The doctor dragged out a gadget which he placed on her belly. Within moments, the room was filled with strange sounds and it took him an embarrassingly long time to click what it was. After checking Sam's blood pressure, the nurse swayed a device across her belly.
"Everything looks good," the doctor said. "Do you want to know the sex of the baby?" The question stumped him and he looked at Sam who looked back at him.
"Yes," he said after it became clear that Sam wasn't going to answer. He didn't really know if he wanted to know the answer. The sad truth was that he wasn't really emotionally invested in this baby and he felt a bit ashamed about it.
"It's a girl," the doctor said brightly. "Not as shy this time. Congratulations."
A girl, Sebastian repeated to himself. He checked his watch again.
"Is there somewhere you have to be?" Sam asked sharply.
"I have a flight to catch in a couple of hours."
"You're leaving again?"
"Yes," he replied, slightly put off by at her pointed attitude. "I'm a developer; it requires a bit of interaction with suppliers."
Dr Halmonde seemed to pick up on the tension and tried to brighten the mood. "You're doing really well, Sam—the baby is growing. Try to eat right and you'll find that you'll start needing more sleep soon. It will also help the baby if you try to remove stress from your life as well."
"Yes, Doctor," she said, pulling her red shirt over her bump, drawing Sebastian's attention to it yet again, and to the flare of her hips below.
They left shortly after a few more encouraging words from Dr Halmonde. Sebastian didn't quite know what to say. He hadn't been paying attention to his last points of advice. "When are you coming in again?"
"In a month," she said as she pushed open the door to the street. Taking the steps two at a time, she stopped in front of her scooter.
"Are you sure it's safe to ride that thing?"
"I'm pregnant; I haven't completely lost my co-ordination."
He wasn't sure he bought her dismissal of his concern. A scooter was dangerous—if she fell, she would be badly injured. "I can give you a ride home."
"I thought you were going to the airport."
"I can afford a detour if I must."
"No. Thanks for the offer, but I have to go shopping. My clothes don't seem to fit right anymore, for some reason." Her jeans did seem to be straining around her waist. She looked so young in her cheap clothes, probably all bought at H&M—not the kind of clothes worn by women he knew, who wouldn't be caught dead in jeans and a t-shirt, but truthfully not unattractive. Pulling her helmet on, she sat down on her scooter and started it up. "Have a lovely time wherever you’re going, I guess. How are you going to get on with your suppliers when you have a baby to care for?"
"As every other parent does," he said, resenting the question. He hadn't even considered what this baby would do to his lifestyle. At the start, he'd just assumed that Shanna would do the baby caring—content at home with their child. How wrong he'd been.
She gave him one of her pointed looks and pulled away. Tensing his jaw, he watched her go, riding away on her little scooter. He didn't want to think about what he was going to do when the baby actually came—a girl—Barbies and Strawberry Shortcake and all that. The idea of it just left him stumped. There couldn't possibly be anything further from his life than a little girl.
Agitated, he stroked a hand through his hair, wondering how a baby would fit into his sports car. Would he need one of those capsule things?—the contraction he'd recently noted that people carried babies in—and a pram. A fucking pram. He closed his eyes. What the hell was he going to do?
He wondered if his old nanny was still working. As a kid, he'd thought she'd been a complete tyrant, but now, as an adult and a prospective parent, the thought of a tyrant nanny was inordinately appealing—someone to keep the baby quiet and far away from him. A feeling of guilt washed over him; he wasn't sure he was even cut out to be a parent.
*
Shaking her head, Sam drove away. She tried to dismiss the worry and dread she felt about this baby and Sebastian's lack of apparent parental savvy. It really wasn't doing her any good dissecting it in minute detail. She knew it was something she had to address later, but for right now, she would follow Dr Halmonde's advice and remove stress from her life—which currently centred around Sebastian Luc.
She drove to Fontvieille Shopping Centre, in dire need of some new pants. It was slowly starting to get cooler again, so she needed something to wear other than skirts and sweatpants.
The knowledge of a little girl growing in her belly crept back. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing for her to know that. It might actually help her in the end to keep the baby as an abstract idea, but now she knew it was a sweet little baby girl. Sam felt a flash of concern and sorrow. She could not forget that she needed to give this baby away at the end of this—it wasn't her baby. But she dismissed the darker thoughts that were threatening her conscience.
She found a park close to the shopping centre, which was the good thing about having a scooter: there were always special parks for motorcycles at convenient locations. Wandering around the stores, she eventually found the maternity section, but was wildly disappointed with the choice available. Looking over the selections of pants, her heart sank. She was pregnant; she wasn't dead. But eventually she had to settle on a plain pair of black pants. They weren't anything spectacular, but she wouldn’t feel like a pensioner in them either.
Returning to the car park, there was a man in a suit standing next to her scooter. "Miss D'Arth?"
"Yes," she said suspiciously.
"This is for you," he said, handing her an envelope.
Tentatively she took it. "What is it?"
