“I have a name. It’s Grace.” She nearly said he wouldn’t have to call her his bride or his wife much longer, but erred on the side of caution. He looked intensely belligerent.
He blinked, then blinked again, a slow, sensuous smile curving his full lips. “Do I detect a bit of rebellion? Grace?”
“I thought you wanted to talk.”
“Come and sit down.”
She ignored his gesture at the couch, instead choosing a chair that put the coffee table between them. Perching on the edge, she waited.
He slumped back down and studied her. “You’re … gorgeous. You always were, but there’s something even more so about you now.”
Right. The booze was clearly blurring his perception. She said nothing.
“I had a talk with Kamil last night. After you went to sleep.”
And after he’d had sex with her—for the last time. “Okay.”
“He likes you. Thinks you’re sweet. And pretty. I can’t disagree. I always thought so.”
What he thought hardly mattered, but she’d liked Kamil too, his dark-brown eyes warm and nonjudgmental as he stood up for Beckett at their wedding. Maybe the guy hadn’t known about the reason they’d married. Or that Beckett blamed her.
What do you mean, you’re pregnant? We had sex once without a condom! Once. Your first time. And you told me you were on the Pill. Did you have it planned from the start? His reaction still lashed at her when she allowed herself to think about it. And he’d thrown his hands up, walked away before she could explain.
In the end, she supposed it was her fault because ignorance was no defense, not when it came to the law—or Beckett. And then came the phone call, Beckett apparently privy to some information she lacked. That was when he’d drunkenly cursed her. She closed her eyes momentarily at that pang of hurt.
“Kamil seems nice.” She was hedging, but she had no recent experience in dealing with Beck at the best of times, let alone when he was drinking.
“He’s my best friend. Smart, and I don’t mean just book smart.” Beckett stared off into space and she wondered what he was thinking. “I’d been thinking about things, about you and me and he said something that made me reconsider … my behavior.”
He stumbled over the last few words, but she deciphered them. She wondered what behavior Beck was referring to. There was a variety to choose from, and she wasn’t sure what to ask.
Shoving his hand through his hair, he stared at her again. “What he really did was clarify everything that had been bothering me about you. And how I’ve been acting… That is, I ended up having a new plan in my head. For the future. Our future.” He laughed and picked up the bottle. “Seems I can’t put it into words.”
Great. He’d gotten drunk to announce the end of their marriage. She was tired and so over this. And she certainly wasn’t sharing her recent news with him in this state. “We can talk tomorrow.”
“Sure. Okay. That makes sense.” He pushed up to stand again. “How was dinner?”
“Good. Fine.”
“With Charity, right? Not like you did this whole … makeover thing for anyone else.” With surprising agility, considering the low level in the bottle, he skirted the coffee table and loomed over her.
“With Charity.” Who else? She had no other friends and Beck never introduced her to any of his.
A big hand reached out and trailed fingers through the ends of her hair. “I liked your long hair. It was so feminine.”
Leaning back, she gazed up at him. “It’s my hair.”
“So it is.” He cupped her face. “You do look even more gorgeous, Grace.”
She pushed his hand away and wiggled sideways, getting to her feet and stepping behind the chair. Beckett’s brow creased and his eyes narrowed, the blue of his irises darkening, becoming turbulent.
“Are you … afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you avoiding me? Or maybe you had dinner with someone other than your friend. Maybe it wasn’t dinner. Maybe you—” He snapped his mouth shut but his glare said it all.
Nasty Beckett was back, although he’d never accused her of cheating before. She supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t wanted a paternity test. He’d probably demand one now, once he found out… A skunk smells his own stink first.
“Glass houses,” she murmured, refusing to look away.
“What?”
“You’re throwing stones, Beckett, and it’s unwarranted. It’s not like I’ll ever trust a man again.” She hadn’t given that any thought, in actuality, but it emerged as the absolute truth.
The startled fish look wasn’t attractive, not even on her gorgeous, soon-to-be ex-husband. “Did an alien take you over or something? And you’re one to talk about trust. What the fuck is going on, Grace?”
“I’m going to bed. We can talk tomorrow.” When you’re sober.
His features smoothed and lightened. “Great idea.”
As she headed toward the hall, he caught up to her with his longer strides and slipped an arm around her waist. She whirled and came up against his chest. His heat and bulk against her sensitive breasts nearly overwhelmed her new intentions, a true Pavlovian response, but the Scotch overwhelmed his familiar scent.
Her stomach rebelled and she shoved at him. “Don’t.”
Fish face again, no doubt because she’d never refused him, being so stupidly desperate for any kind of attention, something that made her vastly disappointed in herself now.
“I’m not that drunk, sweetheart.”
The endearment cut deep, a flashback to before the marriage, to the happy times. Grace sneered. “Drunk or sober. Don’t you touch me.”
“Whoa.” Beckett stepped back and raised his hands. “What the fuck, Grace? What’s wrong?”
Of course, he’d be confused. This—sex—was all they had together. Well, up until now. She swallowed, suddenly terrified about her pregnancy status. “I want a divorce.”
