by Lydia Rowan
“Is the house new? You didn’t live here before?” Alexander asked, his voice somewhat casual even though she could tell he was intently watching her actions.
“Oh, no. I lived in Charlotte, and was condo all the way, but then”—she considered her words carefully, and more importantly considered how Alexander might take them—“it seemed like a good idea to get something bigger, move outside the city, because, you know…” She trailed off, her voice lowering to a whisper as she changed Ethan with the efficiency born of practice.
Alexander didn’t speak, but she could assume what he was thinking.
“Would you like to feed him?” she asked after a few moments of thick silence.
Alexander’s gaze flew up to hers, a mix of longing and fear plain for anyone to see.
“Yes, I would like that very much,” he said.
“Okie doke. Grab the munchkin, and I’ll make his bottle,” she said and waited expectantly, breath a little heavy as she watched Alexander carefully pick Ethan up and settle him against his chest.
“You’re a pro.”
“No. I’ve never done this before. I never had the chance,” he said, bitterness creeping into his words.
“Well then, you’re a natural,” she said brightly, refusing to pay credence to the tension that still simmered.
She headed into the kitchen and washed her hands before grabbing the can of formula and filtered water that she kept to mix it.
“He is three months old, yes?”
“Near four, actually.” She measured the mix and began shaking.
“Why are you not breast-feeding then while he is so young? Everyone says it’s healthier.”
She shook the bottle a little harder before she responded, “It wasn’t feasible, so we switched to formula.”
“Who is ‘we,’ and why was it not feasible?” he said, voice initially sharp before he lowered it after glancing at Ethan, who let out a wail.
She hurried her preparations as Ethan’s wail was followed by another, then another, until he was full-on crying. When she finished, she pulled away from the counter, crossed the kitchen to stand in front of them, smiled at the baby, patted his head, trying to comfort him, and then looked up at Alexander. “We’ll take about this later. Right now, somebody’s hungry,” she said as she blew a kiss at Ethan, an extra-high-pitched wail his response.
Alexander’s eyes widened slightly at the sound, and a look of panic crossed his face. But that didn’t keep him from saying, “Yes, we will, Quinn. We’ll talk about a lot of things later.”
His unyielding tone promised—or threatened—that they would.
She shook off the ominous words and grabbed a blanket off the table and threw it over his shoulder.
“This is a very necessary precaution,” she ensured after his quizzical look. “And it probably still won’t protect you that much. The kid has a knack for finding unprotected places to drool, puke, pee, or poop, but we do what we can.”
A thin line of a smile crossed his face, and she handed him the bottle before helping him settle the baby just so in the crook of his arm. Ethan hungrily latched on and begin sucking, one hand waving wildly in the air and the other lying on top of Alexander’s as he held the bottle. But, unlike most other feedings, where Ethan’s gaze excitedly jumped from one thing to another in the room, this time, his gaze found Alexander’s and stayed there. Tears pooled in Alexander’s eyes, making them spring up in her own. She knew firsthand the awe and wonder he now felt, remembered so well the first time she’d looked into her son’s eyes and had him look back at her, remembered how a piece of her heart, actually probably the whole damned thing, had been irretrievably taken by that gaze.
Then Ethan looked away, attention caught by something or another, and the moment was broken. Alexander looked at her then, tears still in his eyes, and she knew a reckoning was coming.
Several hours later, or three diaper changes and another bottle, depending on how she counted, it was time for Ethan’s bath and bedtime. Alexander had been there the entire afternoon, helping out where he could and holding Ethan as much as the baby would allow. The two seemed fascinated with each other. Ethan, a normally happy baby anyway, smiled and stared at Alexander more than he had any other new person. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, an attempt to assuage her guilt. Whatever the case, her heart soared at the soft look in Alexander’s eyes when he gazed at Ethan, and alternately sank at the crushing defeat she saw there when Ethan reached for her or squirmed away from Alexander’s grasp.
“He seems upset,” Alexander said, some of the few words that hadn’t been directed at Ethan in the past couple hours.
“I usually give him a bath and put him down around this time, and he definitely needs to slee—”
A knock on the door cut her off midsentence.
Chapter Three
Quinn’s gaze flitted to the door, and then she walked over and looked through the peephole, the softening of her mouth and eyes making him wonder who was on the other side. She quickly unlocked and opened the door, and in walked a man, his easy stride suggesting he was not unfamiliar with entering Quinn’s home.
The stranger smiled at Quinn and leaned down to place a quick kiss on her cheek, and given how tall he was, he bent pretty far to reach the relatively diminutive Quinn. He placed an arm around Quinn’s shoulders, projecting an air of casualness that Alexander didn’t buy for a second. The man had a keen gaze, and in the few moments he’d been inside, he’d assessed Quinn, spotted Ethan, and sized up Alexander.
“Verna send you over here, Joe?”
“You know that woman wouldn’t ask me for anything. I just wanted to drop in, see how you and the munchkin were doing. Is everything okay here?”
