by Nikki Chase
“Really,” she laughs, “you don’t need to worry. I’ve just been dealing with a whole pile of calls about this anti-competition thing with Adler and InFini. The press wants a statement from you. They’re wondering if it’s as big a deal as it all seems to be. Do you want to talk to any of them, to set investors at ease?”
I take a breath. I’ve been so focused on work that I hadn’t even considered this side of things.
“No,” I eventually say. “Get in touch with Brock. Send him out to talk with them. I just don’t have the time to deal with the media right now. Jeez, between this and rags like TMZ still hounding me about you, I’ve had enough of the media for a lifetime.”
At the mention of the gossip website, she pales noticeably.
This is all still new for her, I shouldn’t forget that.
“Seriously, Tess, do you promise me that this was all that was bothering you?” I ask. “There’s nothing else you wanted to talk to me about? If you’ve got a problem, then I want you to share it with me. Communication is important in a marriage, remember?”
I expect to see her cute, little, annoyed nose-flare at that quip, but she just gives a wan smile. Weird.
“No, nothing else,” Tessa says, shaking her head unconvincingly. “I’m just getting stressed with the work, it’s kind of an adjustment getting used to all this pressure.”
I pull her into a quick hug and plant a tender kiss on her forehead. “You can handle it, I know you can. I’ve got your back. And if it’s really too much for you, let me know. I’ll get you an assistant or something.”
“An assistant for your assistant?” She laughs. “What is this, assistant-ception? No, I’ll deal. I can handle it. Sorry for being all dramatic.”
My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I take it out and glance at the screen.
“It’s Brock,” I say. “I’ve had my mandated five minute break, and my ballbuster-in-chief is going to start sending out search parties if I don’t get back. Or, even worse, call my old man and tell him I’m slacking.” I shudder at the idea.
“It’s fine.” Tessa smiles. “You go do your CEO stuff. I’ll get back to work.”
Before I leave, I remember something. A little surprise for her.
I lead her to my office, careful not to touch her in front of people. I pull out a little black box from my desk drawer and hand it to her.
“To say sorry, for being an absent husband.” I shoot her a grin. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She glances from the box, then back up to me. “Okay. Seven. Got it.”
Her voice sounds a little strangled, and she still doesn’t show any signs of annoyance at my bad joke.
Before I can ask any more questions, Tessa turns around and rushes off—without saying goodbye—in the general direction of the women’s restrooms.
I just watch her go, puzzled. What on earth is with her? Is it bizzaro day or something?
Women. I’ll never understand them.
It could just be that she doesn’t want the gossip to spread, what with us spending time alone in a private space together, even if it’s my office and she’s my PA. I guess I can understand that.
I don’t give a crap. I’ve grown in the public eye and people are always going to talk. I learned to tune all that shit out a long time ago. I couldn’t have survived in this business if I didn’t.
I’m looking forward to tonight. We’re having another meal with my parents—something I would’ve told Tessa had she asked.
My parents are back in the country for a little while before they jet off on their next adventure. They’re keen to meet Tessa again, but I still haven’t told them the truth about our marriage. Although, maybe I won’t need to now? Tess has really backed off with the annulment talk recently, and what with the sex, maybe she’s forgetting about it?
The item in the box will look absolutely stunning on her, and I can’t wait to see her wear it.
I walk back into the boardroom, where Brock is practically foaming at the mouth.
“Where the hell were you?” he asks with exasperation.
I take a deep breath and prepare for another long afternoon.
Tessa
The box sits in my pocket for the rest of the day.
I resist the urge to open it at work. The last thing I need is Paula looking over my shoulder and starting more tongues wagging.
It’s burning a hole in my pocket, though, and as soon I get home I fling everything else on the floor and pull out the box.
Holding my breath, I open it. And I’m utterly blown away.
It’s a necklace. But not just any necklace—it glitters like a clear night sky. There must be dozens upon dozens of diamonds on it.
“Holy. Shit.” I say aloud, my voice echoing in my mostly empty apartment.
I take it out of the box reverently and put it around my neck, standing in front of the mirror to admire it. It suits me . . . but hell, this thing would suit anybody. It’s freaking stunning.
And it probably cost more than I make a year. No, scratch that. It definitely cost more than I make in a year.
I’m torn.
Nobody has ever given me such an extravagant gift. Growing up, I was lucky if my parents even acknowledged my birthday at all, let alone got me a gift.
My first impulse is to put it back in the box, give it back to Luke when he arrives and tell him I can’t accept it.
But then I catch sight of myself in the mirror again and . . . well, I just can’t resist it. I’ll probably never get the chance to wear something like this again.
Just for tonight, so I don’t offend him. Then I’ll give it back to him in the morning and tell him to return it. Promise.
I’ll admit that I can’t stop throwing glances in the mirror at every possible opportunity as I get ready. It’s hard to believe I’m even allowed to touch the necklace, let alone own it. It’s like I’ve been whisked away to some kind of a weird parallel universe.
I get ready, putting on the last nice dress I own that Luke hasn’t seen yet. It’s just a simple black midi dress, but I love it. My paycheck needs to come through before he invites me anywhere else, or I’m going to have to start recycling.
