The rich aroma of the French onion soup soured in her mouth. “You want to stay with me?” She’d barely accepted him accompanying her to doctor’s appointments. “Why?”
“I don’t want to think of you alone. In case.”
“For heaven’s sake, Beckett. How will that make any difference? You have a job. And a life.”
“I can work from home a lot of the time. And the evening events will get farmed out to some of the VPs. Time they stepped up.”
The reality that he hadn’t actually had to absent himself all this time should have slain her, but she bore it with a mere pang. It wasn’t a surprise, other than he’d admitted to it. She shook her head. “Don’t change anything. Let’s just part ways—”
“There you are.” Her father approached the table and tugged out a chair. “Sorry, we were delayed. Alfred is right behind me.”
She stared at Beckett, whose guilt was very apparent. He shrugged and offered a faint smile. “I wanted to share the great news.”
Her father was beaming, and her father-in-law’s visage was no different. Grace wondered if she’d landed in the Twilight Zone.
Alfred would have taken her hand if she hadn’t kept a grip on her spoon and a napkin. “Congratulations!” he cried.
She forced a nod and a smile, considering how Beckett would look with a fork in his throat.
When both older men were seated and their orders placed, George said, “How are you, girl?”
Outnumbered. “Fine.” She tried the soup and managed to swallow.
“Grace.” Her parent wasn’t looking so pleased any longer, but then he hated anything other than her total attention when he honored her with his presence. “Beckett tells us you were at the doctor.”
“I had an ultrasound. I want to make sure things are okay.”
Alfred said, “I’m sure there won’t be a repeat of last time.”
“For God’s sake, Dad. You make it sound as though Grace is in control of that,” Beck chastised his father.
Alfred blinked. “I didn’t mean to infer—”
“Of course he didn’t.” Her father frowned at Beck. “I’m just glad you told us.”
“It might be a premature celebration,” Grace said, apologizing mentally for the jinx, but now she wanted to stab Beckett with her butter knife. Too bad she hadn’t ordered a steak like Charity’s. Her stomach rolled uneasily and she turned her attention to her soup again.
“It isn’t.” The certainty and worry combining in Beck’s voice made her look up. He stared back with an apology simmering in his eyes. “It will be fine.”
If Beckett thought he was putting her in a corner to force her to change her mind, he had another think coming. No time like the present to tell the other players. She drew on her simmering anger. “Did he tell you we’re getting a divorce?”
Closing her ears to the expected reactions, she waited until George and Alfred expressed their shock, aversion, and surprise loudly, and in no uncertain terms. Their chauvinism knew no bounds, and she pondered that she and Beckett came from such similar backgrounds. Except he’d inherited the XY chromosome and subsequently adopted the attitude.
“Nonsense.” Her father glared at her. “Your brain’s addled.”
“George is right. Kilmers don’t get divorced,” her father-in-law chimed in.
“Nor do Langdons.”
The older men exchanged a glance she could only label as mutual satisfaction and her lip curled. Her mother died to escape the old man, and Beck’s mother was also passed, maybe for the same reason. Two shriveled peas in a pod, turning a salad bitter.
“First time for anything,” she said.
“You aren’t allowing this, Beckett.” George shook his head.
“Grace feels she can’t live with me any longer, George, and I can’t say as I blame her.”
Confusion flickered at his response. Like these men would care about her. Excuse Beckett, more like it.
“Why on earth not? She has a home, is well provided for.”
“And is miserable,” she threw in.
Two sets of eyes looked incredulous. Beck’s were full of regret. She’d seen more of a variety of emotions from him over the past twenty-four hours than she had for months. And a more palatable variety at that. Not that it mattered.
“So I suppose you think you’ll go on and be a single mother.” Her father’s sneer rolled off her back and Grace refused to reply.
Beck intervened. “She won’t be a single mother, George. I’ll be involved in my child’s life.”
Rolling his eyes, her father said, “Utter nonsense. You’re actually supporting her in this?”
Her relief was unprecedented. Beckett on her side? She dared to hope their future interactions would be as amicable. “I’m fine, financially. I have my own money, Father.”
A calculating look she knew all too well crept over his face. “Your trust fund.”
“Yes.”
“You won’t have unrestricted access to it until you’re twenty-five.”
His certainty threw her off her stride, and she tried to remember the legal mumbo jumbo she’d perused when her mother’s will was read. “It came to me when I turned twenty.”
“And your spending is at my discretion.”
She bunched her hands so she didn’t punch him in his smug face, struggling with the violent urges these men were raising in her. “I’ll have my lawyer look at it.”
“Your lawyer,” he scoffed. “What? A mediocre legal beagle against our firm?”
“George.” Beckett’s ominous tone froze the older man, and his own father stiffened. “Grace isn’t to be stressed. I’ll hold you accountable if something happens.”
George glared at them both, then stood, dropping his napkin on the table. “I’m not releasing any of your trust fund, Grace, until you come to your senses. Deal with it.”