"It's an injunction. You're required to stay within the confines of Monaco and you're not allowed to leave. You will be arrested if you try to leave. Do you understand?"
Sam stared at him disbelievingly. "I live in France."
The man made an exaggerated grimace. "That is unfortunate. I hope you have a lovely evening," he said and walked off.
"No. This is unacceptable," she called after the man, but he ignored her and kept walking.
Chapter 13
Sam felt sheer panic take over. She wasn't sure what was happening. She couldn't go home. What was she supposed to do? She just stood there holding this stupid piece of paper in her hand. The lawyer or whatever he was had gone and she had no idea what to do now.
How could he do this to her? The utter bastard. The two-faced piece of shit. He didn't dare mention anything when he was there—smiled to her face and then stabbed her in the back when her back was turned.
She paced from one foot to the other, completely uncertain what to do with herself. She had her wallet and her Vespa and that was it. Where was she supposed to go? Her whole body shook in anger and disbelief.
Hands shaking, she reached for her phone and dialled. "Damon?" she said as soon as he answered.
"Sam? What's wrong?"
She couldn't talk as great big sobs had taken over.
"Sam, what's happened?"
"He's having me arrested," she said as clearly as she could manage.
"What?!"
"If I leave Monaco, he's having me arrested. He's gotten this injunction. I live in France. I can't go home. What am I supposed to do?" Panic was weaving through her voice.
"Alright, just calm down first. Have you got any money?"
"Some."
"Alright, get yourself a hotel room. I will get in touch with a lawyer. Just calm down for now and I will sort everything. Give me a call when you're at a hotel."
"Okay," Sam said, nodding into the phone even though Damon couldn't see her.
"Go find a room and then call me, okay?"
"Okay," Sam repeated. She hung up and stood there for a moment. Tears were still flowing down her cheeks. She needed to calm down; she wouldn't be able to drive like this. How could he?
After wiping her eye
s, she went and bought an ice-cream—conscious that people were staring at her red, teary eyes. She wasn't a pretty crier; her whole face went red. After finding a bench, she devoured the ice-cream without even tasting it. The cool felt good on the throat though.
She was glad she had Damon in her corner. He held it together and knew what to do and he would help her get this sorted. He wanted her to get a hotel room, but she would run through her money in two seconds flat at that rate.
Trying Sebastian's number, she only got his voicemail. She should have known. "You total, utter prick," she yelled when the voicemail recording started. "You're cowardly and there is something really wrong with you, you know that?" She hung up, wanting to throw her phone at something—him preferably.
After a moment of fuming at what a complete arse he was, she decided to phone his secretary.
"What exactly am I supposed to do?" she challenged as the woman answered the phone. "I am standing here in the middle of the street and I can't go home. What am I supposed to do?"
"Miss D'Arth?"
"Yes, it's Miss D'Arth. How many other girls has he completely screwed over today?"
"I'm sorry. Please tell me what he's done."
"He's having me arrested."
"I'm sure you've misunderstood."
"No, this injunction is pretty clear—if I go home, he's having me arrested."
There was silence down the other end of the phone. "Where are you?"
"I am at Fontvieille."
"I am sending a car for you."
"What about my scooter?"
"We'll sort that out after we sort you. Where are you exactly?"
"I am at the south side car park."
"Wait there. The car won't be long. I am sending it now."
Sam hung up. She wasn't entirely certain it was a good idea calling this woman, but on the other hand, the idea of a car coming to take her somewhere safe was appealing—she was kind of agitated.
Sitting down on the curb, she waited—still not quite believing what had happened. She wished she could pull her knees up, but the bump was limiting her movements. How could things have gone so completely wrong?
The car didn't actually take long. A silver car pulled up next to her and a man got out. "Miss D'Arth?" he asked in a strong French accent.
"Yes."
"Please," he said, coming around and opening the door. The seat in the car was soft and welcoming compared to the hard concrete curb she'd been sitting on.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To a house in the hills."
"Oh," Sam said. She watched as the scenery passed and they climbed higher. The driver pulled into a driveway and stopped in front of a modern house with a walkway over a pond and a massive door made of some dark hardwood. This was not some rustic house; this was a million dollar architecturally-designed house. Actually she had no idea what a house like this cost, but this was a rich person's house.
An older woman was waiting for her by the door. "Miss D'Arth?"
"Yes," Sam said, eyeing her suspiciously.
"I am Dianne Muir. It is good to finally make your acquaintance and I am so sorry for the difficult circumstances. I am trying to get hold of the lawyers to see what has happened. In the meantime, you can stay here." The woman unlocked the door, which opened to a cool, stunning space, framed by an even more stunning view. There was even a dark green pool on the deck outside, which looked almost like a natural jungle pool, surrounded by lush tropical plants. This house was a showpiece, or one of those photo essays in an architecture magazine. Considering who was taking her here, this had to be a property that Sebastian owned.
"This is Sebastian's house," Mrs Muir said.
"He lives here?"
