mr. Jonathan was very insistent that you go shopping.”

I swallowed. With the way I looked, I’d stand out like a sore thumb in all those fancy stores Jonathan wanted me to go to.

“Miss Michelle?” I could practically envision Lucy on the other side of the door, tapping her foot. She’d probably be wearing a French maid’s outfit and be obscenely gorgeous, too.

“Come in,” I called glumly.

The door swung inward
, and a raven-haired girl walked in. She looked to be around my age, maybe a little younger. She wasn’t wearing a French maid’s outfit, which was something of a relief, but she was pretty. She had on the same uniform as Winston: black pants, white shirt, black apron.

She looked at me, her eyes darting to my scar, and then glancing down at her feet. My heart shriveled a little inside. I hated my stupid scar. I hated the way I looked. People would never get used to it. I bet Jonathan even stared at it in my sleep. If I could get away with wearing a bag on my head, I’d do it.

I entertained that fantasy briefly, but the one that won my heart over even more was of me taking a taxi back to my cottage. There were no staff members there to ogle my scar, no fancy stores in which to be whispered about and pitied behind my back. There’d be no pretending to be okay with everything, no worrying about fitting in, no paranoia.

And there’d be no Jonathan. I was here because I loved him. I kept having to remind myself of that, which was worrisome. I didn’t want my emotions getting in the way of supporting him.

Lucy stooped at the door to the bathroom to gather my nightgown and I blushed, jumping up from the bed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll take that,” I said quickly. “I know how to pick up after myself.”

“Please, Miss Michelle, I do the picking up,” Lucy said, clutching the nightgown to her. “Relax. Do you want me to order you something for breakfast? Some coffee?”

“Order breakfast?” I repeated dumbly. “I can just go make something.”

Lucy smiled. “Do you think any of the staff would let Mr. Jonathan’s fiancée ‘make something’ for herself for breakfast? No more than I’d let you clean…or unpack.”

I sank back down on the bed and buried my face in my hands. Adjusting to city life was going to be a lot more difficult than I’d imagined.

“I’m new at this, if you haven’t already noticed,” I said drily.

Lucy, thank God, took pity on me and giggled. “It takes some getting used to,” she said. “You have to let go and let us take care of things. That’s what staff’s for.”

“I used to grow my own food,” I said, “grow it, catch it, cook it, eat it.”

Lucy smiled. “Well, you have people for that now. How about some breakfast in bed? Relax. After you’ve put something in your stomach, we’ll make a plan of attack for shopping.”

I winced. “I really don’t feel up to shopping.”

“Are you sick?”

I shook my head. “Just don’t feel like going out.”

“This is just between you and me,” Lucy said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “But if my fiancée gave me his credit card and told me to buy whatever I wanted, I’d take it and run.”

“I wish I could do that,” I laughed. “It’d make him really happy.”

“How does an omelet sound?” Lucy prompted, raising her eyebrows. “And how do you take your coffee?”

I sighed. This girl was dead set on getting me to do what Jonathan wanted. Maybe I should just let myself get swept up in it.

“An omelet sounds divine,” I said finally. “And I take my coffee black.”

Lucy picked up the phone at the bedside and relayed my order. “Sit back and relax,” she told me, hanging the phone back on its cradle. “It’ll be up here in no time.”

She bustled around the room, picking up the towels and dirty clothes and loading them in a basket. Lucy was pure efficiency, and a joy to watch. I only wished I could join her and stop feeling so useless and out of my element.

“How long have you worked here?” I asked, watching Lucy go over every surface with a duster.

“About a year now,” she said. “The
Wharton's are a good family to work for, once you realize what they expect.”

“So you knew Jonathan before he lost his memory,” I said.

Lucy hesitated just long enough to make me suspicious. “Yes,” she said. “I knew him before the accident.”

“What was he like?” I asked.

Lucy launched herself into cleaning so furiously that I jumped a little.

“He was different,” she said shortly.

“Different good or different bad?”

“Miss Michelle, I don’t think it’s proper for me to talk to you about this,” she said, stopping her cleaning frenzy and studying her shoes. “I feel like it’s a breach
of privacy. One of the things that the Whartons expect is discretion. I don’t want to violate anything.”

“I understand,” I said, swallowing and feeling uneasy. Of course Jonathan had to have been different before the accident. He’d had a history, a past. This Jonathan was just going on what he picked up along the way, the months he spent with me, the facts that other people had to tell him. Why did I feel so strangely about it?

My musings were interrupted by Winston arriving with a tray of steaming food.

“Breakfast is served,” he announced, setting it on the bedside table.

“Thank you,” I said warmly, trying to push his frown from yesterday out of my mind.

“Enjoy your day, Miss Michelle,” he said, backing out of the room.

The omelet was delicious, and the coffee was perfect. I hoped they hadn’t made a pot just for me. As good as everything was, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad thinking about the coffee Jonathan made for me at the cottage. If the staff took care of everything here all the time, it wasn’t likely I’d be tasting his coffee any time soon.