Her power once again stripped away, Grace stood and faced him. Her knees trembled and it took considerable effort to steady her voice. “Get out of my life, you miserable old man. Stay away from me or I’ll get a restraining order.”
He reared back, eyes popping wide, and then glancing around at their audience. “You wouldn’t succeed.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll make sure the world knows why I’ve applied for one. They’ll know all about you. Some enterprising journalist—or blogger—will make your life a living hell.”
“If you think you can threaten me…” But his bluster didn’t hide his pallor. George Langdon feared being under a microscope more than anything in the world, and she had a key to his private life. There wasn’t a PR firm around that could spin his secrets if she spilled them.
Beckett moved in front of him, urging him toward the door. Alfred shot her a glance full of bewilderment and followed. She sank back down and struggled with despair. Had she ever hated her father so much?
“Sweet—Grace.” Beck took Alfred’s chair, pressing close. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” She couldn’t look at him, never wanted to see him again.
“I am.”
“You just had to tell him. Invite him.”
“My father called while you were getting dressed after the exam. I … I told him. Because I wanted to share the good news. I didn’t know it was a secret, Grace.”
Setting the heel of her hand between her brows, she massaged at the threatening headache, screwing her eyes shut. What options were left?
“It’s not a secret. It’s a wonderful thing.” And it was. She just had to figure out how to move forward.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I can’t pay for the divorce, let alone first and last month’s rent on an apartment. Not without my trust fund. The furniture…” The headache triumphed and beat at her brain.
“I won’t pay for the divorce, but I’ll give you the money for an apartment.”
He made no sense. “Why?”
His explanation was interrupted by the arrival of the server, who didn’t miss a be
at in returning the food to the kitchen for a take-out box, at Beck’s request. She hoped she didn’t come across as so entitled.
“I want to go … home.” Where else could she go? Charity was at work and she didn’t dare dip into the money she had in her account for a hotel. Not unless she used Beck’s credit card. Tears threatened again and this time she couldn’t dispel them. They flowed down her cheeks as she cried silently, adept at keeping her pain quiet.
“Fuck. Don’t. I…” Beck threw his card at the server and snagged a napkin to press into her hand.
“Is the lady all right?” The older man peered at her.
“She’s not feeling well.” Beck signed the receipt and helped her up, awkwardly balancing the take-out containers under his arm. “Grace, this way.”
She let him lead her past the other patrons, curious faces turning toward them, blurry behind the wash of moisture. Beck piled the food on the roof of his car and then eased her into the passenger seat.
“I’ll take you to Dr. Gibson.”
“No.” She cleared her throat. “No. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You’re upset and crying. Fuck.”
“Stop swearing at me. And I don’t need Dr. Gibson.” She hiccupped.
“Sorry. If you stop crying I won’t take you.”
“I will.”
He slammed her door and crossed in front of the vehicle to climb in beside her. She mopped at her face with the purloined napkin and grimaced at the traces of makeup she’d carefully applied earlier. Her hair was probably standing on end too.
They drove to the house in silence as she brought her tears mostly under control. It was like a tap had turned on and the washer needed replacing because her eyes still leaked.
“You cry so quietly that I can deal with it if I can’t see you.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I’ll be apologizing for the rest of my life.”
“Which might not be that long.”
She felt his gaze on her and faced him. His eyes were wide, startled. “Oh, get over yourself. Like I’d kill you or something. Watch the road.”
Intellectually, she knew her predicament was her father’s doing. If not today, then when he found out she was seeking a divorce. But by then she’d have accessed some of the money. Maybe. And it was Beck’s fault, ultimately. She ground her teeth against certain things she’d like to say, again wondering what had come over her.
“Why would you pay for my apartment?”
He heaved a sigh. “Because I owe you. I can’t believe I acted the way I did. Like some spoiled kid.”
“So, why not the divorce? I can pay you back.”
“I am not divorcing you, Grace.”
“I’m divorcing you.” She knew her tone was petulant, her lower lip pouting. Who was the child now? It was like she had a new toy and was determined not to lose sight of it.
They pulled into the drive, avoiding the sedan parked on one side.
Beck jumped out and came around to open her door. His face fell. “Shit.”
“What?”
“The carry-out containers…”
If she laughed, she’d cry again, so she bit her lip and clambered up, sidestepping him to head toward the house. The front door opened as she neared it and a beautifully dressed woman stepped out. She smiled at Grace.
“Jenna. Does this mean the groceries arrived?”
“Arrived and put away.”
“Grace, this is my PA, Jenna Mathews. My … wife, Grace.”
Wondering if this was the woman who had put her call through to Beckett that one time, and probably overheard his response, she made herself smile back. “Hi.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Kilmer.” Jenna offered a small hand.
“Grace.” She thought Jenna seemed like a nice person.
“I have to head back to the office, Beckett.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“Someone has to work,” Jenna teased.
Grace watched the exchange, on the outside looking in. The casual camaraderie hurt more than the thought of him having sex with all those beautiful models, and she turned away.