The words were said to Quinn, but the man looked directly at him as he pulled Quinn closer, tucking her under his arm, his calm demeanor and loose-limbed stance only serving to convince Alexander he was far more dangerous than he appeared. And the man, a couple inches taller than Alexander’s own almost two-meter height, with heavily muscled frame, looked plenty dangerous. He was again heartened that Quinn, and by extension Ethan, had someone looking out for them, and this man seemed more than capable. But still, his masculine pride and a previously unknown possessive streak rose inside him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to stake his claim, make it clear that he could take care of what was his.
He leveled an icy stare at them and felt an undeniable surge of satisfaction when Quinn put space between she and Joe.
“I am Alexander Montague. Ethan’s father.”
It was the first time he’d spoken the words out loud, and he was struck by how right they felt coming from his mouth.
The man—Joe—held Alexander’s gaze for a moment longer, and then seemingly mollified, nodded and looked back down at Quinn.
“Remember I’m next door, Quinn,” he said and walked out the door.
“A friend of yours?” Alexander asked as the click of the closing door faded, hating that the question in his tone revealed how unhappy the idea made him.
Quinn nodded. “That’s Joe, my friend and next-door neighbor. Only a friend,” she said with a finality that comforted him.
Still, he wasn’t ready to let the issue go and used the opportunity to plunge headlong into the undoubtedly unpleasant conversation that lay ahead. “And he knows Ethan? Spent time with him when his father didn’t even know he existed?”
Her could see her deflate, appear to physically sink into herself, and a woeful look crossed her face, tears pooling in her eyes. But Alexander refused to feel guilty. He’d missed the first months of his son’s life; he was entitled to anger and harsh words, entitled to much more than that.
“I’m sorry, Alexander. I know I can’t ever make up for the time you’ve lost, but I am, truly, deeply, sorry,” she said.
“Argh,” he practically screamed, would have but for the baby lying there momentarily distracted by a toy yet still showing signs of fatigue. He walked into the livi
ng room, the walls of the foyer suddenly pressing in on him as his anger reignited. Quinn trailed behind, but he flinched when she reached out to touch him, and as awful as it was to admit, he was happy at the sight of her face falling at his response. Her lips pursed as if she were about to speak, but no words emerged. Instead, she closed her mouth and settled on the couch, apparently having decided to wait for him. He turned away from her and began to prowl the small space, hoping the movement would release some of his restless energy. He didn’t know how long he paced, but when he barked out, “Why, Quinn? Why didn’t you tell me?” she jumped, appeared startled by the words that sliced the air.
She hesitated a moment, but then said, “I…tried. I mean, I called, but you never called back…and I just thought…”
He searched his memory, but had no recollection of a call from her. He’d missed her when she left, pined for her so much he’d thrown himself into his work in the months immediately after and could have easily missed an attempt to reach out. Ironic that the thing he’d relied on after she’d gone had kept him out of Ethan’s life. Still…
“One phone call?” He tried, and failed, to keep the edge out of his voice. “The fact that you were carrying my child only merited a single call. I can only imagine your efforts if it had been something important.”
She narrowed her eyes and said, “Alexander, I—”
“What? You’re sorry? You tried? Not good enough, Quinn. Not nearly good enough.”
He walked over and sat on the couch opposite her, not trusting himself to be close to her, not with the dual rage and ever-present attraction racing through him.
“Tell me everything.”
Chapter Four
“Everything, huh? That’s a tall order.”
Apparently, Alexander was in no mood for jokes. “It is, but I want to know. Everything. We can even start small. How did you pick his name?”
Quinn sighed and bent down to scoop up Ethan, who lay on his play mat and drifted between sleep and awake.
“That was easy, believe it or not. Ethan was my dad’s middle name, and Alexander is obvious,” she said with a slight nod toward him.
“And his last name?” Alexander tried to keep his words light, unaccusing, but Quinn could hear the censure. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t have expected her to use his family name.
“Also obvious, and it would have been a dead giveaway of Ethan’s paternity to everyone at ARc-light and anyone else who cared to find out.” Like you for example, she left unsaid. She exhaled, the long breath lifting the hair resting on her forehead. “Look, Alexander, we’ll talk but bath and bed first, okay?”
They stood staring at each other for a long moment before he finally nodded and followed her upstairs. He paid rapt attention to the bedtime routine, tracking her every move and word but thankfully not pressing for deeper discussion. She was grateful for the break. Even having accepted that she needed to own up to her actions, she didn’t relish this upcoming conversation.
After Ethan was down, she and Alexander headed back to the kitchen, and the sudden rumble in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten at all today.
“Are you hungry?” she looked back at Alexander as she opened the refrigerator door. “I think my mom made stir-fry…” She trailed off at the sensation of Alexander’s hand atop her own, making her notice how close he was.
Her gaze flashed to his, and the emotions there were unreadable, save the pleading that she saw.
“Haven’t you stalled enough?” His were soft, earnest, more painful for it.
“I’m not stalling, Alexander. I’m hungry. I thought you might be, too. I hoped we could sit and talk like reasonable adults. I’m so sorry for that!”
Quinn hated that her increasingly shrill tone gave away the strain that had been crushing her, the strain that had finally take its toll, but it seemed to soften something in Alexander. Much to her surprise and relief, he relented and walked across the room and settled at the dining room table.
