Marriage, Bravo Style!

by Christine Rimmer

  “You know, it’s wonderful that you rushed right down here when Caleb called you. But really, I’m doing fine and so is Michael. And if you need to head back to Dallas, I totally understand. You’ve been so great, but I know you have your own life and you need to—”

  He cut her off. “Trying to get rid of me?” He said it lightly, but there were shadows in his eyes.

  And of course, that was exactly what she was trying to do. “It’s only, well, I just don’t want you to feel that you have to hang around.”

  He put the jacket on the rest of the way. “But I do have to hang around.”

  “No, really. You don’t.”

  And then he said the words she’d been dreading. “I don’t think we can put it off any longer. We need to talk.”

  “Well. Um. I know that we do eventually, but—”

  He cut her off again. “No. Seriously. I think we need to talk now.” He spoke with a hint of bitterness that time. “I think we need to start with why it was Caleb who called me and not you.”

  She tried not to cringe—and suddenly felt driven to make excuses for herself. “I was going to tell you. I swear it.”

  “Oh?” He didn’t look convinced.

  “I was just waiting for Michael to be born.” She started explaining—and couldn’t seem to stop. “I wanted you to have as much time as possible to yourself, to be free, without having to deal with having a child. And I, well, if you’re wondering how I got pregnant with all the protection we used…” Really. She needed to shut up. He was watching her with one eyebrow lifted, not saying a thing. And somehow, she just couldn’t stop talking. “I, well, okay. It was like this. I missed one pill the morning after that day my dad had his surgery. But I thought, if we used condoms, it would be safe. It really should have been safe. And I….” She let out a little moan. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m really, really sorry that it turned out like this.”

  A silence. He was just standing there, watching her. As she met his gaze, he shook his head.

  And then he shrugged out of the jacket he’d just put on and tossed it over the chair by the door. He approached her bed.

  She looked over at her sleeping baby, longed to pick him up and hold him close. For her comfort, not his.

  But then Rogan sat beside her on the bed. “It’s all right,” he said. His voice was gentle. “I don’t blame you.” Did she believe him? Not completely. His expression was closed to her. If anything, he looked…determined. “We need to move on,” he said. “We need to make a life for Michael.”

  She felt vaguely insulted. Did he think she didn’t know that? “I have every intention of making a life for Michael. And of course, I know you’ll want time with him. Right now, he needs to be with me, with his mother. You understand that, don’t you?” She didn’t really want to hear his answer. What if he started talking a custody battle? She forged ahead without waiting for him to reply. “But as soon as he’s old enough for solid food, we can start thinking about—”

  He put up a hand. “You know me well enough to know that’s not going to work for me. I take care of my own and I don’t shirk my responsibilities. I want us to get married. I think it’s the best way.”

  Married. God. Just like that? “Rogan, we haven’t seen each other for the better part of a year. We spent a week together. A beautiful week, but still. It’s not enough to build a marriage on.”

  He stiffened, drawing those broad shoulders up and back. “Given that we now have Michael, it’s going to have to be enough—to start with, anyway. We were…good together. At least, I thought so.”

  “I thought so, too, but—”

  “It will all work out. You’ll see.”

  The thing was, she wanted to say yes. She truly did.

  She wanted to just get married, as he said, to try and be a family, and hope that it would all work out.

  But what if it didn’t?

  Wouldn’t the conflict and upheaval of a divorce be worse than not getting married in the first place?

  “Rogan.” She spoke softly. With care. “You…never even called me, you know? Until you found out about the baby yesterday, you were perfectly happy, up in Dallas. Being free.”

  “Don’t characterize me. Please. You have no idea if I’ve been happy or not.” He forked his fingers back over his hair. “And I’m not the only one who didn’t call.”

  “You’re right. You’re not. But I was the one who made a promise that I would let you go. Those were the terms we set. I was…bound by them. You, well, you didn’t make any promises. If you’d wanted to be with me, you could have let me know.”

