Chapter sixty

Abbey jogged down the “L” shaped suspended staircase.  She loved her power suit but was more than happy to be in her t-shirt and shorts.

The sizzle of a frying pan met Abbey as her foot hit the bottom stair.  She had come home with her husband but, just like the past two days, as soon as they stepped into the foyer they went their separate ways.  Abbey shook her head.  She was tired of the cold treatment.

Abbey leaned against the door frame leading to the kitchen to watch Sloan.  He stood at the stove mercilessly stabbing slices of steak cooking in the pan with a fork.  He shed his suit coat and left it lying on the marble topped island.  His linen shirt gaped open at the collar and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows.

For the first time Abbey saw him.  Really saw him.

She did not see Sloan as the sexy playboy millionaire projected in the media.  She saw a man-a man who made her laugh, a man who went to great lengths to protect her.  Money didn’t matter.  Sloan could have been as poor as dirt and he would still keep her safe and happy.

Sloan was a man hurting.  He missed his homeland and his mother was dying.  On top of that he learned the woman he loved didn’t share the same feelings as him.

Abbey watched him carefully.  She never had put much thought into what kind of man she would marry.  She was never one of those little girls who draped a pillowcase on her head and played bride.  Marriage was always a foreign concept to her.  The only time she saw it in action was at a friend’s house or on TV.  She never understood the husband/wife dynamic.

What kind of man did Abbey want for a husband?  She thought hard.  She wanted someone good and kind, someone who cared for others.  She wanted someone to cherish her, to encourage her, to believe in her.  She wanted someone to protect her and defend her.

Abbey wanted someone just like Sloan.

Sloan had said her saw his babes in her eyes.  Abbey swore it was a pick up line.  But suddenly she could see her children in his arms with his ice blue eyes and her brown hair.  She wanted to see her babies in his arms.

How could she be so blind not to see it until now?

Abbey crossed the kitchen to the stove.  She wrapped her arms around Sloan’s waist.

“Sloan, you need to go to Belfast,” she whispered.

Sloan said nothing.  He just stabbed a chunk of meat a little harder than he needed to.

Abbey continued.  “Sloan, if it were my mom I would want to say goodbye.  You need to tell your mom goodbye.”

Sloan still wouldn’t answer her.

“Sloan, if you won’t do it for yourself or do it for your mother will you do it for your idiot wife?  Will you do it for me?”

Sloan grunted.  “You said our marriage wasn’t real.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I guess I couldn’t see why someone as sexy and rich and powerful as you would want someone as poor and plain as me.  Why did you want to be with me?”

Sloan turned to gaze down at her.  “I lost faith in humanity.  There is no good, no purity, no innocence left in the world.  Then I met you and in you I found all I thought no longer existed.  I got to know you and fell for your determination, your spit fire.  You are the entire package.  And you are the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on.”

Abbey felt her cheeks flush red hot.

“Sloan, go to Belfast,” Abbey encouraged.

“I can’t, Abigail.  I can’t go back to Northern Ireland.”

“Why not?  It’s not like you are banned from the country, are you?”

Sloan stared at her, his ice blue eyes intense.  It seemed Abbey struck a nerve.  After several moments he smiled.  “Of course not.”

“Then go.”

Sloan stayed quiet for several moments while he was deep in thought.  “Alright.  I’ll go.”


About triciaandersen

I am the author and illustrator of the children's book "The Peculiar Princess". I am also the author of two adult fantasy romance novels, "The Sorceress of Savon" and "The Woodcutter King of Muladin". Along with being an author I am married to a wonderful guy and have three beautiful children. I coach youth track and field, sew and chase my children around to their various activities.

Posted on July 12, 2012, in author, books, fiction, novel, romance, story, Uncategorized, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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