They stood at the foot of the stairs, little figurative distance separating them. Beckett’s features tightened and any sign of inebriation vanished, his focus steady, eyes clear. She tried to control her breathing, schooling her features and staring back.
“A divorce.”
“Yes.” She was grateful to hear the steady clarity of her response.
“I don’t think so.”
“What? You told me earlier, on the phone, that you wanted things to change. I saw a lawyer today. Things are in the works.”
He shook his head, slowly, without taking his gaze from hers. “Serves me right for not paying attention,” he muttered.
Exhaustion struck without warning, something she recalled from her first pregnancy, and she swayed. She was past deciphering riddles, past attempts to please everyone. She just wanted to be left alone. Beckett grabbed her arm and she allowed it until she found her feet again.
“You’re tired.” He peered at her. “Go to bed, Grace. I’ll turn off the lights. We can talk tomorrow.”
Surprised at his decency, she took advantage, nevertheless, and hurried up the stairs, grasping the banister. He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day. Veering into the master suite, she scooped up her nightgown and a fresh pair of panties before rushing down the hall to the second guest bedroom.
She had washed her face and stripped off her clothes, and was slipping into the nightgown when Beckett marched in. “What are you doing in here?”
“Go to bed, Beck. Please. Just go.” She pushed a hand against her temple. So she hadn’t thought out the sleeping arrangements. Sue her. She’d stupidly envisioned a civil, grown-up discussion where she wouldn’t be belittled or talked down to. Where she’d keep her backbone stiff and grant Beckett his freedom with equanimity and … grace. She nearly giggled as tears threatened.
He huffed a deep breath, the smell of alcohol he’d imbibed making her stomach roll uneasily. Stepping into her space, he dipped low and straightened with her over his shoulder, arms flailing helple
ssly.
She somehow managed not to vomit as he strode back to their room, but when he dumped her on the bed, she lost control. Lunging to the side, she set her face near the little trash can and coughed up bile. Her belly didn’t care if there was nothing in it other than a cup of tea, as she wracked several times.
“Jesus Christ.” Beckett put a hand on the nape of her neck and smoothed her hair back with the other.
When she was finished, he helped her lie back and then carried the can away. She didn’t care where it went, as long as the evidence was gone. Water ran in the adjoining bath and he brought her a glass. “Here.”
A couple of swallows went a long way before she set it on the nightstand and closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
“So damn polite. Always. Doesn’t matter if I’m shitting on you or … fuck, when was I last even decent to you?” He stomped away, saving her from formulating an answer, and she heard him brushing his teeth and then using the facilities.
This was a new Beckett and one she couldn’t begin to fathom. He was unhappy, just not with her. She didn’t think. The mattress dipped and she stiffened so she didn’t roll over to his side. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed he’d just go away.
“Grace.”
Or not. She looked at him, willing him not to ask.
“You were sick last night.”
“No.”
“I heard you.” Despite his accusation, his words were quiet, measured.
“I gagged. It had nothing to do with…”
“With the fact you’re pregnant again and want a divorce?” His face was stony, his eyes chips of blue ice.
“No. Although I won’t deny either of those facts.”
He blanched. “Then what?”
Why did he want to know? Why not interrogate her about the relevant thing? Grace went for broke. She had more than herself to stand up for now. Hauling herself up so her back was against the headboard, she drew up her knees for extra distance and said, “Last night I’d just come to the conclusion that I was done with this marriage.” Done with you. “And I had a … physical reaction.”
“No wonder.”
She felt her eyebrows draw together at his response. She’d expected, at the very least, some shock she had gagged because of him. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve been an asshole. Even despite … everything.”
“Everything? What does that mean? Everything? C’mon Beckett, seeing as we’re putting it all out there, I’ll say it. I’m also done with being your whipping boy.” She heard herself and was amazed but hung onto her determination.
“You’re hardly a boy, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t burden me with any fake endearments or snide references to being your wife. Or your bride. And don’t you try to smooth things over with your particular brand of humor.” Her voice rose, becoming shrill, and he blinked.
“Okay, okay. I’m trying here, Grace. I’m trying to make things better, despite everything.”
She stared at him, feeling her features stiffen, clenching her hands. “This everything. What else is included in there, past feeling forced into marriage? With me.”
Tipping his head back, he took a deep breath. “I’ll be honest. I was pissed at you, back then. And the way I felt took on a life of its own. One I couldn’t seem to step back from. No man wants to be trapped.”
Trapped. Like a predator having his way of life changed forever. Like she hadn’t felt trapped. She channeled her own hurt and resentment. “I’m sorry your father wielded such a big stick that you found yourself tied down. But I’ve had more than a taste of being powerless too! And I’ve paid and paid and paid for something I didn’t do deliberately.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and his mouth set in that thin line she dreaded. “Grace, your father told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That you were never on birth control. You lied to me. I trusted you and you lied.”
Her mind reeled at the revelation and she linked her fingers around her shins. It was more a barrier to keep him safe from the raging need to smack him than to hide behind.
With effort, she kept her tone neutral. “And how would my father know?”
“Uh, well he knew you didn’t have a boyfriend before me.”
“Before you seduced me?”
