by Zoey Parker
“What’s wrong with Stepmom?” he asked.
Lucas’ face darkened. “She’s been a pisspot all week. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Trent checked over his shoulder as Sam fidgeted by the doorway, looking down the hall. Maybe checking for Darla. He looked at Lucas, sending him a meaningful glance. “Is she related?”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. He’d caught his meaning. Related like affiliated. Linked up. Tied into some clan or mafia.
“I have my suspicions,” Lucas said. “But I don’t know shit. Unfortunately.”
Trent shoved his hands in his pockets.
Lucas strode out of the sunroom, brushing brusquely past Sam. She arched her brows.
“What was that about?” she asked from the side of her mouth.
“Nothing much. Unfortunately.” Trent sighed, running his tongue over his teeth.
Now it was time for dinner. Sitting through these each week was a fun excuse to dress up, but that was where the fun started and ended. It was getting more difficult to sit through these uncomfortable and awkward conversational death traps, where all goodwill and humor came to die.
Trent and Sam followed Lucas toward the front of the house. Darla was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove.
“That better not be poisoned, sweetie,” Lucas said with a little laugh, but Trent suspected it was more truth than joke.
“Why would I poison your spaghetti when there are easier ways to kill you?” Darla’s smooth response made Trent look over at her sharply. She met his gaze then. Pointedly, it seemed. Like maybe that comment was a warning to him too.
“Well if that isn’t the most romantic thing I’ve heard from you in six months, I’m not sure what is.” Lucas forced a grin, guiding Trent and Sam to the dinner table, a huge oval oak table with four maroon placemats positioned with precise equidistance. “Do you need any help, hon? Or should I resume my role as the oafish no-good husband, as you like to call me?”
Darla shook her head.
Trent and Sam took their seats, sending questioning glances between them. They’d at least get a show out of dinner. Maybe that was the one upside. Free entertainment.
“I call it like I see it,” she said, wiping her hands on a hand towel hanging near the oven. She snapped the stovetop off. “Dinner will be served.”
The table waited in silence as Darla served up four plates of spaghetti, taking her sweet time ladling out the noodles and sauce. She brought over two plates at a time, setting them down jerkily in front of Trent and Sam first, then in front of her husband and her place setting. She sat down wordlessly.
Lucas glanced between her and Trent.
“Not even a garnish, huh?”
“Fuck off,” she said.
Silence descended on the table. This was definitely the worst dinner meet-up by far.
Trent watched as Sam pushed pasta around her plate, and as Darla gingerly scooped a forkful of pasta into her mouth.
“Guess it’s not poisoned,” he joked, pointing at Darla. “She ate it.”
Darla scowled.
“Oh, come on, Stepmom. I’m just joking.”
She said nothing.
Trent swung his gaze over to Lucas. “Am I supposed to take this to mean that I’m not getting any stepbrothers or stepsisters?”
Lucas laughed nervously.
Darla’s eyes narrowed to slits as she took a generous sip of her wine.
“Funny joke,” she finally spat out.
Silence descended once more.
Trent wracked his brain for a way to elicit something from Darla. And he figured, hell, if Sam had already mentioned them once, why not try it here and see what that prompted from Lucas? This might give him some more information.
“You know, I saw an interesting thing on the TV today,” Trent began.
“Oh, yeah, Matthew? What was that?” Lucas said in his trademarked interested dad tone.
“There’s like this group in town. The Sokolovs.” Trent swallowed a bite of spaghetti, keeping a close eye on both of them. Sam paled at his side. “I don’t know much about them, but they kinda keep tabs on people. Well, they showed up in the news. Kinda crazy stuff.” Trent hefted out a laugh, swirling spaghetti around his fork.
Darla’s head lowered, her gaze turning lethal, but didn’t say anything.
Lucas cleared his throat, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.
“Yes, actually. I do know them.” Lucas grimaced, nodding. “Not a terribly good group, I’m afraid. A bunch of sick bastards, really.”
Trent’s skin prickled on his forearms as he fought to keep his composure. So now the old man let the truth come out.
“I got mixed up with them a few years ago in a pretty standard business affair. They helped loan some money for a startup. But they got their dirty fingers into my business. Stole what was rightfully mine.” Lucas chewed angrily, his hard gaze set on Trent. “I’m gonna find a way to pay those bastards back.”
Trent’s stomach turned, and suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. That confirmed it; right there. He’d fucked up. Majorly. Maybe Darla was in it, or maybe not. But if Lucas was hellbent on getting back at the Sokolovs, he had a perfect prop in Trent.
It was time to arm wrestle with the old man. And Trent was ready to apply pressure. As soon as dinner ended, he’d corner the old man and get more details out of him.
