Choosing flowers for a woman shouldn't have been this hard. Cue the headache pounding at my temporal lobe like a hammer on nails. I had no idea what she liked or if she even liked flowers at all.

This was my third time making my way around Jessie's Flower Boutique. She had the freshest and nicest flowers on the island but nothing stood out to me. Maybe the flowers I was looking for didn't exist.

No amount of flowers could erase eleven years of neglect.

I scrubbed my face, inhaling deeply and then sighing on the exhale. I should forget the flowers altogether and start preparing my speech.

Amelia was going to have a thousand questions and I needed to give her answers. Not that anything coming out my mouth was going to appease her in any way and make her forget the last eleven years.

My explanations were bound to make things worse.

One day in my presence was all that was needed to get her to sign those divorce papers. Surely, after everything, the death of her mother and my radical form of radio silence, she wouldn't want to keep this marriage going.

That's why flowers were a bad idea.

"Flowers are never a bad idea."

I turned around and Jessie was looking at me as she casually leaned against one of the metal shelves where several succulents were patiently waiting for someone to take them home. Her olive-green overalls were just a little too big but they complimented her beaver-colored eyes.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?' I asked.

"No, I can read your mind." Jessie laughed, her long black braids falling forward from her high ponytail. She had a lovely brown complexion and a beautiful smile and it brought me back to the time when I used to kiss those lips and tell her how beautiful she was.

After that, I would flip her around and fuck her from behind. Always from behind.

"So, who are the flowers for?" She playfully prodded my arm.

"My wife."

It was my first time saying those words out loud to anyone and it sounded goddamn strange.

Jessie sputtered. "Your wife? When did the biggest bachelor in town get snatched? I really don't remember reading anything about that in the paper."

"We kept it private."

"Private huh? Who is she? A princess? Daughter of a sheik?"

"Are you going to do your job and help with those flowers or not?" I picked up a large bouquet of colorful flowers that were sitting in a bucket with water, turning it this way and that as if I was inspecting them for some kind of disease.

"Oh my God. She's the reason you stopped sleeping with me." Jessie's voice was loud and I detected a hint of pain.

I looked around the small store to make sure no one was listening in on our conversation. The only other customer in the store besides me was an older lady standing by the greeting cards. She was probably deaf because she didn't turn around to look at us.

"I was using you, Jessie. You knew that. What happened between us never should have happened and for that, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? What exactly are you sorry about?" She blinked and shook her head as if she couldn't believe the crap that was coming out of my mouth. "I kept your bed warm for six years, fucked you whenever you wanted even though I thought you had a very low sex drive for a man. I mean, we used to have sex like three times a year. I would stand naked in front of you and your cock wouldn't get hard. Don't feel sorry for me, Willem. I feel sorry for your wife."

I grabbed her hand as she was about to turn and walk away from me and by doing so nearly crushed the flowers I was holding between us. "I treated you well, admit it. I gave you the money to start this place. That's why you stayed. It was never about the sex between us. It was about intimacy."

Jessie smiled with her lips only. "Yes. Thank you for everything. And give me that." She broke free of my hold and grabbed the bouquet out of my hand. "Tulips. Get her tulips. She'll love them."

I nodded and then leaned forward to kiss her on her cheek. "Thank you."

She rolled her eyes and then whispered, "Asshole," just loud enough for me to hear as she walked away. I watched her cheerfully interacting with the older lady at the cash register as if our conversation had never happened.

I picked up a large bouquet of yellow tulips, paid for it, and without exchanging any more words with Jessie I walked out of the boutique to my waiting driver and long-time friend, Omar.

Omar was built like a skyscraper and with a background in military training, he didn't only drive me around from time to time, he was my bodyguard. He kept his head shaved low most of the time and the constant scowl on his face had to be permanent by now.

"So, this woman, your so-called wife. Have I met her before?" he asked as soon as I planted my butt on the leather seat of my bright yellow Camaro.

"No, and her name is Amelia." I placed the flowers in the backseat and then flipped my wrist to watch the time.

One more hour until her plane landed.

Sweat dotted my forehead even though the A.C. was on blast. I hadn't been able to get anything done ever since I sent that letter out three weeks ago. It had taken me nine months to write it and another month to finally ship it.

I ran a multimillion hospitality company and I didn't have time to be moping around, thinking about all the things I've done wrong in my life. Neither did I have time to be buying flowers for a woman who was surely going to throw them back in my face.

Omar backed out of the small parking lot and onto the road. Traffic was okay at this hour and reaching the airport before her flight landed shouldn't be a problem.

"I still can't believe you kept your marriage a secret from me, man. What's up with that?" Omar looked at me with his fierce brown eyes and I could tell that he was upset. And rightfully so. We knew each other since we were kids and now we were business partners as well.

"It happened a long time ago, Omar."

"How long ago? You couldn't have possibly known this woman for more than six months. I did some maths. You met while building the new hotel in Barbados, right? It's the only place you've traveled to like six times in the past six months."

We were taking one of the many roundabouts on the island and I studied the statue of a slave who's left breast had been chopped off during the war. Unlike her breast, it was my balls on the chopping board. Already I could feel the dread caused by seeing my wife again as it snaked up my leg to wrap itself around my neck. The closer we got to the airport, the harder it got to breathe.

"Amelia's from Curacao. I married her there. Eleven years ago."

Omar whistled. "Holy shit. Did you just say eleven years ago?"

"I know you're not deaf."

"Wait a minute. Did you keep this a secret from Filo as well? That woman practically raised you. She must have been upset when you told her." He paused. "You told her right?"

"Not yet."

"Man, she's going to cut your dick off and feed it to the dogs."

"We don't have dogs."

