He’d rushed into marriage with Charlotte because, deep down, he’d been afraid that if she’d had the chance to change her mind, she would. And he’d been right.
Jason didn’t know what lunacy had prompted him to make her go through with the ceremony. To avoid embarrassment? Having their marriage annulled the following week would still embarrass him and his family. There was the problem, too, of returning all the wedding gifts. Eventually he’d have to face people. Make explanations.
He’d taken the easy way out, delaying the inevitable because of his pride.
Charlotte had wanted to cancel the wedding and he’d perversely refused to release her. So now they were stuck in Hawaii on a two-week honeymoon neither of them wanted. Stuck in each other’s company, in the bridal suite no less, until he could find a flight back to Seattle.
Once his eyes had adjusted to the dark, Jason made his way across the elegant room. Charlotte was still curled up on the bed, but the sheets and blankets were strewn about as though a storm had raged through.
He discovered a second and a third pillow hurled across the room. One was on the floor, the other dangling from a chair. It looked as if his bride had thrown a temper tantrum.
So she hadn’t liked it that he’d left. A smile played across his lips. It was the first time since he’d found her on the beach that she’d displayed any emotion.
The thought of Charlotte losing her temper pleased him, until he remembered she wasn’t given to bouts of anger. He felt a pang of concern but brushed it aside—it belonged to the past, to the old Charlotte, the one he’d loved.
Exhausted and depressed, he gazed about the room and noted that the bed was all she’d bothered to disarrange. Everything else in the room remained untouched.
Not knowing what to think, and too tired to care, he quietly stripped off his clothes and slipped beneath a rumpled sheet. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, but his dreams were disturbing and he woke several times before morning.
Not once during the night did Charlotte move. She stayed on her side, facing away from him, never changing her position.
He woke in the morning, the bright sunshine slashing through the bedroom curtains. Charlotte was on her back, already awake. She shifted her head and stared at him with eyes so filled with pain that he hurt just looking at her.
“I lied when I said I didn’t love you, Jason,” she whispered and a tear rolled down the side of her face. “I do…so very much. I’m sorry…for everything I’ve done.”
He nodded, his throat thick. “I’m sorry, too, Charlotte.”
Thirteen
Charlotte closed her eyes because looking at Jason was so painful, knowing he hated her, knowing he’d never really forgive her for what she’d done.
“I lied when I said I wanted to marry you because of your family. I…ran away because I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
Her pulse scampered. She should’ve told him the truth weeks earlier. She’d agreed to be his wife; he had a right to know. But the truth was so easy to put off, so easy to deny. So hard to explain.
There’d been opportunities to tell him, plenty of them, although she’d tried to convince herself otherwise. She’d been too much of a coward to present Jason with the truth. And then, when time ran out, she’d panicked.
“Charlotte?” Jason said in a low voice. “What are you afraid of?”
She couldn’t explain that she was, to put it bluntly, afraid of sex. Of intimacy. That wasn’t what a man wanted to hear. Not just Jason, but any man.
He deserved so much more than she was capable of giving him. He deserved a woman who was emotionally whole and healthy. A woman who was physically responsive. Not someone scared and battle-weary and all but dead to her own sexuality.
“I owe you an explanation….”
“I’d say so,” he agreed, but his voice was devoid of the previous day’s sarcasm, without a trace of anger.
“I meant to tell you sooner. To give you the choice of going through with the wedding or not. But as time went on I—I couldn’t…and then it was too late.”
“Tell me now.”
Charlotte thought back to an age when she’d been innocent, vulnerable and naive. “My mother died while I was in high school. My father had abandoned us years earlier and I don’t think my mother ever recovered. If he contacted her at any point after he left, I didn’t know about it. She was different after he was gone. It was like she’d given up on life. She loved me, though—I know she did—and she’d been insightful enough to plan for my future.”
Jason’s hand reached across the bed for hers. Their fingers entwined and Charlotte was grateful for his touch.
“I met Tom my first year of college. He came from another state and was attending classes on a limited scholarship. He was intelligent and good-looking. When he asked me out, I was thrilled. He seemed to like me…. Later I realized it wasn’t me that attracted him, but the insurance money I’d received when my mother died. After a few months, we made love and…and he asked me to marry him. I didn’t have any family and…I desperately needed someone. I was too stupid to know why Tom really wanted to marry me. He saw marriage as a way of paying for his education without having to work for it.
“I dropped out of school after one semester and we got married. The money that was meant for my education went toward Tom’s while I got a full-time job to pay our living expenses.”
Jason’s hand flinched, tightening around hers.