She let herself in and trudged upstairs. She had some thinking to do.
Chapter Seven
“It’s like he’s a different person. I mean, he’s closer to the Beck I first met, but he’s … more serious or something.”
“You live like a mouse for months and then it’s like you’ve stepped into an alternate reality and your life has gone insane.”
As a description of the past few days, it fit. Grace told her friend, “I’m still trapped.”
“Why don’t you let him pay for your place? It’s the least he can do.”
“I don’t want to owe him anything. And it feels bizarre.”
Charity laughed. “He owes you big time. Take the money and run.”
“I don’t know. It feels underhanded. And Beckett is treating me like a person. Not that I’m changing my mind,” she added hurriedly.
“You’ve leveled the playing field. He sees you as an equal, would be my guess.”
“A poor equal,” she retorted. “I’m dependent on him, and even if he pays my rent, I’m still dependent.”
“But you’ll be living separately. And you can always get divorced once you get your money.”
She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, tucking her phone between her chin and shoulder. “That’s nearly five years away. And I wanted to implement an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
“I’ve been dabbling with a clothing line.”
“No kidding. That’s great!”
“I’m dabbling, Charity. Key word. I’ve done some online courses and have the feel for design, I think. Probably comes from hearing all about fabrics growing up.” And hanging on Beckett’s every word—in the early days.
“What’s the line?”
“Maternity.”
“Oh, honey. I guess I thought maybe infant or toddler wear.”
“Not high fashion?” Grace was under no misapprehension as to her style—or lack of it. But she had strong opinions on comfort, versatility, and looking nice while your body changed in ways one couldn’t imagine—for a reasonable price.
They laughed together before she sobered. “He’s downstairs, now. Working in his study. Jenna brings stuff that he needs but it seems he really can deal with most things from here. The job was more of a way to avoid me.” When he wasn’t wanting to have sex with her. She idly wondered if he’d actually been faithful but dismissed it. Beckett was sexual enough to have it off with her and three other women on the same day.
Charity was quiet for a moment, no doubt hearing the pain in her voice. “So he’s serious about making sure you don’t spend long periods of time alone.”
“Too little, too late,” she muttered. “He hid away from me in his office for months.” And spent the evenings doing God knows what.
“What was that?”
“I said Beckett can’t make up for lost time. I needed him a long time ago. And I still don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Well, I still want to go down for a nap like a toddler every afternoon, food repels me unless it’s a certain color, texture, or chocolate, which I can’t have, and I cry at the drop of a hat, but I’m good.” The ultrasound had established nothing to worry about, and her due date was calculated to be just before Christmas. She refused to allow a glimmer of worry about another miscarriage to bother her.
“Are you, uh, sleeping with him?”
“No.” She was, but not the way Charity meant it. She started out every night in the guest bedroom she’d fled to the night of the big divorce reveal, but woke up in the master suite. Sometimes Beckett was still in bed, sometimes he was downstairs already, either making breakfast or working, but mostly he was still in bed. With her.
When she challenged him, asking why he persisted in carrying her b
ack into the master, he simply told her he meant what he’d said. He wasn’t leaving her alone. He didn’t encroach on her space, didn’t touch her, but he was there.
It had only been a few days, and Grace knew better than to believe a leopard changed his spots. She could admit to sleeping better and eating better, but she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Beckett to revert to type. The type she abhorred, and now that she didn’t love him anymore, she didn’t know how she might react. “I’d better go.”
“Okay, but let me know where you’re going with this, okay? I’m happy to come look for new places with you. And I’d be picking up half the rent. Later.”
“Not a half, Charity. There will be three of us.”
“Honey, I can already tell we have some disagreements ahead.”
She spent a couple of hours sketching out some designs for sleepwear, taking into consideration the tendency of some mothers-to-be to become overheated, as well as for easy disrobing when one’s bladder was compromised for space. With all her research, she thought she’d covered off everything.
It was one thing to reach this stage, the next was to pick the fabrics and find a seamstress to mock up the outfits. It had been a long time since she had sewn anything and she didn’t even own a machine anymore.
“What’cha doing?”
She started, checking out Beck leaning against the door jamb. Maybe it was because she’d been immersed in her designs, her guard down, but the sight of him in worn-in jeans and tight t-shirt made her belly heat. Quashing the warmth, she reminded herself that her infatuation was over.
“Just looking at a few things.”
He sauntered in, and she slid the sketches back into the file folder.
“Can I see?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Grace, you shut yourself up in here for hours at a time. I’ve figured out you spent time in here when you weren’t cleaning this behemoth of a house. I have to believe it’s something special.”
“It’s not. Just something I filled my time with.”
He perched a thigh on the corner of her desk, fabric stretching over the thick muscle and the folds of denim cupping his crotch. Her stare kept wandering to that area, but to be fair, he was sitting in her line of sight. Hormones. Infatuation. She tamped down her interest.
Love Changes Everything (Romance on the Go Book 0) Page 9