Sam cleared her throat, tossing a bright smile at the dinner table. “Well, how about we change the subject to something happier?”
Darla rolled her eyes.
Lucas sent Sam a strained smile as he chomped on some pasta. “Enlighten us.”
“Well, you’re going to be a grandfather.” Sam dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, her gaze bouncing between each person at the table. “I’m pregnant.”
Trent felt his eyes go wide as he turned to Sam, but he tried to reel it in. He was supposed to know about this. He had to take the ball and run with it. He pasted a smile on his face, turning to Lucas.
“How’s that for a change of subject?”
“Wow.” Lucas lifted a brow, clearing his throat. “Wait, you’re serious?”
Sam nodded, hard.
Trent reached for her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. Questions swarmed him but now wasn’t the time. “Yeah. We’re having a baby.”
Heat streaked through him. His gaze shifted back to Sam and lingered there, searching her face for answers. She beamed, maybe even glowed, but he couldn’t crack the surface on this one. Part of him thought she was telling the truth. Part of him hoped it was the truth.
“How wonderful,” Darla said, a flatter voice impossible.
Trent’s nostrils flared. He squeezed Sam’s hand.
“I’ve wanted to be a father my entire life,” Trent said, turning back to Sam. He had to act the proud father-to-be part. Except this wasn’t an act. These words were true. “I never thought I’d get the chance. Until I met my Sam.”
Lucas smiled warmly, lifting his wine glass. “Let’s cheers to that! To parenthood! Matthew, this is going to be the best journey of your life. That I can assure you.”
The four of them clinked glasses – though Darla’s glass barely touched the others – and Sam wisely set her glass down before taking a sip.
“Ah, that’s right,” Lucas said jovially. “No wine for you!”
“It’s okay. I like to still feel included. It’ll take some time to change my habits, but I think it’ll be a fun change.”
“Until the cravings kick in,” Lucas said.
“That’s what husbands are for,” Trent interjected, squeezing the back of Sam’s neck.
The rest of dinner progressed happily – especially considering how it had started out. Sam’s diversion tactic had worked. For that, at least, Trent was grateful. He’d figure out later where the hell she’d cooked up that story.
Once Darla had sequestered herself in the kitchen to clean plates, and presumably be as far away from everyone as possible, Lucas jer
ked his head toward the back of the house. “Celebratory cigar?”
Trent looked at Sam, who nodded slightly. “Sure. I think we can spare a few more minutes.”
Trent followed Lucas back through the house, past enormous portraits of men from the 1800s and landscapes that looked like they’d come from a museum. Once they were tucked into his office, Trent saw his chance.
“So, let’s hear it. How much longer do you plan for this to go on?”
Lucas sent him a withering look. “It would have been done by now if it weren’t for my fucking last will and testament. I changed it during the prenup. What a mistake that was. The only escape clause is my son – you. So, technically, when I die, the money goes to you.”
“I don’t have that long to wait,” Trent said with a growl, slamming his palm on the desk. “Now do you want my help or not? What’s the game plan here?”
“I’ve been meeting with my lawyer,” Lucas said, holding up a hand. “I promise. It’s in the works. We’re getting the will changed. There are just some complications. It shouldn’t be more than a few more weeks.”
“A few more weeks.” That sounded reasonable – but he could just as easily be lying. “And why do you want me to help you? Where’s your real son?”
Lucas smiled wistfully, his gaze dropping to the floor. Instead of answering him, he lit his cigar, the moist puffs the only sound between them. A few moments passed, the citrus tang of his cigar filling the air.
“Let’s go back and find Sam,” Lucas said, heading for the door.
“I need to know you’re going to be good on your word.”
“Oh. Trust me.” Lucas sent him a heavy look. “The second I’m out of this sham marriage, I’ll be so happy that I’ll be throwing money at anybody who even looks my way.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Trent started the car, and silence filled the air. Sam had been waiting for the shoe to drop about her announcement at dinner. She still hadn’t taken a test, so there was a chance she could be dead wrong. But at this point, she doubted it.
Tender breasts. Careening emotions. Heightened sensitivity. Daytime nausea. She was the textbook definition of a newly pregnant mom-to-be.
And now the father-to-be needed to know.
Trent gripped the steering wheel for a few moments, car idling but not going anywhere. He looked over at her, gaze raking her up and down. What if he was upset? She hadn’t even considered that possibility.
“That was an inspiring story you gave Lucas tonight,” he finally said, shifting the car into reverse. He looked over his shoulder as he backed out of the long drive. She nibbled on her lip, wondering what to say. How to confirm it. Finally, he asked it: “Is it true?”
