Page 6 of King of Guilt

He continued to massage his neck for another moment before shaking his head. “No, I don’t mind.” He turned around and pointed toward a closed door. “That’s the dressing room, and the bathroom’s through there. Feel free to grab anything of mine to sleep in.”

“Okay.” Avoiding any further eye contact, I grabbed the fluffy skirt of my wedding dress and walked over to the door, opening it and disappearing in there, closing it behind me.

The dressing room was almost as big as the bedroom, with neatly arranged sections of everything one would imagine existing in someone’s closet. There was an entire wardrobe filled with plain t-shirts in all shades and colors, and at the bottom, an equally diverse assortment of cycling shorts. I quickly reached the conclusion that those were the best items to sleep in, given the circumstances.

In the bathroom—which looked like a fully-fledged spa in its own right—I stood in front of the mirror and proceeded to attempt to remove my makeup. Naturally, Dean didn’t own any makeup remover, so I had to use soap and water for the job. A bottle of hand lotion also helped.

When I came back out into the bedroom, Dean was already fast asleep in his dress shirt, pants, and socks. Tiptoeing, I made my way over to the foot of the bed and ever so gently took off his socks. The last thing this troubled groom needed was to suffer from pressure marks on his shins when he woke up early in the morning to take his mother to the hospital.

Around dawn, I was startled awake by something odd and my eyes shot open. Dean was clearly having a nightmare, snorting and mumbling in his sleep as his hands twitched in place. I knew I wasn’t even supposed to be here for this, yet here we were. So, with a racing heart, I reached out with one hand and placed it softly on his shoulder. He let out a different sound, as if in approval. When I let my hand slide onto his chest, his hands stopped twitching, and the troubled expression holding his eyebrows in a knot relaxed. His face soon smoothened, and he began breathing normally again.

Lying back down, I positioned myself on my side so that I could keep an eye on him for a moment. A moment that soon faded as I drifted off, his face being the last thing I saw.

When the alarms on both our phones started ringing, Dean was the first to swiftly shove aside the covers and leap out of bed. Pushing myself up, I realized that I had no idea if he liked to speak at all upon waking. My conundrum didn’t last long, since Dean turned to me and said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I softly replied, quickly covering my face with my hands as if to brush away my messy bed hair. In reality, and for some unknown reason, I worried if I looked good enough in the morning for him to see.

As if it mattered at all.

four

The Wife I Don’t Know

Dean

I hadn’t seen my mother’s spirits so high since the initial diagnosis and the roller coaster that had followed. With a smile on her face, she got dressed all on her own, and didn’t need assistance walking from her room all the way to the car.

Something inside of me stung, knowing that we were lying to her. But then again, what was a lie if it returned her old, happy self to us in this manner?

She insisted that I sat next to “my bride” in the car, while she sat on my other side. I held her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Don’t worry, D,” she whispered, her smile glowing through her voice. “Que sera, sera. We agreed, right?”

“Right,” I whispered from between my teeth.

“I know that you two hastened this wedding for my sake. But it was, oh!” Looking up and placing her hand over her heart, she sighed deeply. “It was so absolutely beautiful. How can a beginning like that be anything but the start of a profound journey? Right, D?”

I smiled and turned to look into her eyes. “Yes. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“Now. I’ve spoken to Hamlin—”

“Mom—”

“Listen to me. We’ve both heard what the doctors said, and I taught you better than to delude yourself. Let’s stay realistic. He has my updated—”

My chest tightened. “I don’t want to talk about this now. I want to enjoy this beautiful Sunday morning ride; so, can we do that?” I felt Emma’s hand grab mine, squeezing it gently. I got the message, so I took a deep breath. “Alright. What did you want to change with Hamlin?”

“It’s already been changed.” She leaned closer to my ear, whispering so low that only I could hear her. “I’ve added Emma to my will. I gave her the West Chelsea penthouse, since you never really liked that place, anyway. I didn’t want her to think that I didn’t consider her. She’s my daughter-in-law.”

Feeling my heart drop, I bit my lower lip. “When did that happen?”

“Yesterday morning, before everyone started flocking in. I had a decent hour with him, and we amended everything. It’s been done, so please don’t argue with me.”

Letting go of Emma’s hand, I pulled mom’s hand into both of mine, holding it lovingly. “Why did you do that? Really. I’m taking care of her.”

“A woman deserves to know that she has her own place. It’s a basic need. I have faith in you and in making this marriage work, but in case of anything—you know we can’t trust the way life goes—I want her to feel safe. When a woman feels safe, she’s free to fully be herself and give her all.” She paused, looking into my eyes. “And you deserve to have her all, Dean. You deserve a present woman to offer you everything.”

In the presidential suite of the luxurious hospital, Emma stepped up once again, offering us great support as if she were really my loving wife and my mother’s caring daughter-in-law. She stood with the doctors and I, asking questions and demanding clarifications on the expected aftermath of the surgery.

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