by ANDREA SMITH
“Lindsey,” my voice cracked, “I’m in deep shit.”
Talking to Lindsey had helped like I knew it would. She was truthfully thrilled about the idea of Harper having a cousin.
“Half-cousin,” I’d corrected her.
“No, we’re not doing halves,” she argued.
“Then you think I should keep this baby?”
She shrieked loudly into the phone, causing me to pull it away from my ear.
“What the hell? Don’t you even consider the alternative, Darcy! I can’t believe that thought even crossed your mind!”
“I’m not sure I’d be a good single parent,” I admitted, shrugging. My mind immediately started re-playing scenes from the movie, “Juno.”
Can you hold on a sec, Linds? I’m on my hamburger phone.
“What makes you think Easton won’t take responsibility?” Lindsey asked, bringing me back to reality.
I felt my eyes widen. “Are you serious? Easton’s not a proponent of motherhood, trust me. I saw that firsthand in London.”
“Even so, Darcy, you should give him a chance.”
A chance to what? Fucking throttle me?
“Listen, I need you to promise me, promise me, you won’t say a word about this to anyone, including Taz.” The words fell like fallen soldiers from my lips.
“I’ll promise on one condition…”
“Which is?” I was mentally flipping my best friend off.
“No more thoughts about having a—you know…”
She couldn’t even bring herself to use the “A” word.
“No problem. I wasn’t considering that anyway, geesh.”
“You weren’t?”
“Hell no! I considered the fact that I’m likely deficient in maternal instincts, but there was never any question of me not having the baby. For Chrissake, I sort of love the arrogant prick, you know?”
I’d no sooner gotten off the phone with Lindsey than a call came in from Easton. It had to be around 10 p.m. in London.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, as soon as I answered.
Huh?
“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you feeling okay?” I replied, wondering why he’d greeted me with that to begin with.
“You went to the doctor today. I was concerned you were ill.”
“How did you know that?” I asked, putting my hand on my hip.
“The GPS in your car,” he replied very matter-of-factly, as if he had every right to stalk me electronically.
“You’re keeping tabs on me via my car?” I didn’t even want to see the expression on my face when I asked that. “Sounds like someone with a little too much time on their hands.”
“Answer my question, please.”
“I’m fine. I had an appointment with my doctor because it’s time for my Depo Provera shot—you know birth control?” I could feel my eyes bugging out as I carefully skirted the truth.
“Ah, yes, wouldn’t do to miss that. Good girl.”
Holy fuck!
I changed the subject, asking how things were going with the summit (as I called it teasingly). He said he was bored and ready to be back in D.C.
“Really?” I asked him. “I don’t understand your sudden love for the States these days, Mr. Matthews,” I said flirtatiously.
“I don’t understand it myself,” he replied. I could almost feel his smile over the phone. “Someone’s got my attention in a death grip, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah. I miss you too, Easy E.”
“I’ll see you after Paris, love. Behave yourself and I’ll be in touch.”
“By phone or GPS?” I asked, twisting a lock of my hair around my finger.
“Both,” he replied. “Miss you.”
I felt a warm tingle in the pit of my belly after he’d said that to me. The glow stayed with me until I heard Eli come in from work about an hour later.
What to do about Eli…
chapter 41
The knowledge I was pregnant apparently signaled my body to start acting like it. I’d no sooner got up the following morning to get ready for work, when I made a mad dash to the bathroom to throw up.
Three times.
Eli heard me and, when I came out into the hall with a wet wash cloth dabbing at my mouth, he stood there, arms-crossed, leaning against the wall.
“Stomach flu?” he asked.
“No—I think those fish sticks that I had last night didn’t agree with me. I’ll be fine.”
“Uh huh,” he replied, giving me the once-over.
Later at work, I was in the middle of going over some figures with Lacee, when the nausea struck me again. I made a mad dash to the restroom and unceremoniously heaved again. Damn! This was going to be a bitch. By afternoon, I felt normal again. Hopefully this wouldn’t be an everyday thing. Of course that was only wishful thinking…
Like clockwork, every morning I’d throw up before leaving for work and then wave two of the nausea would hit around mid-morning.
On Friday, I was at my desk, desperately fighting it back with a box of saltine crackers and a can of ginger ale I’d brought from home, when Lacee flitted into my office.
“Here are the files you requested for the presentation,” she said, slapping a pile of thick folders on the corner of my desk. “Christ, you look green. You’ve been puking around all week here.”
I looked over at her, narrowing my eyes in an attempt to scare her off.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that the walls to the restroom down the hall are thin. We’ve heard you retching in the morning—Oh, my God.”
Her eyes widened as the suspicion as to the cause of my illness sunk in. “Its morning sickness, isn’t it? You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” It was an accusation, not a question.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I lashed back at her. “It’s a stomach flu that’s been going around. Eli had it first,” I lied. There’s no way in hell I’d let her know the truth.
“You’d better hope that’s all it is,” she murmured, losing some of the haughty attitude. She looked around to make sure no one was out in the hall and then softly closed the door of my office. She came over to the side of the desk, taking a seat.