"To the fishes then. What does it matter? The results are the same, your fucking dick getting eaten by animals."

I closed my eyes and ran my hand over my face. "I get it. I'm not proud of what I did, but at the time it felt like the right thing to do."

"To marry a woman and then neglect her for eleven years?"

"No, to marry a woman of my choice. You should have seen the look on my father's face when he proposed that I marry Tessa and then I shut him down by telling him that I was already married."

"Oh, so that's why the old man stopped talking to you completely. That's messed up, man."

"My mother knew. She was going to come to the wedding, but then Amelia's mother got into an accident and everything went downhill from there. She died early the next morning." The car jerked to a stop and my body lurched forward before settling back into the seat.

"Sorry," Omar muttered. "Damn traffic started early. Do you have a picture of Amelia? I can't imagine what it's like to lose a parent, especially at a young age."

I reached for my wallet inside my grey business suit and pulled out a passport-sized picture of a young woman. Mr. Miller had given the picture to me in an envelope the day I left her in a hospital bed, never to look back until now.

Brown eyes filled with innocence gazed back at me. Chin length black hair framed her long pretty face and her skin, the color of milk and coffee, was flawless. Her lips, luscious and full were kissable. I did my best to imagine them on a much older woman but I failed miserably.

I'd never been sexually attracted to the seventeen-year-old version of her. Too skinny and too tall. Her innocence and naivety, on the other hand, had pulled me in like a moth to a flame. At twenty-one, I thought those were good qualities to have in a wife, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

My mother was the epitome of docileness and innocence. I saw the way my father controlled her and made every decision for her. The older I got, the more I realized that I wanted my wife to stand on her own two feet.

"Are you going to let me see the picture or not?" Omar wondered.

I scrubbed my thumb over her face and then slowly handed the photograph to the ever-curious Omar whose eyebrows nearly touched his barely-there hairline when he saw the girl.

"Well, fuck me. She's a lot younger than I thought."

"That she is because that picture was taken eleven years ago, you idiot." I grabbed the picture and shoved it back in my wallet and back in my suit jacket.

I was pulling the lapels of my suit together when my phone rang. I cursed when I saw Tessa's name pop up on the screen. If I could just throw my phone away and never talk to that woman again, that's what I would do. But I couldn't.

Pressing the green button, I brought the phone to my ear reluctantly. "What's wrong?"

"Why do you always have to sound like a boar whenever you talk to me?" She demanded in a shrill-like voice.

"What do you want? Is Bradley okay?"

That's when I heard the sobbing. "No, he's not. He's in the hospital. They just called me and I'm heading there now. I don't know what to wear."

"Clothes, Tessa. Anything will do. And what do you mean by he's in the hospital? What happened?"

More sobbing, and then, "This is so hard. We should be together. Living apart is doing us no good."

"Get to the point. What happened to my son?" My voice sounded harsh in the sleek interior of the Camaro. Tessa just wasn't speaking fast enough to suit me.

"A car knocked him off his bike on his way back from school this afternoon." She sniffed. "The doctors said that his condition is critical."

"And you're worried about what to fucking wear." I ran my hand through my blondish curls, anger simmering beneath the surface. "Stay put. I'm catching a taxi and I should be at your place in ten minutes. Don't keep me waiting."

I hung up the phone and turned to Omar. "Bradley's in the hospital. A car knocked him off his bike. I need you to pick up Amelia and give her the tulips. Tell her that I had an emergency, that's it, nothing else, and that I'll see her later when I get home. Also, tell Francois to postpone dinner by two hours or so."

Since we were still stuck in traffic heading toward the airport, I grabbed my oblong suitcase from the back and got out of the car before Omar could utter any words. Two minutes later, I was sitting at the back of a taxi heading to Tessa's house.

The second the taxi pulled up in the round driveway, Tessa strutted out of the front door dressed in a red dress that stopped right above her knees and hugged her curves like a second skin. As she got closer, I noticed that her makeup was done and there were no signs of tears.

When I didn't get out to open the door for her, she rolled her eyes and yanked the car door open with such force, I heard the hinges squeak. "Such a gentleman."

"To the medical center," I told the taxi driver, who happened to be a thick black woman with locks in her hair. "Please hurry."

"I gotcha, Sir, but this ain't a flying car. I can only go as fast as traffic allows." She glared at me through the rearview mirror. "Please put on your seatbelts."

Bradley was still in surgery when we arrived at what felt like five hours later. Tessa didn't say much as we waited in the sterile waiting room and I was relieved. An eon passed with the two of us sitting side by side, blank stares on our faces.

When two young male doctors approached us, she grabbed my hand and when she looked up at me, there were tears in her eyes. I squeezed her hand and then let go to wrap my arm around her shoulder. No matter how much I couldn't stand her, she was still the mother of my son.

The shorter doctor took the lead and informed us about Bradley's condition. Both of his legs were broken and there was brain hemorrhage with some swelling. He also had a spinal injury so complicated, it would take several surgeries if he were to ever walk again.

"When can we see him?" I asked.

"A nurse will come by in about half an hour to take you to his room," the much taller doctor replied.

As soon as the doctors turned their backs, Tessa lost it. "This is all your fault. I begged you to get him a driver, but what did you do? You got him a bike to ride around on an island with no bike paths."

She grabbed the lapel of my suit and then slammed her fist on my chest several times before leaning into me, her cries racking her body. I patted her shoulder awkwardly and kept my mouth shut.

I mean, what the fuck could I say to that?

Not only was I a horrible husband, but I was also a terrible dad who worked way too much and didn't spend enough time with his son. The situation with my wife was a lost cause but I couldn't lose my son too.

It would break my heart to watch him die.

🚲

. . .