  “Look. It doesn’t matter who called, or who didn’t call.”

  “It does matter. To me, it does.”

  “Everything’s changed now. We have Michael to think about.”

  “And I am thinking of Michael.”

  He grunted. It was not a happy sound. “If you were thinking of Michael, you would have already said yes. If you were thinking of Michael, you would have called me the minute you found out you were pregnant.”

  “So then.” She held his gaze now. “You are angry with me, for not telling you right away.”

  He looked away, spoke tightly. “That’s not the issue.”

  “Yes. It is. It’s very much the issue. All this talk about marriage. We’re getting way ahead of ourselves.”

  “Ahead of ourselves? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that we have other things to work through first. We have to…clear the air between us. It’s just too soon to consider getting married.”

  “Too late, if you ask me.” He grumbled the words.

  She bit back a sharp response and reminded herself that he had been terrific about all of this, rushing to her side the moment he heard about the baby, and sticking with her, being there for her and for Michael when it mattered so much.

  She couldn’t really blame him if he’d finally showed a little of his frustration with the situation. She didn’t blame him.

  Hesitantly, she reached for his hand.

  He gave it, which she told herself was a good sign.

  She said, “We need time. I’m…not saying no, okay? I’m just saying I need some time to think about it.”

  “How long?”

  “Rogan, come on. Please don’t push me.”

  He pulled his hand free of hers. “I want you to marry me. Right away. I want you and Michael to come back to Dallas with me. The least you can do is to tell me when you’ll be willing to give me an answer.”

  Michael chose that moment to start fussing. He waved his little fists and let out a yelp. She reached over into the bassinet, lifted him out and gathered him to her.

  Rogan got up. “I’m going to pick up the things I need. He needs your full attention now. We can finish this conversation later.” He made it sound much more like a threat than a promise.

  She put the baby to her shoulder—where he wailed in her ear. “Rogan, I—”

  “Later.” He turned, grabbed his jacket and walked out the door.

  She wanted to call after him, to order him to get back here and finish this important discussion.

  But Michael was still crying. And if she started shouting, it would only upset him all the more—not to mention bring the nurses running. “Shh…” She opened her nightgown. He rooted at her breast, still fussing. “Shh. It’s okay, okay…”

  But she knew that it wasn’t.

  Rogan’s cell rang as he stood at the cash register in the men’s department at Dillard’s, paying for the underwear, shirts, casual jacket and trousers he’d bought.

  As the clerk bagged his purchases, he checked the display and took the call. “Hello, Caleb.”

  “We need to talk.”

  He’d known this was coming. “I’m ready.”

  “You at the hospital?”

  “Uh-uh. North Star Mall, picking up a few things I need, since I left Dallas without a suitcase.”

  “Elena and the baby…?”

&n
bsp; “Relax. They’re both doing great. The doctor says she’s releasing them tomorrow morning.”

  “Elena expecting you back right away?”

  “No,” he said flatly. She’d probably be fine with it if he never came back. Too bad. He would be back. And one way or another, he would get her agreement that they needed to do the right thing. “You home? I’ll come there.”

  “Good. I’ll be waiting.”

  It was four and a half miles to Caleb’s house from the mall. Rogan got there in eight minutes. Caleb was sitting on the front step when he pulled up to the curb.

  He rose as Rogan came up the walk. “That was quick.”

  “Let’s get this over with.” They went inside. “Where’s Irina?”

  “She and Hanna are out at Mary and Gabe’s place.” Gabe was second-born of Caleb’s six brothers. Mary and Irina were close friends. “She won’t be back for another hour or two.”

  “Great,” Rogan said drily.

  “Drink?”

  “Might as well.”

  They went into the living room. Caleb headed for the wet bar and poured them each a scotch on the rocks. He handed Rogan one. And raised the other. “To fatherhood.”

