by Joanne Rock
Framed playbills lined the walls along with photos of Tatiana and her family. Tatiana with her father at her graduation from Columbia. The Doucets outside of a downtown skyscraper with the brass name plaque of her prestigious law firm. Every picture was a reminder of the life he might have had with her if her family hadn’t turned her against him.
A blaze crackled in a fireplace on the far side of the living area. And beside it, in that warm glow of flickering light, he spotted her on the dark leather love seat, cradling a tiny bundle of blankets to her breast. Tatiana’s dark brown curls shielded her body as much as the blanket, the firelight making the skin of one shoulder glow where she’d unfastened her dress to feed the baby.
Her baby.
His...son.
Something shifted inside Jean-Pierre, his whole world tipping on its axis as everything changed irreversibly.
“I am sorry,” she said softly, her hand shifting to cover a tiny foot kicking free of the cotton bundle. “I left New York in my sixth month so that no one would find out. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
He had moved deeper into the room, drawn to the sight of woman and child, trying like hell to focus on them and what they meant for him. To him. But his brain was scrambling to catch up on nearly a year’s worth of living in mere moments.
“What about your family?” Had he been playing games for Jack Doucet’s team while the guy kept this news hidden from him? If so, it was going to blow the Doucet-Reynaud feud wide-open again, because Jean-Pierre could not deal with that kind of duplicity. Lowering himself to the chair across from her, he sat with his back to the view of Central Park at night, his eyes on the only thing that mattered. He needed Tatiana to keep talking. To explain why he had no knowledge of this development in their lives.
“They only know I took an extended vacation. I couldn’t tell them before I told you.”
The tone she used suggested that was the only sensible approach, when in fact, none of this made sense to him. Who kept this kind of news from their family? Jean-Pierre might not be as close to his brothers as he once was, but damn straight they wouldn’t keep something like this from each other. He’d told her how much a secret like this had hurt his own family—had hurt his half brother. “I think I’m going to need you to spell this out for me more thoroughly.”
“I had so many things to organize,” she continued. “I needed a good midwife. And at first I requested a leave from my job. But then I realized I needed to change my role with the law practice so that I’d be doing legal research and writing briefs instead of taking cases to trial.” Her eyes were bright and worried as they flashed up to his.
At least she seemed to understand how thin her reasons sounded. But then, she’d always placed a higher priority on appearances than him. The framed photos on the walls around her sure never showed a single misstep in her perfect life. He wouldn’t be surprised if the pregnancy had thrown her into a panic trying to find a way to tell her parents.
“Where did you go when you left New York?” He knew he needed to process this fast. To move past the shock of what she was telling him and start being a support to her and this new reality. But the truth of the situation was like waves at high tide, thrashing him over and over.
She’d had months to come to terms with this. He had minutes. And he didn’t dare make a mistake.
“The Caribbean. Saint Thomas has a good hospital in case I needed one. I rented a villa on the beach.” Her voice wavered. “I was trying to be discreet. To keep this out of the press and away from the old family drama until I spoke to you and we could figure out how to handle the future. But just when I had everything set and was ready to call you, I went into labor three weeks early.”
Now that knocked the wind out of his rising anger.
“Is he okay? Are you?” A stab of fear jabbed Jean-Pierre hard, outweighing every other emotion. His brother’s wife, Fiona, had lost a baby. He understood the danger.
“We’re fine. Thirty-seven weeks is within normal range. César was six pounds and fourteen ounces.”
The pain in his chest eased, a small sliver of the tension giving way to an unexpected tenderness.
“César,” he repeated, gaze shifting to the squirming blanket and restless tiny foot.
“For your great-grandfather and for my—”
“Grandfather,” he interrupted, knowing they both had Césars in their family trees. He remembered the roots of the Doucet family almost as well as his own. He’d been a guest at their home when he’d dated Tatiana, before his grandfather Leon had fired Jack from the Texas Mustangs after two seasons of poorly performing teams.
An old bitterness that would have to take a backseat now.
“Our son is five weeks old. We just flew in from Saint Thomas two days ago. His nanny, Lucinda, made the trip with me. She watched him tonight while I went to find you.”
That must have been the woman he’d seen earlier.
“May I see him?” Jean-Pierre didn’t want to interrupt a feeding, but the urgency of the infant’s small suckling sounds had slowed from when he’d first entered the room.
“Of course.” Tatiana shifted the bundle in her arms. She lifted the baby upright, her dress falling closed. “Here’s a cloth.” She nodded to a square of white cotton folded beside her on the love seat. “For your shoulder if you want to—”
She trailed off as he took the baby, who was possibly quieted by Jean-Pierre’s sure grip. At least half the Gladiators had kids, so he’d handled plenty during private team events. But holding this one...
“He has the Reynaud eyes.” They were brown and flecked with green. The tiny hands were covered by the sleeves of his shirt, the fabric folded over them. But the boy’s color was good—pink and healthy. A thatch of dark hair, spiky but soft, stood on end as if he’d been caught in a wind tunnel.