“Yes. I am hungry, so whatever you have to offer would be lovely.”
But the unsaid, And hurry up about it was loud and clear too, so she obliged. In minutes, she warmed some leftover beef stir-fry, boiled some minute rice, and fixed two large glasses of iced tea.
“You know,” she said as she prepared to take a sip of tea after a few bites of food, “this was the hardest part of being pregnant.”
“Tea?” he asked, his raised brows indicating his confusion.
“The lack thereof. And coffee, oh, don’t even get me started!”
That got a chuckle. “I know how much you love your coffee. So you couldn’t have any caffeine when you were pregnant?”
“Nope. Well, my doctor said I could occasionally have a small amount, but I’m no masochist. Why tempt myself? So I went cold turkey.”
“And?”
“And I wasn’t quite the raving, hormonal, caffeine-deprived monster that I’d anticipated. I still missed it, of course, bad, but after my first trimester, it was pretty manageable.”
“When did you find out?” he asked softly.
She put down her fork and pushed away her plate, appetite suddenly gone, but she slid the glass of tea closer, mostly so she’d have something to do with her hands.
“About a month and a half after I got back. I’d been feeling…poorly, not sick exactly, but tired, rundown, you know? But I didn’t think for a second that I…I mean, we’d been careful…”
“Not careful enough, apparently,” Alexander said with a humorless burst of laughter.
“Right. So one day I go to visit my mother, and she’s asks, ‘Do you have something you want to share?’ I had no idea what she was talking about, but she was insistent. ‘It’s okay, Quinn. You know I’d never judge you.’ I’m still clueless and racking my brain to figure out what the hell she’s talking about. And then she’s says, ‘Seriously, you don’t even know, do you?’ I tell her I don’t know anything, and she’s finally like, ‘Quinn, you’re pregnant.’
“Talk about the bottom dropping out. I denied it, tried to laugh it off, but she was adamant, said she knew what pregnant women looked like. I went to the doctor the next day and she confirmed it. I was about six weeks along.”
“Any question about the father?”
She looked up quickly, and he held her gaze, refused to look away.
“No,” she bit out, knowing that if in his shoes, it would be one of her first questions. Still, while she wasn’t outright angry, she was nonetheless irritated at the insinuation. “The father was never in doubt.”
“Then why didn’t you find me, Quinn?” he asked, pinning her with a harsh gaze and raking his fingers through his short hair, his facade cracking just a bit.
“Oh, I did. I called you that very same day, but you never called me back.”
“I told you I didn’t—”
“I know, Alexander, but weeks passed,” she said, the tears clogging her throat bleeding into her voice, “and by the time I’d decided to try again, I wondered. Maybe you were avoiding me, didn’t want to talk to me, had moved on. It wasn’t malicious. I swear.”
She looked up at him, hoping her eyes reflected the truth in her heart. “I never intended for this to happen, but somewhere along the way, I got the idea that I’d have to go it alone, so that’s what I did.”
It was all out, the simple, painful truth that Alexander had missed so much—that Ethan had missed so much—because she’d been a coward, had been unwilling to be persistent. Something snapped inside her, and she stood up abruptly. It took her a moment to realize that the sharp sob that rent the air had come from her. Not that she could have stopped it. The tears and sobs flowed freely, rushing from her as if a dam had been broken. And in a way it had, she supposed. She’d been overjoyed at the birth of her son, felt that love and joy grow each time she looked at him, but always, in the back of her mind, guilt had nagged at her, weighed her down. And to now look at the man she’d so wronged, confront what she’d don
e, it was too much.
“I’m—I’m sorry, Alexander,” she stuttered on a wail.
She started to sink down, literally collapsing under the weight of her guilt and grief. But before she could reach the floor, Alexander’s strong arms encircled her and pulled her close, pressing her against his warm, solid bulk. She rested against him shamelessly, pressed her face against his chest, trying to soak up his strength, trying to convey her regret.
He rubbed her back, softly mumbled what had to be words of comfort in French, and how long they stayed that way, she didn’t know. But her sobs and his quiet words created their own strange sort of music. Then finally, her tears slowed and her sobs stopped, but she was reluctant to pull away, equal parts comforted by the feel of a man’s—this man’s—arms around her and embarrassed by her display.
“Sorry. I’m used to people crying on me, not the other way around.”
He squeezed her tighter, and she felt his laughter rumble out and through his chest, shivering as the vibration flowed through her. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of the feel of him pressed against, her breasts molded against his chest, his arms notched in the curve of her waist as if they had been designed to fit there. This was close, too close, too much of a reminder of that time in Geneva, a time that, but for Ethan, she might have believed was just a very elaborate fantasy. She needed to pull away, couldn’t even begin to fathom the complication that having Alexander in her life would present. And she would pull away. Soon. Just a moment longer…
Alexander stepped back, breaking the spell, and Quinn jumped like she’d touched a hot stove.
“Ah, I must look a fright,” she said. After a quick glance at the clock, she noted the hour, far later than she’d realized, and as suddenly as the tears had hit her, fatigue set on with equal ferocity.
“I’m also beat. Where are you staying? I’ll take you to your hotel.”