  Rogan touched his glass to Caleb’s and drank. It was good scotch. Smoky and warm going down. “If you’re going to punch my lights out, let me put down this cut crystal glass first.”

  Caleb gestured toward the sofa and a grouping of wing chairs. “Have a seat.”

  They sat. They sipped.

  Finally, Caleb said, “Elena took a leave from her teaching job, did you know? She didn’t go back last fall.”

  “She didn’t mention it.”

  “She’s been working for Gabe, secretarial stuff. And also legal research.” Gabe Bravo was BravoCorp’s attorney. In the family, they called him the fixer. They sent him in whenever there was a problem with a deal they wanted to make. “She’s thinking maybe the teaching thing wasn’t for her, after all. She’s been talking about going back to school, getting a law degree.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “We’re all here for her.” Caleb put a faint emphasis on the “we’re.” Meaning Rogan wasn’t? “If she wants a law degree, the family—both sides, Bravo and Cabrera—will move heaven and earth to see that she gets whatever she needs to do that.”

  Meaning that he, Rogan, wouldn’t? If she wanted to go to law school, he would support her in that. They could work it out. If she’d only agree to do the right thing and marry him.

  Rogan said flatly, “As I already told you, no, she didn’t mention any of that.”

  Caleb looked into his glass, as if there was something endlessly fascinating about ice cubes and scotch. “You got on a plane and got down here fast, as soon as you found out. You’ve stuck by her side. I guess I’m not going to have to beat the crap out of you, after all.”

  “Is this where I say how relieved I am?”

  “So what now?”

  Defensiveness tightened his gut. “What do you mean, what now?”

  Caleb sipped his drink. “You know what I mean.”

  Rogan shrugged. “I’ve asked her to marry me.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that—when?”

  “An hour ago. She said she needed time to think about it.”

  “Time? Why?”

  “It’s what she said, that’s all.”

  “How long did she say she needs?”

  “I asked her that same question. She wouldn’t answer it. She told me not to push her.”

  Caleb put his glass down. “You blew it, didn’t you?”

  Rogan realized he hated this conversation and he really would have preferred if Caleb had just gone ahead and punched his lights out and left the Q&A for some other day.

  Caleb prodded, “Didn’t you?”

  Denials were fruitless. He knew that. “Okay. I’m pretty ticked off at her for not calling me months ago.” And for not mentioning that pill she forgot to take. And even, now that he was thinking about it, for letting him go, way back in May when he’d made it more than clear that he still wanted to keep seeing her, when they both knew that she wanted to keep seeing him. “And wait a minute. Why didn’t you call me months ago?”

  “You think I didn’t want to? Elena refused to speak to me for two months because I kept pushing her to at least let me tell you that she was having a baby. And until I took her to the hospital to have your son, she would never admit that you were the dad. I love my sister, okay? Next to Irina, she’s the best friend I’ve got. I hate it when she’s mad at me—now, tell me. How did you blow it?”

  “So shoot me,” Rogan muttered. “I guess I let my anger show.”

  Caleb was sitting way too still in his chair. “So what you’re saying is you really don’t want to marry her.”

  “Of course I want to marry her. She’s got my kid.”

  Caleb picked up his glass again—and then set it back down. “You did tell her you love her, right?”

  Rogan said nothing. Instead, he cleared his throat and glanced away.

  “You didn’t tell her you love her.” Caleb spoke flatly.

  “All right, look. You nailed it. I blew it. Got that? I blew it and I know that I blew it.”

  “And now you need to make it right.”

  “You’ve got all the answers, huh?”

  “I’ve got the answer that matters.”

  “And do you plan to let me in on the big secret?” Rogan laid on the sarcasm. But he was sitting forward in his chair. “I mean, if there really is a secret.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a secret. But I know my baby sister. Which means I know what you need to do to get a yes out of her and to get it quick.”

  “So all right. Lay it on me.”