“I was only with you last year, no one else,” Tatiana said softly, her dark curls brushing Jean-Pierre’s shoulder as she leaned closer to look down at the infant. “He is yours.”
“No question.” He trusted this implicitly. He might not be happy with her decision to keep the news of her pregnancy to herself—and he was shoving aside a whole lot of unhappiness about that, in fact—yet he knew her well enough to know that she was careful with relationships.
“May I?” She reached for César. “Just to finish the feeding?”
Wordlessly, he passed the baby back to her. He watched as she slipped her dress off her other shoulder, vaguely aware that many women preferred privacy for such a moment. But he’d been denied too much time already, so he didn’t take his eyes off her as she cradled the tiny body to her swollen breast and helped him to find the dark pink nipple.
“You look so...” Beautiful, he thought. But the moment was too intimate already with them sitting almost shoulder-to-shoulder, her curls still clinging to the sleeve of his jacket. “At ease with him.”
He envied that, he realized.
“I’ve had more time with him.” She bit her lip, perhaps guessing how that statement might sting. When she turned to face him, her eyes shone with unshed tears. “No one warned me what an emotional time this would be.” She lifted a shaky hand to first one eye and then the other. “I knew pregnancy hormones could make women emotional, but I didn’t count on feeling so different after giving birth. You know I’m not the kind of person to make unguarded comments to the media, and yet tonight I was so nervous about seeing you and telling you, that I just blurted that remark with zero thought.”
As troubling as that seemed to be for Tatiana, it explained a whole lot of things as far as he was concerned.
“Having lived through puberty, I can assure you that I understand hormones are a powerful force of nature.”
She gave a watery chuckle. “I’ve made a good living on being rational. Logical. It’s like I’m operating on a
whole new kind of software.”
She gestured to the handful of baby items strewn on the coffee table—a half-open diaper bag with the contents spilling out, a stack of newspapers and some folded sheets. Not a mess by any stretch, but for a woman who liked to show a perfect face to the world, the scene probably bordered on chaos.
“Maybe that’s why biology let men off the hook during pregnancy. So we can be the logical ones.” He forced a grin, trying to keep things light since it wasn’t going to do either of them any good to have a big confrontation about the ethics of keeping him in the dark about the pregnancy.
She’d been nervous to tell him. And he had to take some blame for that given the way he’d left things between them last winter.
“You’re going to be the voice of reason?” She arched an eyebrow, her voice steady and full of attitude.
That was more like it.
“Definitely.”
“Don’t forget I was in your backyard the summer you decided it was a good idea to jump off a second-story deck into your family’s pool.” A smile transformed her features as she shifted her gaze down to the baby in her arms.
And it damn near took his breath away. No wonder she’d looked so good tonight. She had that new-mother glow.
“A minor sprain was a small price to pay for the serious rotation I got on that dive.” He needed her smiling. Relaxed.
Trusting him.
Because he’d been formulating plans from the moment he understood the magnitude of the secret she’d been keeping.
“Nevertheless, I think I’ll keep my own counsel even while I’m under the influence of my hormones.”
“Fair enough. But because you’re a reasonable woman, I know you’re going to agree with me on this first order of business.” He reached to touch her arm where she cradled their son, needing a connection with her when he made his appeal.
“We need to tell our families.” Her gaze met his, the firelight reflected in their depths.
She was a beautiful woman. An intelligent, hardworking woman. And there was undeniable chemistry between them or this situation wouldn’t have arisen in the first place.
“That’s the second order of business.” They’d take care of that soon enough. “First, we need to get married.”
* * *
There was a unique brand of hurt in hearing a man you once cared about offer a sham marriage when he no longer cared about you.
Tatiana breathed through that hurt now, telling herself she could not afford to be any more emotional tonight than she already had been. But heaven help her, how could she not feel vulnerable when her arms were full of the precious baby they’d created, César’s soft breath warming her breast as he began to nod off after his feeding? She was exposed in every possible way, and maybe just for a moment she’d allowed herself to sink into the warmth of Jean-Pierre beside her as they’d marveled together at their tiny shared miracle.
Carefully, she lifted the baby to her shoulder and tucked her breast back into her dress. Patting his back, she took comfort in the ritual, grounding herself in the actions of a new mother. She needed to be strong for her son, no matter that Jean-Pierre’s halfhearted suggestion called to old feelings inside her. She would tamp down those emotions right now.
“The last time we met, you told me in no uncertain terms that the mistake of us being together would never be repeated.” Grateful her voice didn’t quaver while uttering those damning words that had caused her no end of grief these past months, she straightened to face him. “Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we can take a relationship from that level of animosity to marriage, no matter how cold-bloodedly we approach our goals. You may be a master strategist on the football field, but César and I are not components of an offense to be moved around at your will.”
Jean-Pierre cocked an eyebrow. “So I assume that’s a no to my proposal?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded. “Most definitely.”
“I’m going to ask again.”
“And I’m going to ask you to leave if you don’t respect my wishes,” she said firmly, praying he wouldn’t roll out his old charm, which could too easily whittle away her shaky resistance.
