“You had absolutely no reins on the girl; she could leave whenever she wanted, run off with the child to never be seen again.”
“I had it under control, Mother.”
“She’d already left the country once. What was to stop her from leaving again, with the baby?”
He wanted to say because she wouldn’t do that. “We have a contract.”
“What do contracts mean to young girls? Someone needs to ensure the safety of my grandchild. This is the only one I am likely to ever have; I am not letting it slip through my fingers because you are feeling queasy about doing what must be done. Who is she anyway?”
“I am not feeling queasy,” he stated, which was a blatant lie—this whole thing had made him feel queasy since the moment Shanna had packed her bags and left—probably before that if he was completely honest. “She is a girl from New Zealand, experiencing living in Europe.”
“And if she decides to keep the baby.”
“She won’t.” He decided his mother would likely get the wrong idea if he explained how adamant Sam was that he take responsibility for this baby; his mother would misunderstand and likely take an even tighter grip on the situation. “This is my situation, Mother, and I want you to stay out of it. Withdraw the injunction.”
“No.” When his mother dug her heels in, there was no-one on earth or beyond that could make her change her mind.
“She lives in Beausoleil and you are stopping her from returning home. If you wish to keep her co-operation, it is best not to aggravate her like this.”
“Absolutely not. I have no control over her in France, and you, my darling, as much as I love you, cannot keep a girl happy for more than a week. There is nothing stopping this girl from walking away at any point.” Sebastian rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. His mother always insisted that his short-term relationships with women were all he was capable off, even though he had been with Shanna for quite a while. His mother tended to ignore his relationship with Shanna—pretended it didn’t exist. Although, unfortunately, as much as he hated admitting it, it had turned out that his mother’s instincts had been right about her.
“Withdraw the injunction, Mother.”
“I love you, my son. When are you coming for dinner?” That was his mother’s way of closing a subject.
“When you withdraw the injunction.”
“Don’t be childish, Sebastian.”
“You leave me no choice, but to fight your injunction.”
“You can try, my darling, but you know Justice Renot is a close personal friend. And as a grandparent, I have the right and it is my duty to watch out for the best for my family. I will not judge how this child came about, but I am glad it is coming.”
He wanted to strangle his mother, say something childish like he would withhold the child from her, but he wasn’t quite that ridiculous, nor given to histrionics. The truth was that this child did in some ways belong to her also, and there really was nothing stopping Sam from hopping on a plane and disappearing down to the other side of the world. He just wished this mother could act with more finesse and trust, but that wasn’t her way.
Cutting his meeting short, he headed back to Monaco. He was not looking forward to going home, but he had to deal with whatever damage his mother had caused—and not for the first time in his life. He was a grown man—a powerful man—how was it that he had to contend with his mother? But she had always been more in-tune with Machiavelli than with Julia Childs—even in an era when the world hadn’t been an easy place for a woman to exercise power. She was a political animal and growing up she had taught him many of the skills that had made him a success.
*
The house was quiet when he opened the door, cursing Mrs Muir for being seditious enough to place the girl here. Her steps were coming; she was marching toward him and he had to dodge the slap she was trying to land.
“How could you?”
He grimaced tightly at the understanding that Mrs Muir hadn’t told the girl what had happened. Sometimes he wondered if Mrs Muir secretly hated him. “This is not my doing, and it was not done with my condonement.”
“Not your doing? Do you think I’m an idiot?” Her eyes were blazing at him—it was actually quite attractive on her. “If you didn’t do this, then who did?”
For a moment he wondered if it was better to let her go on thinking this was his doing, rather than admit that he was being hamstrung by his mother. He could just let her go on thinking he was a tyrannical bastard, who was callous enough to take out an injunction. Normally, he didn’t really mind people seeing him in that light—there were more than a few who did. But then she might think he’d done this to get her here for some nefarious reason—and he just didn’t do sleazy bastard. Well, he did, but not like this—not dragging women back to his house against their will—he fought to keep women out of his house. “This is the work of my mother, I’m afraid.”
“Your mother?” she repeated disbelievingly.
“It seems that my mother has found out you are carrying her grandchild. And she worries about your intentions.”
Sam stood staring open mouthed at him. “Are you kidding me?” she challenged after a while. “Your mother brought an injunction against me—so I can’t go home.”
“So you can’t leave Monaco,” which if he admitted wasn’t completely outside what he should have as a right under the circumstances. There were just the unfortunate effects on her due to her living in Beausoleil.
“She can’t do that.”
“Yes she can, and she has.”
“My uncle is getting me a lawyer.”
“That is understandable.” He turned toward the kitchen, placing his phone and car keys down on their usual spot. She followed him.
“This can’t stand. I will fight this.”
“You can try, but my mother is well-acquainted with the legal circuit here. They are all part of the old families, which tend to support one another.”
“That is corruption.”
“It is just the way things are done here.”
“It’s completely despicable.”