"He's not here at the moment. He's in Paris, so you might as well stay here."
"I can stay in a hotel."
"Nonsense. A woman in your state cannot stay in a cramped little hotel room. Sebastian will have to sort out how to manage this when he comes back. It is his responsibility, after all." There was something right in letting him sort it out since he’d caused it.
"Now, I will go see the lawyers and get an understanding of what has happened. You should relax and try not to worry—enjoy the house. The fridge is stocked. Pick any room you want and call me if you need anything."
Sam nodded absently, trying to get her thoughts ordered. She heard the door close as Mrs Muir left, leaving her alone in the large house. Sam didn't know what to do with herself. There was a nice seating area outside she could definitely retreat to. And there was a sleek kitchen, all chrome and stone—not the homeliest of kitchens, but gorgeous. Actually, she'd never seen a house like this before—and everything was perfectly ordered. She supposed that happened when someone was paid to order it for you.
Feeling peckish, she walked over and stared at the panel that she guessed was the pantry. It had no handles and Sam couldn't figure out how to open it. After some searching, she found that if you pressed the panel it would pop out. Finding some cereal, she poured herself a bowl.
Walking around the place, her footfalls echoed off the walls. It was just so tidy and there wasn't actually a lot of stuff. There were few signs of the residents, although she did find a couple of car magazines. Wandering farther, she found the bedrooms—a spare room which looked good enough and then his large bedroom. Again, everything was neatly organised. Sebastian Luc wasn't a slob, or else, his cleaners would clear away any signs of it.
Suddenly, she felt very tired and retreated back to the spare room. She only intended to rest her eyes for a moment, but the moment stretched and when she got cold, she crawled under the blanket.
It was dark by the time she rose. She found a light switch and made her way out into the living room. Her phone was where she'd left it on the kitchen bench. She didn't even have a charger for it, she realised. There were four missed called from Mrs Muir and Damon, but it was too late to call either of them back.
Placing it down, she opened the impossibly large sliding doors out to the patio and sat down on the group of sofas outside. The lights of Monaco sparkled before her. It really was a stunning view.
Chapter 14
Sebastian retreated to a cluster of chairs at the far side of the reception of the construction company he was visiting. The large window looking out over Paris revealed a grey drizzly day. He had a few messages he needed to review—typical stuff, then an irate voice message from the girl. He had to hold the phone away from his ear for all the yelling—immediately followed by a message from Mrs Muir to call him urgently. He had learnt that there was a bit of a temper simmering under Samantha D’Arth’s surface when something didn’t go her way. Obviously, something had happened, but he didn’t know her well enough to gauge the gravity by her irate reaction.
He dialled Mrs Muir’s number.
“Sebastian?”
“What’s upset the girl?”
“Well, there have been some developments here since you left.”
“What developments?”
“I have been in touch with your lawyers.”
“There are lawyers involved?”
“Not yours at it turns out, your mother’s.”
“My mother?!” Sebastian groaned and closed his eyes. He’d learnt a long time ago that any involvement by his mother in his life was normally disastrous. She would bestow her will no matter what anyone else wanted.
“It seems your mother has served Miss D’Arth with an injunction forbidding her from leaving the principality. It would seem your mother has discovered the existence of Miss D’Arth and what she is doing for you. Miss D’Arth is naturally upset as she cannot go home.”
“Where is she now?”
“I have put her in your house.”
“In my house?” he said with disbelief.
“Where else would you like me to put her? You weren’t there; she was distressed and she had to go somewhere. It isn’t right holing her up in some tiny hotel room while you battle it out with your m
other. She is quite pregnant and doesn’t need the discomfort of being stuck in a little room.”
“Fine,” he said, admitting defeat. There was no point objecting now; she was already there. He still didn’t like the idea of the girl being let loose in his home and sanctuary. “She’s probably tearing the place apart.”
“She was very upset.”
“Alright, I’m coming home,” he said with a sigh, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. Hanging up, he leaned back in the chair and brought his hands up to his face in an attempt to rub these new problems from existence. His mother’s involvement was not a good thing. His intentions had been to tell her after it was all over. Actually, his intentions had been to tell her well before that, but that was when Shanna would be at his side waiting dotingly on the child to be born.
But somehow his mother had found out, which likely meant he had two irate females on his hands. He groaned again. He could control just about anyone, but his mother had never been one of them. He’d gotten his single-mindedness from her, and for some reason, when they butted heads, she could always deploy tricks that were just not available to him—there was the passive-aggressiveness, the tears, the ‘my son the ungrateful bully’ routine, but mostly there was just the panzer advance over what anyone else wanted. He wasn’t scared of his mother, but he was wary, and he knew damned well that what he wanted made absolutely no difference to her.
He dialled her number. “Mother,” he said when she answered. “I see you have been interfering.”
“Sebastian, darling, someone had to do something.”
“No Mother, someone didn’t. This is my business and I will handle it however I want.”
A Material Gift (D'Arth Series Book 2) Page 8
