Cane's POV
I was the one who set the rules. She was to stay out of my way, out of my life and not present herself to me unless I asked but yet, here I am, in her place waiting for her. I was breaking the rules I set.
It's just an hour into the event and I was so restless. All that was running through my head was how she was doing. Was she holding her end?
One second I was pacing, the next , I was on the phone with Armstrong. "How is she?"
"Not so good boss. She's trying to hold it in but I can see she's cracking."
"Bring her back! Now!"
"Yes boss."
It felt like I was waiting an eternity. I sat down, stood up and paced. The usual twenty-five minutes it took to get here felt like hours.
Soon I heard the car pull into the driveway. I turned sharply towards the door just as she turned the knob.
For a while, no one said anything. We just stood, staring at each other but I could see it. She was barely holding it in. The confrontation must have rattles her up a bit, more than a bit. Tears started to pool in her eyes but she blinked them back and made to walk past me but I held her hand. She tried to force it out but I didn't let her.
"LET GO!" She yelled, her voice shaky.
I didn't let go. Instead, I drew her closer and pulled her into a hug. "You can cry."
And cry she did. She cried hard.
We stood like that for about ten minutes. Her body shook with every sob. My shirt was wet from her tears, but I didn't care. I just held her.
When her cries became quiet sniffles, I moved. I didn't say a word. I took her hand. She was too tired to fight me. I led her out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.
She looked at me, her eyes red and confused. I guided her to the edge of the bed and she sat down. I knelt and took off her shoes. Then I started to pull down the zipper but she held my hand.
"I'm your husband, I've seen it all. Let me." I said, my voice softer than I expected it.
She didn't fight me, probably because she didn't have the strength.
I finished pulling down the zipper and helped her out of the dress. She stood there in her underwear, looking small and lost. I picked her up in my arms, like a bride. She was so light. She didn't say anything, just put her head on my shoulder.
I carried her into the bathroom and placed her gently in the empty bathtub. I turned on the water, making sure it was warm, not hot.
As the water rose around her, she closed her eyes. Then, she started to cry again. Soft, sad cries.
"I hate them," she whispered. "I hate my family. I hate my life."
I let her talk. I took a cloth and began to wash her arms.
"I hate my husband," she cried, her voice breaking. "And I hate his mistress."
Her words cut me deep. She was talking about me. She hated me. But I didn't stop. I kept washing her with care, cleaning away the pain of the night.
Seeing her so broken broke something in me too. I couldn't just watch. I stood up and took off my clothes. I stepped into the tub behind her. The water was warm. I sat down and pulled her back against my chest.
I cradled her in my arms and slowly stroked her wet hair. She slowly began to calm down. Her loud cries became quiet sobs.
I looked at her face. Her eyes were closed. Tears still fell down her cheeks. I fought the urge to kiss her. I told myself it was wrong. But I lost the fight.
I leaned in and kissed her.
It was not a hard kiss. It was slow and full of feeling. I poured all my confusion and care into that kiss. For a second, she was still. Then, she kissed me back.
The kiss became deep. I felt a fire in me. But then I stopped.
This was wrong. She was sad and weak. This would be using her.
I pulled away. I stood up and got out of the tub. I wrapped a towel around her and carried her back to the bedroom. I went to her wardrobe and found a soft, light gown.
I dried her gently and put the gown on her. Then I led her to the bed and lay down next to her. I pulled her close, cuddling her against my chest.
"Are you okay now?" I asked softly.
She didn't speak. She just nodded her head against me.
"Good," I said. "Because you will have to do this again tomorrow."
She moved weakly. She sat up and looked at me. Her eyes were tired and confused.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
I reached over to the small table next to the bed. I picked up a file and handed it to her.
"See for yourself," I said.
I watched her face as she opened it. I saw it change. First, shock. Then, anger. Then, deep pain. And finally, hate. She looked at me with pure hate.
That was exactly the look I wanted.
"How..." she whispered. "How did you get this?"
"How does not matter," I said.
I took the file from her shaking hands and put it back on the table. Then I pulled her back down into my arms. She was stiff and cold.
"Go to sleep," I said, holding her tight. "You have an engagement to ruin tomorrow."