“She is just trying to stop you from running off with the baby. My mother is not a great believer in trust. And your apartment being on the other side of the border is unfortunate and I will have your things collected, but unless you are actually thinking of running off with the baby, this injunction will have little effect on you.”
“Except it is keeping me prisoner.”
“Not exactly—you just can’t leave Monaco.”
“Where you can keep a close eye on me,” she said, crossing her arms suspiciously. Narrowing her eyes, her mouth tightened into a thin line.
“And that is unreasonable given the circumstances?” He hadn’t intending on siding with his mother’s assertion, and he did believe her actions were heavy-handed, but on some levels, she did have a point.
Chapter 15
Sebastian woke the next day, aware that something was wrong, but not quite able to put his finger on it, until he heard a noise from outside his room. The development with the girl came crashing back, making him groan and close his eyes, wishing it would all go away.
His meddling mother had come along, like a steamroller and bowled over everything. Now he had an irate girl in his house, and he had enough to do just now without having to take care of a girl.
But there was no point musing about it; it had happened and he just had to get on with it. Getting into the shower, he tried to catalogue the things he had to do that day. The late nights and constant hangovers over the last few weeks had put him off his schedule a bit, but now it was time to get serious again. Well not entirely, but he would cut down on the alcohol.
He had a date that night, which he now couldn’t bring back here. A Spanish socialite, who really wouldn’t take no for an answer. Admittedly he’d been hard-pressed to resist. He cursed his mother again.
Dressing, he resolved himself to deal with his … ward.
“You
need to get some milk,” she said, marching past him as soon as he stepped out of his room, continuing walking into the guest room without another word and closing the door behind her. She wore a pair of his white tennis shorts, which were much too large on her, riding low on her hips.
Frowning he turned to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of black coffee, which he drank while leaning back on the counter, considering his unwanted house guest. The house was completely quiet; no noises coming from behind her closed door.
That had not gone as he’d expected. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected—a fuming girl with her arms crossed, staring daggers at him, or more absurdly, a girl dressed in a 1950s dress kissing him goodbye as he left for work. He wasn’t sure where that thought came from.
Ever since this pregnancy had happened, he’s had some strange thoughts. His attraction and fascination for her bump had been a surprise and a revelation.
Finishing his coffee, he looked out of the slightly overcast day. He really did have a lot to do today. There was an important council meeting coming up and he needed to ensure that any objections from the various parties were addressed beforehand.
Still, he was reluctant to leave the girl here on her own, unsure what she’d do, but he had to get on with his schedule. He also needed to figure out what to do with her, but for now, she would just have to stay put.
After finishing his sparse breakfast, he got in his car and drove onto the steep streets towards his office, where Mrs Muir looked up from her desk as he came in.
“How is she?”
“She didn’t say.”
“You did speak to her?”
“She stated that we need milk,” he said, continuing into his office.
“I will have some sent over. Is there anything else needed?”
How should he know, he wanted to say, but recognised it would be churlish. “Can we look into getting her an apartment?”
Mrs Muir gave him a frosty look from where she was standing in the door way of his corner office. “She is pregnant, Sebastian. It would be better if there is someone around to ensure that she’s alright. Things can go wrong, you know. And since this is your child and you have a sufficiently large house, she’s better off staying with you.”
Grimacing tightly, he sat down behind his desk and started his laptop. Sebastian wasn’t normally one to shirk responsibility, but neither had he been in the position where responsibility had taken up residence in his house. He also knew he would get months of disapproving looks from Mrs Muir if he pushed the issue, along with the fact that he’d also think himself a bit of a jerk for divesting himself of the problem which he’d essentially caused.
*
Sam didn’t come out of her room until Sebastian was well gone. She’d heard him drive away, his engine loud like some high-spec Italian sports car, which made her roll her eyes. Although what would she expect Sebastian Luc to drive—a Volvo? She tried to imagine him driving a baby around and just couldn’t get the picture to mesh.
Softly, she padded out into the living room, her feet cold on the stone tiles. Night still clung to the furniture outside when she opened the large sliding doors to access the patio facing the awesome view along the entire city and coastline. A slight coating of dew covered everything, including the sofa where she sat down and drew up her knees.
What the hell was she going to do here? She looked over at the pool, watching the water undulate gently as the wind blew over it. Well, she could swim, she guessed. Maybe do some of the things she’d always meant to do but never got around to, like bake.
Instead, she checked her phone and noted an email from a woman saying she was a family solicitor that her uncle had engaged to sort ‘a spot of problems’. Sam felt hope flare in her. She had someone who knew what they were doing in her corner—she hoped they knew what they were doing, because they would have to face down Sebastian’s corporate suite of lawyers. Groaning, she buried her face in her hands. This was such a complete nightmare.
After scheduling a meeting with her new solicitor, Sam sat down and watched the view. She didn’t even have her laptop, cutting her off from the rest of the world, except for her phone, and it still grated how much the data cost. She needed her stuff; she couldn’t carry on wearing Sebastian’s wardrobe for however long this took. She couldn’t really go outside like this, could she? Well, actually, she wasn’t that fussy, and if she had to shock the uppity Monte Carleans with her dress, then she would. She’d go out in these stupid shorts and an oversized t-shirt if she had to. She wasn’t confined to this house, after all.
