Page 66 of Kandi's Crush: A BWWM Sweet Billionaire Romance

On that day, when he was away from the house, the quiet clanging of my thoughts and my sadness was the only noise in the large loft. Melancholy settled around me, and I welcomed any distraction, noise, good sex, or fun times to prevent me from thinking about my mother.

In the home office, I stared at the screen and then at the stack of papers sitting to the side. My brain couldn’t focus on either to reconcile the two.

After two hours of studying the page, I had made no changes. I closed the laptop, pushed back my chair, and retreated to the master bedroom to rest my eyes.

“I’ll close my eyes for a few minutes and then finish editing,” I said aloud, pulling back the layers of bedding on the massive bed. I gave myself permission based on the logic that a short nap would leave me refreshed for when Chadwick returned to the loft.

I stretched out on the bed, soon drifting off to sleep. The last thoughts before I floated into a deep slumber were about the good days when my family had weekly Sunday dinners and regular phone calls and FaceTime sessions. Now, we were so fractured. I regularly talked with my aunt and grandparents, but our conversations seemed overly cautious and superficial. We updated each other on the goings-on in our lives. We discussed the weather, politics, and television shows . . . Anything but the feud with my mother.

My family was strange, but this was a little too strange. We should have referred my mother to as She Who Shall Not Be Named. Her name never came up in the conversations, but there were frequent references to her. There were conversations regarding shrimp etouffee, shopping trips, and trips to the movies. All of my mother’s favorite things and activities, yet they never mentioned her by name.

Why were they so afraid to discuss her? Maybe they wanted to stay out of it? Either way, it made me feel like the feud hadn’t impacted them. I felt like they didn’t care.

Their indifference hurt because I had thought by now, someone would have stepped up and appealed to her sensibilities. I’d frequently imagined Pop-Pop calling a family forum so we could work through this.

Aside from the differences in the relationship with my family, the rift with my mother had impacted me in ways I never would have imagined. In the last three weeks, I’d battled bouts of insomnia. Each night at two forty-five in the morning, my eyes popped open, and I lay awake staring at the ceiling. I would close my eyes and unsuccessfully attempt to go back to sleep as my wonderful husband wrapped himself around me and slept so peacefully.

I had tried every cure for insomnia—lavender oil, Chamomile tea, turkey sandwiches, warm milk—to no avail.

My days and nights had somehow switched. I couldn’t sleep at night, but during the days, I experienced excessive bouts of drowsiness. I would be in the middle of an activity and drift off to sleep.

The insomnia was just the foundation of the mess I’d become. The lack of sleep brought on excessive mood swings, absent-mindedness, crying fits, and full-blown panic. I looked like an extra from The Walking Dead. My dark-rimmed eyes were always gritty and sore.

The stress of a fractured relationship with my mother and lack of sleep had made me so fragile that I was prone to bursting into tears at the slightest provocation. The most embarrassing moment had been when I was late for a hair appointment because I’d misplaced my keys. Panicked, I’d run around the loft, looking under the sofa and chair cushions, in the kitchen drawers, and underneath the console table in the foyer. I’d even dumped the contents of my purse on the floor. Twice.

Frustration had taken hold, and I had sunk to the floor and sobbed until I had a headache. Once I’d calmed down, I canceled the appointment. When I’d reached into my back pocket for my phone, lo-and-behold, I’d found my keys.

Chadwick had walked in on me sitting on the floor with my face buried into the sectional. He’d sat on the sofa and lifted me into his arms, but I had avoided his gaze in humiliation for having behaved like an infant. I’d slowly opened my eyes. He had stared deeply into my dark-circled, bloodshot and puffy eyes and just held me until the tears had subsided.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he’d whispered. He kissed my cheek as his fingers drew circles on my back.

I buried my face in his chest and rapidly shook my head. I couldn’t even wrap my mind around the issue. I didn’t know how to articulate what was going on with me. I just knew that I missed my mother, and I didn’t know how to make it right.

When I hadn’t answered, he continued, “At some point, you will tell me everything in your head. Promise me.”

I promise.

Even though my life was in shambles, I welcomed an unexpected visit from my auntie.

I was in the fourth week of no sleep. I hadn’t spent time with my friends or family, preferring to stay home. I didn’t have the energy to field phone calls and respond to text messages. When they couldn’t get in touch with me, they began to reach out to Chadwick with inquiries.

Auntie Marie called me from the road and explained that she was ten minutes away. I was ecstatic to entertain a guest. I rushed to the master bathroom and patted on a little powder foundation and a few dabbles of coral-colored blush before running to the outdoor parking lot.

I eagerly met her at her tiny sport coupe. She emerged from the car, wearing large, dark designer sunglasses. She’d filled the passenger seat and the entire back seat with bags.

My heart beat rapidly, and I hugged her tightly to me.

“If the mountain will not come to Marie-Therese, then Marie-Therese must go to the mountain.” She laughed at the paraphrase of the famous quote. “Chère, I’ve missed your sweet face. I went to The Corner Café for your favorites—turkey sandwiches, salad, fruit, and brownies. Lots of carbs so you’ll have fuel for your newlywed activities.” She wriggled her brows. “There’s enough for leftovers.”

I ignored the ribbing and a growl from deep within my stomach at the mention of my favorite sandwich shop. She pulled the bags out of the passenger’s seat and handed them to me.

“You didn’t have to do this. I could have made something for us,” I said. I took a bag in each hand and stared in confusion as she reached into the back seat for the other bags. She gripped three large shopping bags, shiny white satin ribbon peeking out from the tops.

“Nonsense. I don’t want you to do anything. Let’s just sit down and catch up. Also, I came bearing gifts.” She held up the bags. “Since you guys had such a short, quiet engagement, we didn’t have time to give you a bridal shower. And you know how much I enjoy showering brides.”

During the elevator ride to the loft, she caught me up on her recent trips out west.

“The book club took a trip to Vegas. I went out there a few days earlier intending to relax.” She smiled brightly. “We stayed at the Wynn, and I went to the spa for a day of beauty. I saw where you guys got married. Beautiful.”

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