“Fair enough then. For now. Because I very much want to stay. May I take him?” Jean-Pierre offered, already reaching to lift César from her shoulder. “You must be exhausted.”
She wanted to argue since it comforted her to feel the baby’s warm body against hers, but she was indeed tired. And she couldn’t begrudge César’s father this time with him. Not when he’d been denied five weeks of his life already.
“Thank you.” She straightened the spit cloth that he’d tossed over his suit jacket, trying not to notice the attractive vision this powerful man made while holding his son—their child—with such tenderness. “While it’s tempting to hold him all the time, I’m learning to rest more often. I was so tired the whole first week.”
“I wish I’d been there to help you,” he said simply. “Parenting is a team sport.” He patted the baby twice, elicited the necessary burp, then tucked the infant in the crook of his arm as securely as he carried a football for a first down. “That’s why I stand by the marriage offer. I don’t call that cold-blooded. I call it keeping your eye on the end zone. It would benefit our son for us to work together.”
“I don’t think a child gains anything from parents who aren’t happy and yet force themselves to be together. We’d be better off trying to figure out how to effectively co-parent.” Feeling rumpled and flustered, she fastened her dress. What woman wanted to field a marriage proposal over the head of a newborn, her breasts sore and her body bone-weary from the physical odyssey of a first pregnancy?
She knew it was foolish to care, but she could only imagine how she looked right now. And yes, she wished she could have met Jean-Pierre in one of her sleek Stella McCartney dresses, but they were all still too small for her postpartum body to fit into.
“I’m not sure your father is going to think much of a plan to co-parent from separate homes.” He wrapped a dangling swath of blanket around the baby’s foot.
“My father also parented his football players more than his own daughter, so I’m not accepting advice on the subject from Jack Doucet.” She loved her father, but she’d witnessed the way he indulged the elite athletes, giving them preferential treatment. As a teen, it had hurt to see him spend more time with them, showing up at a college prospect’s house on the weekend to establish a relationship while blowing off Tatiana’s debate championship—or any other noteworthy accomplishment.
Although, even as she said it, she realized that Jean-Pierre might bear more of her father’s disappointment than she would. But she’d learned long ago she couldn’t make decisions to please other people. She relied on herself and no one else.
“Of course.” He agreed more easily than she’d expected. “This is a lot for both of us to take in right now. We’ll talk tomorrow. I can put him to bed for you if you want to get some sleep.” He laid a hand over hers, a tender gesture that stirred all those emotions she couldn’t control lately.
But no matter how kindly he offered help now, she couldn’t forget that he’d walked away from her last time. Underneath the civil politeness, he was still the same athlete who’d spent weeks fuming silently at her while she’d methodically proved his former teammate guilty of sexual harassment. Afterward, he had continued to defend the man. If not for the spike of attraction that had never been too far beneath the surface with them, she and Jean-Pierre didn’t have anything in common.
Except now they shared responsibility for this precious life they’d created.
“I have a night nurse. She can take him. She knows his routine.” She glanced into Jean-Pierre’s eyes quickly. “I’m sorry. You can do it soon, but please, can we keep things simple for tonight? We have so much to sort through.”
Sliding her hand out from under his, Tatiana reached to take the baby, more exhausted now than she had been after eighteen hours of labor. She hadn’t known how stressful speaking to Jean-Pierre would be.
But now that he finally knew the truth, some of that weight had been shifted off her shoulders.
“I’m sure the night nurse is great.” He didn’t hand over the sleeping infant. “But since I have lost weeks I’ll never recover with him, I would appreciate being able to put him in his bed for the night.”
The cool words didn’t hide his judgment of her—he blamed her for not coming to him sooner about the pregnancy.
“Follow me.” Too weary to argue, she rose to her feet, gladly leaving behind the gorgeous Louboutin heels. The shoes that once brought her so much joy were now instruments of torture.
She led the way up the curving staircase of her apartment, a prewar building with plenty of amenities for children that she would be taking advantage of now that she could share the news of her baby with the world.
“Should you be climbing so many stairs?” He was beside her suddenly, his hand on her lower back.
It was a warm touch despite his frustration with her.
“Stairs are fine. I didn’t have a C-section so I’m in good shape.” Figuratively speaking. Her actual shape still leaned toward the soft side.
“I hope you are taking care of yourself.” His touch fell away as they arrived on the second floor and she pointed the way to César’s room.
The night nurse greeted her as they entered the nursery, but discreetly retreated to her own bedroom across the hall.
“I am. I’m looking forward to bringing him out in the stroller for walks once we speak to my family. The fresh air will be good for both of us.” Leaning into the antique crib she’d bought online and had shipped to the house before she’d even returned from the Caribbean, Tatiana slid aside the blue baby blanket. It went with the aquatic theme of the room.
She’d need major amounts of fresh air after speaking to her father. He’d always set the bar so damn high for her. Even when she was soaring at the top of her class or making junior partner ahead of schedule at her firm, she felt the pressure of his expectations. Now? She couldn’t even imagine telling him that his first grandson was a Reynaud.