Lacee’s expression was almost sympathetic. She looked sincere and compassionate in that moment. It took me a second to wrap my head around that.
“Listen,” she started quietly, “I know you and I got off to a horrible start. I realize now my resentment of you wasn’t fair. I mean, it wasn’t your fault Easton was drawn to you and not to me. I’m so over it, Darcy. During the last couple of weeks, I had a lot of time sitting at my apartment to reflect on the past few years of my life and to think about where my future’s going to take me. The “faux” relationship I had with Easton was so one-sided, and so unhealthy. I never want to be the person I was with him again. I was drawn to his looks, his power, and of course,” she continued, a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks, “his sexual prowess.”
I shifted uncomfortably, hoping the wave of nausea I was feeling would subside long enough for Lacee to get to the point.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I don’t know the specifics of your relationship with Easton and it’s clearly not my business. I will share with you something that I do know, and you can take it for what it’s worth. Shortly after I was assigned to work for Easton, his ex-fiancée, Bianca Templeton, made it a point to contact me. I’m not sure exactly why, other than she had seen Easton and me out one evening, and it turned out to be a very uncomfortable situation.” Lacee paused for a moment and I could see a look of pain cross over her face. “In fact, it ruined the rest of my night and carried on well into the following morning.”
Oh God! He had punished her…
“Bianca called me at the office the following day and warned me never to cross Easton. She said he had singlehandedly ruined her reputation and her career. She said it had been worth it just knowing she’d never have to tolerate his abuse again.
She started sobbing over the phone and told me it was too late for their baby, but it wasn’t too late for her.”
My head snapped up at Lacee’s words. “What did she mean by that?” I asked, interrupting her monologue.
Lacee looked me directly in the eye and continued. “Apparently Bianca was pregnant with their child. When Easton found out about it, he forced her to have an abortion.”
“Whoa, wait a minute.” I tried to find the right words. “How could he force that? I mean, I get that he’s a control freak, but even I can’t believe he’d carry a woman kicking and screaming into an abortion clinic and hold her down while they performed an abortion against her will.”
“I’m only telling you what she told me,” Lacee replied with a shrug. “She said Easton told her something to the effect that his royal bloodline needed to stop with him. He would have no heirs, period.”
I was silent for a moment, tossing this around in my head.
Lacee leaned forward. “I mean, she didn’t say this right out, but the impression I got from her was that she had two options: get the abortion or spend the next eight months in fear for her own life. She chose the first one.”
Okay, that took a long second for me to swallow my WTF moment.
“Did you ever ask Easton about it?” I asked tersely.
“Are you serious?” she asked incredulously. “Easton has zero tolerance for prying. His private stuff’s just that: private. I wouldn’t have dared to share with him the fact I’d even talked to her, let alone have divulged what she told me. Besides that, I had no aspirations of marriage or children back then. Now it’s different. Now I realize what normal is and, frankly, it’s a helluva lot more appealing than his dark moods and idiosyncrasies.”
She stood up to leave. “I just thought you should know,” she said, walking towards the door. “I wish you luck, Darcy. I hope you kick that stomach flu real soon.”
When I got home Friday after work, I immediately turned my phone off and climbed into bed. I needed to think, to reflect on what the hell I was going to do. Fuck me! Did I love Easton? My heart said I did, but did I know Easton? My brain said not well enough to dispel the possibility that Lacee was being honest—or that Bianca had been honest with Lacee.
I was still contemplating my next move when Eli tapped on my bedroom door. “Darce, can I come in?”
“Sure,” I called out, pulling my covers up to my chin.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked, taking a seat on the edge of my bed.
“What?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“You’ve been puking every morning, doll. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out something’s going on and the possibilities are few.”
I looked up at him and busied my hands, plucking at some random threads on the comforter. Sighing, I confessed solemnly. “I’m in trouble, Eli.”
I was shocked when I heard the low rumble of his laughter following my admission.
What’s funny?
“Sweetie,” he said, crossing his legs. “This isn’t 1955, and you’re not sixteen years old. I think it’s okay for you to say words like: pregnant or knocked up.”
“It doesn’t matter what words I use, the end result’s the same: I’m in trouble!” I must’ve changed the expression on my face to one that he’d take more seriously.
“What do you want to do about it?” he asked, taking my hand into his.
I looked away. “I want to have the baby, of course. I just don’t want Easton to know about it.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“I mean Easton doesn’t like pregnant women, or babies for that matter. I know this firsthand,” I replied, sitting up in bed.
I saw Eli frown. “Wanna clue me in?”
I told him everything, what had happened at Leeds, and what Lacee had shared with me just today. He listened to everything, taking it in and giving it objective consideration.
“Well first off, I would take anything Lacee said with a grain of salt. Seriously, it’s occurred to you she just might have her own agenda on this, right?”
I nodded, still not convinced Lacee would take a grudge against me or Easton to that extent. I had to find out more. But how?