“If I recall, you didn’t put up a lot of resistance.” Beck raised a palm. “Sorry.”
“I was nineteen, Beckett. Fresh out of private school. An all girls’ school. And you came along. Impressionable virgin meets manwhore. Connect the dots.” It was like Charity was in her head, cheering her on.
His eyes widened and he whistled. “Man, when you throw off the traces you do it up right. You’ll be saying ‘fuck’ next. I’ll give you manwhore, so maybe I did seduce you. But I was really attracted to you. I still am.”
With a snort, she said, “Sex was never our problem. But you’re wrong when you say I lied to you. I was on the Pill. Had been for years. What would my father know about it? Did you ever stop to think about that? Or was your ego so bruised?”
He huffed loudly and set a hand on the back of his head. “I assumed—”
She summarized what she’d told Charity. “I was on the Pill. The dosage wasn’t sufficient, but I didn’t realize. It wasn’t to prevent pregnancy but as a teenager—a sheltered teenager—I had no reason to inquire.” And maybe, because I kept taking it before I found out I was pregnant, I killed my child.
Silence spilled out to fill the room and a myriad of emotions chased one another over Beckett’s face. “Shit.”
Grace found herself wishing to turn back time and force this conversation on him. Wishing it wasn’t too late, though he probably wouldn’t have believed her back then, refusing to speak to her, spend time with her… And then it had been like living in an armed camp where nothing vaguely related to the circumstances of their marriage was raised.
“Look, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “Whether premeditated or not, I screwed up your life. I get it. Sorry. But the past year hasn’t exactly been a treat for me, either.” And it wasn’t like he’d been totally curtailed. Hardly at all, in truth. He’d lived a pretty darn full life, the jerk. Wow, she was exhausted, yet energized. Putting it out there—because of this baby.
“Grace…”
“I can’t do this tonight, Beck. Just go away.”
“I’m sleeping here. With you. But I won’t bother you. I promise.”
No different than any other night, minus the sex. She was too tired to fight anymore, let alone possibly uncover other unpalatable revelations. Damn her father to hell. “Whatever.”
He pulled the covers back. “Settle in.”
She obliged, sliding down and over onto her side, tucking her hand beneath the pillow while he lowered the sheet over her. A faint press against her temple, his minty breath whispering through her hair, made her shiver. The affection she’d so badly craved, that she would have sold her soul for… Wait. Hadn’t she done precisely that? She bit her lip against a whimper and felt him move away, a vast, cool space opening between them.
Her earlier exhaustion returned with a vengeance, and her brain ran down like an old spring, thoughts whirling into nothingness. Sleep pulled her under, a toad licking in a fly.
Chapter Five
Morning was heralded by the muted shades of a gloomy day. Rain pattered against the windows as Beckett ran through today’s agenda, deciding to cancel his entire work schedule. He had something far more important than business meetings that could easily be rescheduled or handled by someone else.
He hadn’t slept much, despite the scotch. Thinking. Grace wanted a divorce. She was carrying his child and still wanted out of their marriage. He choked on a bitter laugh and rubbed a hand over his face, dragging it against the stubble. He’d felt something the night before last from her, something that alerted him to this… Well, he hadn’t known exactly what was coming, but he’d sensed it. Probably what drove him to the discussi
on with Kamil.
Wanting to scoff at such a thing, supernatural mumbo-jumbo, he found he couldn’t easily dismiss it. Their closest connection had been through sex after all, and he’d own that. Grace had reached out for months and months, for something more, to encourage that something they’d been growing while dating, before conceding defeat in the face of his reserve. His unkind reserve.
He shut down all her attempts to talk until she’d simply drifted away, withdrawing and carrying on without him. What if she’d been able to share that important piece of information back then? He shook his head. He’d been only too ready to believe George, willing to believe that the sweet, charming woman who was Grace had pulled one over on him. Beckett Kilmer, the guy who always had the upper hand in his personal relationships. How had that even been possible?
Nope, he’d told Grace the truth last night when he said he hadn’t trusted her. He didn’t trust any woman, not since his mother, his father’s influence marking him in a manner he hadn’t recognized—until now. And he and his wife hadn’t had enough time together before he got her pregnant to build that rare commodity. He felt sick to his stomach when he considered the mess they were in.
She slept soundly beside him, curled into a ball, the bedclothes barely moving with her breathing. The hairstyle and expert makeup made the very most of her appearance, although her transformation wasn’t precisely caterpillar to butterfly. He always thought she was beautiful, if in an ethereal, innocent, and unformed way. She’d lacked polish was all, something he could have provided if he’d been so inclined.
He could drown in self-recrimination or figure out a way to fix this. One thing for sure, he was going to include Grace and wasn’t above trading on her feelings for him. She loved him and he’d thrown that fine emotion back in her teeth. Grace was a class act and he was shit. His inexcusable behavior over the past many months might be irretrievable, but he wasn’t going to think about it that way. He’d come to the startling conclusion he didn’t want to live without her, and not only because of their physical connection. And it wasn’t going to be a case of too little, too late.
Love Changes Everything (Romance on the Go Book 0) Page 6