What she really needed to know was if Sebastian would still be giving her money. She’d been in deep trouble if he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to pay her rent. Or, more immediately, to buy some clothes. Perhaps that was something the solicitor could help establish.
*
The woman arrived just after lunch. She was an older woman with a broad smile and a shock of short grey hair that defied gravity. Sam could tell instantly that she was a bit scatter-brained, but well-meaning. A blue ill-fitting dress with small white flowers covered her body, white sensible sandals on her feet. She looked nothing like a solicitor.
“And this is the bump all the fuss is about,” the woman said. “I am Sandra Sanchez.” She was definitely French, with a Spanish name, Sam noted.
“Sam D’Arth.” They shook hands and Sam invited her out on the patio to sit. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, anything. This is quite a view, isn’t it? How would you get anything done with a view like this to distract you?”
Sam hoped she didn’t mean anything alcoholic and rummaged through Sebastian’s kitchen for something she could serve—finding some peppermint tea hidden in the back of the pantry, which would have to do.
“Now, down to business,” Sandra said as she accepted the cup of tea. “It is rather complicated; cases involving Monaco usually are, but the French laws apply to you as long as you reside in France. I practise French law predominantly, and since you’re a French resident, we need to apply French law.”
“But they’re keeping me here.”
“As long as you have your apartment in France, you reside there.”
“So I must keep my apartment there?”
“Yes, it is very important.”
“They have been paying my rent.”
“It is important that you keep the apartment,” the woman reiterated, giving her a pointed look.
Sam bit her nail trying to think of what she needed to do. If Sebastian cut her off, she needed to find another way of paying rent. It was only a few more months. She wondered if she could get Marco to give her money. He’d complain like she was murdering him, but he’d do it—she’d make him do it. Or else she’d have to tell her mother. She could always approach Damon, but she was hesitant to, considering he was already paying for her solicitor. It would work out, she told herself; she’d make it work out. Taking a loan was always a possibility, she supposed. “We have a contract, but it’s in my apartment and I’m not allowed to go and get it.”
“I can retrieve it if you like. I should have a look to see what’s in it. But the law is the law, and a contract cannot supersede the law. That doesn’t mean he can’t make things difficult for you. Legally this child is yours and the father is Sebastian Luc. I think with the evidence he has around the process—contract included, it would be hard to argue otherwise. What are your intentions towards this child?”
“I do feel responsibility for this child.”
The woman nodded. “You must know what your intentions are. If you are to keep this child.”
Sam frowned. It sounded so simple—just keeping the child. Morally, it went against the grain—having entered into an agreement, to then renege—particularly when it involved something as important as this. “The circumstances for this child have changed so dramatically, I am not sure he—the father—is as committed to this child as he should be.”
“Do you wan
t to keep the child?” the woman asked pointedly, watching her intently.
Sam didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t feel right saying yes—this wasn’t her child, but she was fully willing to take care of this child if it was in its best interest. “I will if I have to.” She felt uncertain answering that questions, and Sandra didn’t look entirely convinced either. The truth was that she wasn’t entirely sure that Sebastian wanted this child and was willing to live the kind of life necessary to take care of a child.
“Miss D’Arth, you must know what your own intentions are here. It will be much harder knowing how to fight this case if you don’t know the outcome you want.”
Sam felt pressure to make a decision, but she wasn’t ready to commit to robbing Sebastian of his child. “What will happen if I do?”
Chapter 16
Sebastian woke to the unmistakable smell of bacon wafting through the air. Turning over, he groaned. There was no way he could fall asleep again now, not with the smell of bacon working like a beacon on his brain.
He couldn’t quite recall his house smelling quite so tempting before. He didn’t cook himself, and Shanna, well, she didn’t eat in any discernible capacity.
Getting up, he scratched the new growth on his chin and made his way out to the lounge. Sam was standing over the stove, spatula in hand and humming to herself.
“Morning,” he said.
Sam turned around and her attention drew immediately to his bare chest. Perhaps he should have worn a shirt, he considered. They were practically strangers and he’d just walked in with only his PJ bottoms on. Frowning he fought the idea that he should have to dress to walk around his own kitchen. If she didn’t like it, she could deal with it.
“Would you like some?”
“If there’s enough.”
“Have a seat,” she said, indicating with the spatula to the table outside. “Take the orange juice.”
He grabbed the pitcher of juice sitting on the kitchen isle and walked outside, flinching as the shade gave away to brilliant sunshine. Sitting down, he watched Sam finish cooking, scoop the meal up on plates and carry them outside, still wearing his clothes. Her large t-shirt flowing around her and the bump as she walked. Again he felt an irrational tightening and smiled to himself as he drew his attention to the food in front of him. The attraction was still there, he noted.
A Material Gift (D'Arth Series Book 2) Page 9