  Now Caleb was sitting forward, too. “Listen up and listen good. I’m going to tell you exactly how to get her to say yes—and I’m only going to say it once. I want you clear on what you need to do and I want you out of here before Irina gets home. I don’t want her to know that we talked tonight. She’s too likely to mention it to Elena and I don’t want my sister mad at me. And believe me, she’s not going to like it if she knows I told you what to say.”

  “Women.” Rogan shook his head in weariness and wonder.

  “Exactly. They want us to say what they want to hear. But they need to believe we made it up all by ourselves.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Elena opened her eyes.

  Very strange. There appeared to be several big red hearts floating at the foot of her bed.

  Really, she must be dreaming. She shut her eyes again.

  And then opened them wide.

  The hearts were still there, floating in the air. Shiny hearts…

  Wait a minute.

  Balloons. Those were heart-shaped Mylar balloons. Big ones. Someone had tied a bunch of balloons to the rail at the foot of the bed.

  Who in the world would have…?

  She dragged herself up to a sitting position.

  And as she did, she noticed there was a new bouquet on the little table beside the bed. A huge one, in a stunning hand-blown vase that swirled with ribbons of color: vivid blue and yellow and coral red. The vase was crowded to overflowing with all kinds of exotic tropical flowers. Freesias. Birds-of-paradise. Anthurium. Tuberoses. Orchids. Lilies. Gardenias. The scent of them drifted in the air the way the shiny red hearts floated at the foot of her bed.

  She leaned toward them, breathed them in, closing her eyes again, imagining herself in some secret tropical garden wet with morning dew.

  “That first day I saw you—remember?” It was Rogan’s voice. Surprised, she glanced toward the sound. He was sitting in the shadowed chair in the far corner of the room. “It was at your dad’s office.”

  She’d been so worried. About him, about the argument they’d had. About everything, really.

  But just now he sounded tender. Not angry with her at all. And this moment—so quiet, scented with tuberoses, brightened with shiny hearts—se
emed magical.

  She felt a sleepy, happy smile curve her lips. “I remember.” Her voice came out soft. Slightly husky.

  “You took my breath away.”

  “Oh, Rogan…” So strange. They had fought. He had left. He hadn’t returned for hours.

  She must have drifted off to sleep.

  And now, here he was. With a dozen red balloons. And a gorgeous vase of expensive, sweet-smelling flowers. So different. So…affectionate. So warm.

  He spoke in that low, intimate voice again. “You smelled like gardenias. And orange blossoms. And we went out to lunch with your dad and I couldn’t stop staring at you. I know I told you this, during that unforgettable week we shared. But I don’t think it can hurt to say it again. I wanted you. From that first moment I saw you.” He got up then and he came toward her. He wore a new shirt and fresh trousers.

  He was so tall and proud, wide-shouldered and strong. Not handsome, exactly. No. And yet, truly, the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.

  He stopped beside the bed and gazed down at her with a hint of a smile curving his mouth.

  Her mouth felt dry. “Uh. Water?”

  He poured her a cup from the plastic pitcher on the swing-away table and gave it to her, his fingers brushing hers as the cup changed hands.

  “Thank you.” She sipped, swallowed. Sipped again. And then she gave him the cup back. He set it aside and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. Gently, she chided, “You were…gone a long time.”

  He reached out, brushed the back of his hand along her cheek. The light touch left sparks of heat in its wake. “I was thinking. About you. About me. And about Michael, too.”

  She glanced toward the bassinet. “He’s so sweet. Especially when he’s sleeping.”

  “Elena.”

  She felt suddenly shy and couldn’t quite make herself look at him. “I’m so sorry, that we…argued earlier.”

  He touched her chin, guided her face around so that she met his eyes again—green fire, those eyes. “I should have called you, after we separated in May. I wanted to call you. But I didn’t know…how to begin.”

  She understood completely. “Yes. It was the same for me. A hundred times—a thousand times—I picked up the phone to call you. I always chickened out at that last possible second.”