Page 97 of If the Ring Fits

“Yes, Rowena. I haven’t slept a full night in three months, I’m not on top of everything.”

The notion that I’m not the only one struggling is oddly comforting.

“And you want to stay married to me?” I point at my chest. “Because you love me?”

“Yes. Andalso, yes.”

The temptation to just believe him is strong. The me who dated Liam would. Heck, the me of a week ago would take his words at face value. But I’m so tired of constantly living in doubt. “I don’t believe you.”

His eyes widen in shock. “Why?”

“You haven’t so much as tried to touch me since Soleil has been born.” My voice cracks. “I know you find me gross.”

Adrian is up in a blur of Armani. In a few quick strides, he rounds the table, grabs my spinning chair, and turns it so that now I’m facing him. My husband kneels on the floor before me, his hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles go white. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known, and the thought that I could find you anything but breathtaking is absurd.”

“Then why haven’t you even kissed me in the past three months?”

He glances away guiltily. “I was just trying to be respectful.”

“Respectful?”

“I’ve been keeping my distance because I thought that’s what you wanted, what you needed while you healed. Not because I don’t want you—because, believe me, Rowena,wanting you has never been the issue. But I’ve read everywhere that new moms don’t want to be pressured about sex by their husbands, that they find the stress of more demands put on them overwhelming and then there’s the fact that you’ve been…” He trails off.

This is it. This is when he tells me he finds me repulsive. “Gross?”

His eyes fleet to mine, disappointed almost by my suggestion. “It’s not because of how you look—it never was. But you haven’t been yourself.” Now his gaze turns considerate. “I kept telling myself that you were okay, that it was just an adjustment period to a big change but then the way you reacted to the papers, not even giving me a chance to explain. Rowena, I’m saying this from a place of deep love and without judging, but I think you might be suffering from postpartum depression.”

The words come at me like a needle piercing through a bubble. My ears pop. At once, I know he’s right. I can finally put a name to this darkness that’s been churning inside me. And suddenly, I can’t keep all the fear and anxiety contained anymore. I start crying, full-on bawling. Adrian pulls me up and crushes me into a hug.

Between sobs, I tell him how I’ve been feeling all these months: alone, helpless, inadequate. He cradles me, caressing my hair and whispering he’s sorry for not noticing first, for not offering more help, for not insisting I accept it.

I shake in his arms. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

He tilts my chin up and looks at me. “I never, for one second, stopped wanting you.” And then he kisses me. Nothing platonic about it. He consumes me as if I were the oxygen he needed to breathe. It’s fierce and claiming. There’s fire and there’s need. And there’s love.

My doubts scatter like a deck of cards flung into the air, all my insecurities replaced by the warmth of his lips and the strength of his embrace. I grip him back, matching his urgency, tasting the promise in his kiss—the promise that things can still be good between us, maybe even better than before because now we’re not tiptoeing around each other anymore.

When we pull apart, the room is spinning, or it could be just me, dizzy with the revelations tumbling through my mind like laundry in a dryer. “Okay,” I choke out, clinging to him for dear life. “Okay, what do we do now?”

Adrian’s smile is slow and warm, like honey drizzling over pancakes. “First, we get you professional help, both for Soleil and with a therapist. I’ve already researched the best nannies and psychologists in the city. And once you’re on your feet again, we can pack everything and move to California.”

I blink, not understanding what he’s talking about.

He explains without me needing to ask. “If you’re moving to California, I’m coming with you.”

I vaguely remember yelling at him that I was moving and couldn’t wait to be rid of him in the haze of my rage. “You’d move to California with me?”

“Sure.”

“W-what about your job here?” Dominic still hasn’t given him the promotion but it should arrive any day now.

“I don’t care about it as much as I care about you and Soleil.”

I’m floored. “You’d sacrifice everything you’ve worked for your entire life just for me.”

“Yes, gladly.” He cups my face. “And there should be no ‘just’ when you refer to yourself. Because you’re everything, and you should never discount how amazing, strong, capable,beautiful, desirable, and irreplaceable you are.” He kisses me again then pulls back abruptly. “Did I say sexy as hell?”

I smile. “You did not.”

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