His Return

8. White Roses and Revelations

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When I open the door, Michael gives me a nervous smile showing me the small bouquet of white roses.

"Still your favorite?" He questions and the hundreds of times he brought home white roses flash through my mind.

" Il mio amore."  A voice startles me and when I turn to greet my husband, white roses are thrust into my line of vision.

"They're beautiful." I breath, setting down the box of kitchenware.

"Non bella come te, sposa mia." (Not as beautiful as you, my bride) Suddenly he grips my hips and lifts me into the counter, causing me to squeal. His lips attach to mine and I quickly kiss him before pulling away.

"Stop, I don't know what you just said and we have to finish unpacking." I giggle when he lifts me. "Michael!"

"But we're on our honeymoon and we've unpacked the bed." He starts walking through the house we've just bought. "Now dear bride," He tosses me into the bed. "Let me make you as happy as you make me."

"No," I lie, stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind me. Michael steps back, his smile disappearing. "Sofia likes them though." I tell him, watching as he looks down at them.

"Oh. Right."

"Listen, Michael," His eyes focus on my hand that rests on his arm. I don't know why I felt the need to make it more personal, but now I can't find the words.

'You have another daughter. I was pregnant when you left.'

How hard is it to say? It shouldn't be that hard but looking at Michael so many thoughts blur through my head.

Does he still live in Washington?
How does he not remember the divorce?
How long until the blonde from the photos shows up to claim him?
In the meantime, how am I supposed to handle this situation?

Warmth covers my hand as Michael moves it from his arm to his chest where his heart is racing.

"Kate." He whispers, searching my face and I realize it's the first time in eight years I've gotten a good look at him.

He looks so exhausted, as if he's aged twenty years. He still towers over me, his tanned Italian skin looking even darker than it used to.

A car pulling into the driveway draws my attention away along with my hand.

Sam quickly gets out of his truck, curiously glancing between Michael and I as he approaches the house.

"You're still dirty." He motions to my scrubs before nodding at Michael. "Hey."

"Doctor." Michael's voice is tight as his jaw flexes when Sam's arm wraps around my shoulder.

"Sam, Mikey is.." My words about my sons bad mood stop when Sam leans into me.

"I talked to Maddie about this." He whispers, shocking me with a little more than a quick peck. "She said it was okay as long as it was only to screw with him."

"So what's your story?" I ask Sam, pouring him a glass of wine. He's been coming over more, he's great with the kids and hasn't pushed for anything more than alcohol and medical horror stories. He downs the entire glass of wine, sighing before leaning back in the chair.