“I should’ve gotten out of the marriage as soon as I figured out he was using me. Instead, I compounded my mistake. I thought if I got pregnant it would make everything better. If Tom didn’t love me, surely he’d love the baby.”
“You’ve been so hard on yourself.”
“I’ll never regret having Carrie. She’s been the best thing in my life…but Tom wasn’t happy.” She hesitated, reliving the terrible scene, so many years past, when she’d told Tom she was pregnant. He’d wanted her to have an abortion, even given her the money. She’d lied and told him she’d done it, hiding her pregnancy until it was too late. He’d been so furious that he’d hit her. The blow had been so hard, it had loosened three of her teeth.
“Go on,” Jason prompted.
“I had Carrie and for a while I thought the marriage might work. Tom liked his little girl and was proud of her.”
“You told me Tom was having an affair. When did this happen?”
“It started while I was pregnant. Tom enjoyed sex…and after a while he said I was too fat and ugly to make love to, and everything came to a stop.” Charlotte remembered how relieved she was, how grateful because she no longer had to give in to his rough physical demands. She was working a forty-hour week, waiting tables, and was too exhausted at night to satisfy him. He’d been telling her for months that a man needed enthusiasm from his wife during sex, but Charlotte had never seemed able to rouse any. It was like making love to a corpse, he told her.
“I…I never was very good at sex,” she continued in a tight voice. “And after Carrie was born, I lost all interest.” Actually any pleasure in the physical aspects of their marriage had died months earlier, when Tom had demanded she have an abortion. After Carrie was born, she found herself unwilling to make any effort to please him physically.
“That was when the really bad fights began,” she said as evenly as the remembered emotions would allow. “Tom claimed it was his right to make love to me whenever he wanted and…and…” Her throat closed up, forcing her to stop.
“Did he rape you, Charlotte?”
Biting her lower lip, she nodded. Only Tom hadn’t called it rape; he’d said it was his right. He’d married her, hadn’t he? That meant she’d given him the right to do whatever he wanted with her body the moment she’d signed the marriage document.
Jason moved closer and brought her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair. His chest was heaving and Charlotte knew he was fighting his own anger.
Her eyes glazed over with tears as she struggled to hold back the fear, the memory of the violence, the feeling of powerlessness, the revulsion of those terror-filled episodes. Her breathing became labored.
“I…couldn’t satisfy Tom,” she admitted in a breathless whisper.
“That has everything to do with Tom—not with you.” He paused. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to satisfy me?”
She nodded through her tears.
“But, Charlotte,” he said, raising himself on one elbow and gazing down at her, “how can you think that? Everything between us has always been so good. Or am I wrong? Haven’t you enjoyed the times we kissed?”
She lowered her lashes. “Yes…but they’ve frightened me.”
“I never forced you.”
“I…I know that. You’ve been so patient and gentle. I almost convinced myself I could make love again…that I could erase those nightmare years with Tom and start all over…but I can’t. That’s why I ran away…that’s the real reason, not what I told you earlier.”
“Why couldn’t you tell me this before?”
She wiped the tears from her face, and swallowed the bittersweet agony of the moment. “Because I love you so much.”
Her words were met with a puzzled hesitation. “You wouldn’t tell me because you love me?”
She nodded, and hiccuped a sobbing laugh. “It sounds ludicrous, I know, but it’s true. Because I couldn’t stand to lose you—not that way. Because if we ever did make love, you’d see—you wouldn’t want me anymore.”
“How could you think that?” Jason asked.
This was the moment she’d dreaded. The moment of truth. She turned her head away, unwilling to look at him, unwilling to let him see her face. A tightness gripped her chest, crushing her, the pressure so intense she could hardly breathe.
“Charlotte?”
It would’ve been easier if he hadn’t been so gentle. She could deal with his anger and frustration, but not his tenderness. She didn’t know how to respond to that in a man.
Shoving aside the blanket and sheet, she sat on the edge of the bed. When he caressed her back, she stood, unable to deal with being touched just then. Her arms were locked around her middle and the aching pressure in her chest rose, settling in her throat. Tears burned her eyes.
“Tell me,” he demanded, not unkindly. “Just say it.”
“I can’t be your wife.”
“It’s too late for that,” he murmured. “You already are.”
“I’m not…not in the ways that matter to a man.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” she cried. “Do I have to spell out every degrading detail? Is that what you want? Then fine, I’ll say it. I can’t be your wife because I can’t make love.” She gulped in a deep breath. “I’m frigid, Jason. The term might be out of fashion but it still applies.”