“Where’s Easton now?” Eli asked.
“I don’t know—London or Paris. He’s back on Tuesday.”
Eli stood up, giving me one of his stern looks. “You need to think long and hard as to how you’re going to handle this with him, Darcy. In the meantime, I’m going downstairs to make you some chicken soup. I hear it’s good for the soul.” He finished with his signature wink.
chapter 42
I’d survived the weekend, despite Eli’s constant hovering and Lindsey blowing up my phone, both of them on the same mission: what are you going to tell Easton?
Fuck—I don’t know!
[Seriously, what would you do at this point? Let’s get this out of the way because I need to admit something. This relationship between Easton and me? It’s a hot mess, I know. But hey, I’m fairly sure I’m in love with him. I will not, however, cop to insta-love.
Insta-lust? Yeah, no doubt about that! Somewhere along the way, it became super intense, equipped with a whole lot of angst and a lot of back-and-forth crap. And then, it just kind of…morphed into this kind of lopsided relationship. Add a baby to the mix? So not good.
But, I digress…]
Thankfully, the pregnancy gods were with me on Monday. It was the first day I had no hint of morning sickness or fatigue. Maybe I was home free from that part of it. I got to work early to get a head start on the files Easton had uploaded to our shared drive. He’d phoned me Friday morning and told me he was preparing to leave for Paris the following day and he’d have the summit meeting input/output reports to me over the weekend. He asked that I put it into a summarization template, which Lacee had trained me to do.
Damn! There was a shitload of them waiting for me as I logged into our shared drive. Of course, they were in various types of files, which made consolidation that much more difficult. Some of the sites had done spreadsheets, others had used power-point, and still others had submitted text documents. Geez, too bad I couldn’t have some sparkly caffeinated coffee right now. This was going to take a while. There was one file that was different than the others I noticed right away. It was a text file that had been saved as the header on Easton’s personal e-mail account, showing the date and how many unread e-mails he had. WTF?
I opened it and it appeared Easton had saved an e-mail string to notepad. As I skimmed down through it, it was obvious he hadn’t intended on moving this particular text file to our shared drive. I scrolled down to the bottom and started reading up from there.
It was from his mom.
Her e-mail had arrived in his personal email account several weeks back. She had put “Your Father” in the subject line. Knowing that Easton hadn’t intended to send this file with the others, I did what any other professional assistant would’ve done and deleted it before I read any further.
Yeah, right! You know that didn’t happen…
I read through the e-mail threads. His mother initiated the email in an attempt to open the lines of communication. It sounded as if they hadn’t talked in a very long time. She said his father was ill, very ill. What?? She apologized to him for keeping him in the dark for all these years about his real father, but she felt it was time he knew the truth and paid his father a visit before he passed. His father had never met him, though he knew of him. She pleaded with Easton, mentioning that he was the only son and should carry his title with pride. She said it was his father’s wish to meet his only son before he died.
Holy shit!
I read further up seeing Easton’s response: “No.” It was simple and to the point, leaving no room for argument.
Apparently, his mom hadn’t taken the hint, because she’d responded back that she didn’t blame him for hating her, and doubting her word, but swore she was being
honest with him. She apologized for the shock and anger he must be feeling, but asked him to contact the man who had raised him as his own, Trace Matthews. He would validate her story.
Easton had responded a couple of days later, saying he’d talked with his father and they could both rot in hell as far as he was concerned.
Geez!
She’d replied back that, since he now knew the truth, he needed time to digest it, and she understood. She begged him not to take too long because his father only had weeks to live and he was the only man she’d ever loved. She wanted them to meet. If Easton agreed to do so, she promised she’d never bother him again.
Easton had replied back to her that it would be worth it as long as she kept that promise. He told her he’d be in Paris on the 25th and 26th. He said he would contact her prior to his arrival. She’d confirmed back her gratitude, blah, blah, blah.
Not good.
Today was the 26th. He’d be back tomorrow. God only knew what kind of a mood he’d be in. I was fairly certain his mood wouldn’t accommodate any greeting from me that included, “By the way, guess who’s gonna be a daddy in seven-and-a-half months? And while we’re on the subject Easton, what’d you think of your real father?”
I hurriedly deleted the text file and tried my best to concentrate on the task at hand. I couldn’t screw up his summary report, or he’d have good reason to bring a leather crop to my ass. I smiled at the thought.
That evening, after enjoying a dinner cooked by Eli, I debated as to whether or not to call Lindsey to see if Taz had spoken to his father lately. I wondered if Trace Matthews Sr. would’ve shared the topic with Taz. Was it possible Taz already knew? It was hard to tell when G-Men were keeping things from you. I’d learned that with Darin. Just as I was having that thought, my cell rang. It was Lindsey. How weird was that?
“Hey Linds,” I greeted, smiling and hoping it carried through in my voice. I hoped she wasn’t going to ask me for the millionth time when I was going to tell Easton, or if I was going to tell Easton. I didn’t want to think about it at the moment.