“Actually…” Here it was. Tell him or not? “It was. Mostly true, at least.” She swallowed hard, fingering the hem of her sparkly dress. “I haven’t taken a test yet to confirm.”
“Well, you should.” Trent’s voice sounded flat, different than usual. It held an edge she’d never heard before. Her stomach twisted. Maybe he wasn’t exactly mad. But he wasn’t exactly thrilled, either.
“Yeah. That’s the plan.” She cleared her throat, the soft sounds of the car bloating between them – the sound of the brakes as he eased up to a stoplight and his finger tapping a relentless rhythm against the steering wheel.
After a while, he shook his head. Sam couldn’t keep the question inside her anymore.
“Are you mad?”
Trent sighed tersely. “No. Not mad. We just need to know. As soon as possible.”
She couldn’t argue with that. She’d been sitting on the idea since their blow-up but had been too scared herself to go get the test. Final confirmation seemed dramatic, somehow, like there was no going back. Right now, she still had the chance that she was wrong. That these were all just pre-menstrual signs on steroids.
“Like right now?” she ventured.
Trent nodded, looking over at her. “Yeah. Let’s go do it.”
“Okay.” She gripped the top of her purse, nails digging into leather. “Let’s do it.”
Trent hung a right, taking a detour to a pharmacy near her apartment. The mood was somewhere between curious and fun. Trent even grabbed her hand as they walked inside, comically out of place in the ho-hum pharmacy with their flashy wardrobe. Together they combed through the aisles and finally found the overwhelmingly full section.
She blinked, scanning the tests.
“Can you just use any one of these?” Trent asked.
“I would assume so,” she murmured, her gaze snagging on different details: plus signs, two blue lines, such and such percent accuracy, and so on. “They must all be basically the same, right?”
“Here.” Trent stepped forward and swiped one up in his big hand. He showed her. “Use this one.”
“Unmistakable plus sign in case of pregnancy,” she read from the box. “Sounds good, I’m in.”
Excitement buzzed through her as she took the test to the counter. When the clerk rang up the total, Trent stepped forward with the cash before Sam could tug her wallet out of her handbag.
“I got it,” he mumbled.
She grinned up at him.
The clerk handed over the test in a small bag, and Sam took it gingerly. Dammit if that wasn’t the sweetest thing somehow. Was she supposed to be so touched by him offering to pay for the test? Really, it was the least he could do. Yet somehow, this was in one of her highest ranked romantic displays.
“That’s really sweet of you,” she said quietly, once they’d gotten back into the car. She stared at the bag in her lap.
“Sam.” He sent her a look that said ‘duh’. “Of course I would buy your pregnancy test.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, hesitant to admit the latest thought swirling around inside her: that she was excited. More than just a little bit too. She was already imagining a new future. One that included Trent, and a baby, and all the sweet and tender trappings of parenthood.
Maybe those were just the hormones talking.
Or maybe there was something greater under the surface here. Something that she had yet to entirely understand.
Back at the house, Sam tore into the packaging at the kitchen island while Trent hovered nearby, looking interested but hesitant.
“This seems obvious,” she said, glancing at him, “but I’ve never taken one before.” She unfolded the tiny instruction packet, skimming the instructions.
“Don’t you just pee on it?”
She frowned, pointing at a section of the instructions. “It says here that I should take the test in the morning with my first urine so that the hormones will be at their most potent.”
He worked his jaw back and forth. She could have sworn she’d seen a glimmer of disappointment there. Which meant that he was as curious – and maybe hopeful – as she was.
“All that means is that it might come out incorrect if I do it now.” She crumpled up the packaging and tossed it. “But I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t be early detection. I think I’ll take it now anyway.”
“We can always get a second one tomorrow,” Trent offered.
She grinned up at him, then pushed onto her toes to give him a kiss. “Okay. Here I go. To pee on the stick.”
She sauntered off toward the bathroom, calling out over her shoulder, “Wanna come watch?”
Trent’s laughter was the last thing she heard as she shut the door behind her. She took a deep breath and bunched up her dress around her waist, then sat down, holding the pregnancy test like it was made of gold.
This tiny plastic thing held a lot of power. The power to change lives and totally reroute destinies.
Maybe this is the hormones yet again.
If so, she had a long road ahead of her.
She nibbled on her lip as she lined up the stick, trying to aim as best she could as she did the damn thing. Once she’d re-capped the test and cleaned herself up, she made sure she didn’t look at the test. Not even once.
Tren
t knocked on the door a few moments later. “Is it done?”
“I’m not looking at it yet.”
“Let me look at it.”
She froze. Could she handle him knowing before her?
“It needs a few more minutes.”
“Well give it to me.”