As if on cue, the buzzer sounds. It’s him.
I open the door and his jaw drops as he sees the dress and the necklace. He lets out a low whistle as he looks me up and down, his eyes hungry. I can’t help but feel little flutters low down in my belly at that.
“God damn, you look good,” he growls. “Makes me want to call my parents up and tell them that sorry, we’re going to be a little late, if you know what I mean.”
He takes a step towards me, but I laugh and slip away from him.
“It takes a long time to look this good,” I tell him playfully, “and if you muss me up now we’ll never get there. Maybe later. If you’re good.”
“I’m going to be so damn good, you wait and see,” he says, eyes tracking my every movement.
“Come on. Let’s go, horndog,” I scold him. “Put your tongue away.”
He takes my arm and leads me down to his car, his steps heavy with reluctance.
Within minutes, we’re on our way, zooming down the city streets. He’s whistling to himself cheerfully, enjoying his evening off.
He looks relaxed and calm now, but I still remember the stress written on his face earlier in the day. This government regulation stuff is getting to him, I can see, and it’s good for him to have an evening off.
He catches me staring at him, then smiles as he darts a glance at me before turning his attention back to the road.
I want so desperately to tell him about the baby. It’s way past time—he should know, he deserves to know.
But will it kill the mood? Maybe it can wait until after the meal?
I can’t keep on waiting and waiting though, because it’s only a matter of time before I actually start to show. Soon enough, I won’t be able to hide it any longer.
This evening. After the meal. That�
�s when I’ll do it.
We meet Luke’s parents in a swanky Italian place in downtown Colorado.
Everyone knows this place—it’s one of the oldest and most exclusive restaurants in town. Peons like me can’t get a table here unless we book months and months in advance, but I guess that’s not a problem if your surname is Alder.
His Mom and Dad are just as smiley and friendly as the first time we met, and I’m happy to see them. They’re a cute couple—still obviously very much in love, and I can see where Luke gets his playful side from when I chat with his Mom. She’s quick to smile and quicker to crack a joke.
“Lovely to see you again Tessa,” she says, standing to kiss me on the cheek as we arrive. “I hope Luke hasn’t been acting up too much. I know how he can get.”
“I’m just about managing to keep him check.” I laugh. “It’s not always easy, though. He must’ve been quite a handful when he was a kid.”
She rolls her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it. Why, one time . . .”
She launches into an extended anecdote about the time Luke ate dirt with a rock in it and had to have it surgically removed. Luke sits and listens with the long-suffering facial expression of someone who’s been subjected to this story many times over the years.
He coughs once she finishes, throwing me an apologetic look, then tries to change the subject.
“So, when do you two fly to London?” he asks.
“In the morning,” his dad says. “We’ll be gone for a few weeks. Brock has been keeping me up to date about this anti-competition crap. Have you got it taken care of?”
A slight wince on Luke’s face at the mention of work. “Yes Dad, I’ll deal with it. I’ve already got Brock busting my balls, so please let’s not go too much into it now. It’ll get resolved, don’t worry.”
His Dad doesn’t look completely convinced. I get the impression that he’s a guy finding it difficult to make the adjustment into retirement.
I try to follow along with the conversation as best I can, but I’m distracted by a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’m chugging water by the glass to attempt to keep it at bay, but every time the waiters pass me by carrying plates of food, the smell makes bile rise in my throat.
“Want to order some wine, Tessa?” Luke’s mom is asking me, a kindly smile on her face.
“Oh, uh, no thanks Mrs. Alder, that’s very kind of you. I’m trying my best to steer clear of alcohol these days. My father was an alcoholic, and I hear it can run in families. It’s probably better if I just don’t touch the stuff.” I glance sideways at Luke. “I’ve also been known to make . . . questionable decisions while under the influence. I’ll stick with water.”
Luke grins cheekily. “I heard some rumors about the last time you were in Vegas—”
I cut him off with a hard kick under the table.
We toast, them with wine, and me with water, as Luke rubs his shin gingerly.
Everything is going fine, but it’s a plate of spaghetti that finally does it for me. It looks absolutely delicious, but the smell triggers my nausea something fierce. Bile surges in my throat, and I know I won’t be able to stop it this time.
“Excuse me for just a moment,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
I rush off to the restrooms, cursing this damn morning sickness. As I’m leaving, I can see concern written clearly on Luke and his parent’s faces.
God, I hope they don’t think I’m bulimic or something. How long is it until I’m out of the first trimester? Isn’t it supposed to stop by then?
Luke
My mom is staring at me with a bizarre expression on her face, studying me intently. I wonder what it is that she’s thinking, and frown back at her. She’s smiling, looking at me, then back to my dad, who looks as bemused as I am.
“Well, Luke, I guess congratulations are in order,” she says, eyes sparkling, with a broad smile on her face. “When were you going to tell us?”
I’m a little taken aback by her words. What the hell is she talking about, anyway? I look at my mom, then to my dad, then back to my mom, mouth slightly agape, before finding the words to respond.
“What exactly are you talking about? I honestly . . . I mean, I have no idea what’s going on here.”
I sit back in my chair, placing my hands flat on the table in front of me, waiting for my Mom to do a little explaining, but she merely looks back at me with an expectant expression on her face.
“Come on, Luke,” she says, impatience creeping into the edge of her voice. “We weren’t born yesterday, you know. That’s the third time she’s been to the bathroom this evening, and we haven’t even had the main course yet.”
I shake myself, still none the wiser as to what she’s implying. I figure Tessa’s probably sick, or is suffering from nerves mixed with too much water, which she’s been chugging down since we arrived at the table.
“Well, first of all, Mom, it's a little weird you’ve been counting, frankly. Second, she’s been drinking water constantly since she’s sat down. She’s just had a little too much, and is probably a little nervous, that’s all.”
Doubt lingers on my mom’s face, and I start to get a little annoyed with the beaming, Cheshire-cat smile that remains on her face.
“You don’t need to hide it from us or keep it a secret, son. We’re both pleased for you,” she says.
Seriously. What the hell is she talking about?
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, Mom,” I say bluntly, trying to get it across to her that I really have no clue what’s going on.
Mom lets out a gust of air. I’m not keeping up, apparently. When she speaks, there’s an exasperation in her voice, like a teacher who’s irritated by a notably slow student. “Well, she’s gagging every time they bring food past. All it took was for her to look at that spaghetti in the waiter’s hand to go green and rush off to the bathroom.”
Mom raises an eyebrow as if I should know what she’s trying to get at.
“Maybe she doesn’t like spaghetti? Or she’s had a bad reaction to the first course? How am I supposed to know?” I ask, taking a sip of wine.
I look over at my Dad, but he simply shrugs his shoulders, looking as perplexed as I am.
“Listen, you should just tell me exactly what this big secret is you’re implying I’m keeping from you,” I tell her. “Put me and Dad out of our misery here, Mom.”
“You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? You really have no clue?” she asks, eyes searching mine.
I shrug and raise my hands in surrender.
“Well, let me spell it out for you, Luke.” Mom flicks up her index finger. “First of all, she’s not drinking any alcohol. In fact, the mere sight of it seems to turn her a deeper shade of green.”
A second finger shoots up as Mom lists out what she thinks is going on with Tessa. “Second, she barely ate before rushing off to the bathroom. She came back, tried to eat some more, before rushing off again.
“And now this time. That’s three times she’s been sick.” My mom is looking up from her fingers to my face as she counts, studying my features to see if I’m following her train of thought.
I shrug, waiting for her to continue her almost clinical assessment of the situation.
“And lastly, she’s positively radiant. You must have noticed that, at least? She’s glowing, her hair is shinier than the last time I saw her, her face a little flushed . . .” My mom’s voice trails off and she lets out a big sigh as she realizes I’m still none the wiser.
“Men,” she says, shaking her head with disappointment, but smiling all the same. “She’s pregnant, Luke. It’s obvious. Well, for a woman at least, it seems.”
My blood freezes and my breath catches in my throat. I struggle to breath through the shock that has paralyzed me. Unable to speak, I simply sit there, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a truck.
I take in a ragged breath. With a shaky hand, I raise my wine glass to my mouth, t
aking a much larger gulp before setting the glass unsteadily back on the table. It seems like time has slowed down.
What the fuck? Is this for real? She can’t be pregnant. She would have told me, surely?
I’m not ready for a child. This is going to ruin me.
I repress a sudden urge to run out of the restaurant, to get as far away from this situation as possible, to process what I’ve just been told.
Calm down, Luke. Mom might be wrong. You don’t know for sure, but . . .
Mom is never wrong about these things. Never.
Remember when she somehow intuited that Aunt Nancy wasn’t sleeping with her husband anymore? That was kind of TMI, but the point is . . .
Shit.
I try to speak but can’t seem to form the words, so I simply sit there like a fish, gulping water.
“Oh my God. You really didn’t know, did you? She hasn’t told you? Oh, Luke . . . Well, I think it’s great news. It’s not the best way to find out, I’m sure, but try and see this is a good thing. You’ll make a great dad,” she says, smiling at me with an look of adoration on her face.
What is it with babies and making women go crazy? This isn’t real. I’m going to wake up soon. There’s no way I’m going to be a Dad. What the hell am I going to do?
Tessa
I come back to the table and . . . something’s wrong.
Luke’s parents look extremely uncomfortable, like they’re itching to leave, and he’s staring ahead into the middle distance, his jaw clenched.
“Sorry about that,” I say, my voice weak. “I’ve been feeling a little off-color recently.”
“Oh, really?” Luke asks, sarcasm dripping from his words like poison. “I wonder why that is?”
I stare at him. What’s going on? I’ve never heard him speak like this. He’s normally so unruffled and straightforward.
His dad coughs and looks distinctly embarrassed. Everyone picks at their starters and nobody seems to want to meet my eye.
Have I committed some sort of faux pas? Is my dress riding up or something? What the hell’s going on?
