by R. R. Banks
“Excellent,” he says. “I gotta buy something nice for my barista.”
“New rattle?” I ask. “Footy pajamas maybe?”
“Bastard,” Rupert says, laughing as he bounds out of the office.
I turn to Darby and can see that she's still having trouble with what just happened to her brother. Despite everything he's done to us – to her – she seems conflicted.
“You okay?” I ask.
She purses her lips and looks up at me for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, I'm good,” she says. “I'm fine.”
“You sure?” I ask. “You don't look entirely fine.”
“That was tougher than I expected,” she says. “It hurt. Hearing that he doesn't care about my happiness, and that my life needs to revolve around his ambitions – that was hard to hear. It hurts.”
“I'm sorry you had to hear it,” I say.
“I'm not, actually,” she says after a moment of reflection. “It was probably the best thing that could have happened. I've given him too many chances. I've made excuses for him because he's my brother. My only family. But, no more. If he wants a relationship with me, he's going to have to earn it.”
I pull her to me and wrap her in a warm embrace. “Good,” I say. “I'm so proud of you. I know this was hard.”
She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. “I love you, Carter.”
“I love you too,” I say and give her a quick, chaste kiss.
As we walk through the office holding hands, I feel happy. Content. I can't wait to tell Pops what just went down. Maybe I'll take the video feed from the conference room, just so I can give him a good laugh.
He deserves it. It is Christmas, after all.
Epilogue
Darby
The night air is crisp and pleasant. There's a light snow on the ground, and soon enough, the temperatures will be too cold to go on a carriage ride through Central Park. It's cheesy, I know. But, it's something I've always wanted to do, so, I booked a ride for Carter and me.
Besides, I couldn’t think of a better way to deliver the news I have for him than with a romantic evening out. Fear tears through me though. He’s been in an unusually upbeat and chipper mood tonight – which is saying something, given his normal state of being. But, like Pops says, lately, Carter looks like he’s walking on sunshine, with his head in the clouds.
I hate to be the one who brings the rain.
We pass a group of carolers in the park, singing one of the holiday standards loudly and lustily. And for the first time since I've known him, I actually see Carter smile.
“Are you smiling at the Christmas music?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “Maybe it's growing on me. Maybe, I wasn't wrong, and you're rubbing off on me, making me less Scrooge-like.”
“Oh, I dare to dream,” I say and laugh.
“Baby steps,” he says. “Who knows, maybe next year, I'll even decorate the office myself.”
“Oh, now you're just lying,” I say and laugh.
I have to say, I like this change in Carter. I like that like he's releasing the demons of his past and opening up to entirely new ways of thinking. Of being. That maybe, he's learned to be at peace with his past and optimistic about his future.
Hopefully, he still feels that way about our future after I deliver my news.
Carter sits beside me, looking into my eyes, a look of absolute adoration on his face. He looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.
As the carriage bumps along though, butterfly wings of fear beat against my ribcage. I know I’m carrying a bombshell that’s going to rock his entire world. And the thing that scares me the most is, I have no idea how he’s going to feel about it. We’ve never talked about it before.
I don’t know what I’m going to do if he’s not receptive to it.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Did you talk to Mason today?” he asks. “You usually look a little shell-shocked after you talk to him.”
I laugh. “No, not today,” I reply.
“How are things going with that?”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up about being invited to Christmas dinner anytime soon.”
Carter laughs. “Well damn. I guess I should take him off my holiday card list.”
“Probably a good idea,” I say. “He’s doing fine though. Bored. Private practice isn’t stimulating enough for him, I guess.”
“Too bad,” Carter says, his tone carrying a hard edge.
“He’s trying,” I say. “He’s really trying. It’s going to take a while before we can actually have anything resembling a relationship, but at least he’s making an effort.”
Carter leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “Well, as long as he’s treating you right and you’re happy, that’s all that matters to me,” he says. “I’ll support you no matter what.”
I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. Carter wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. The cold night air is filled with the sound and spirit of the holidays, and I soak it all in for a moment, relishing the season. It makes me insanely happy to see Carter finally starting to enjoy it as well. If only a little.
We ride in silence, cuddling in the carriage, and I know I’m putting off what I need to tell him. But I can't help it. I’m terrified. My biggest fear is that if I tell him, he’ll think I’m trying to trap him, when nothing could be further from the truth.
Seriously, when he hears that I’m pregnant, what’s he going to do? We’ve never talked about wanting kids.
I'm beyond terrified, because if this goes bad, it means I'll have to raise the child on my own. Given the fact that I have the means, that wouldn’t be a big issue.
I just don’t want my baby growing up with me as its only parent.
“You seem distracted tonight,” Carter says. “More than usual. What’s up?”
My heart jumps up in my throat, beating like a jackhammer, and I feel like I'm about to pass out. I need to tell him. It’s just hard to open my mouth and get the words out. It’s terrifying, in fact.
I take a deep, mindful breath and release it slowly, calming and quieting my mind, so I can force myself to spit it out, one word at a time.
“There’s something I have to tell you, Carter.”
“I figured that much,” he says. “What is it?”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. My mouth suddenly feels dry, and I swear to God, I feel like I’m going to vomit.
“You’re white as a sheet,” he says and laughs. “What, are you gonna tell me, that you’re pregnant?’
I look at him, feeling my eyes grow wider, but my heart, strangely enough, seems to stop beating at all. Carter stares at me, and when I don’t answer his joke, his expression changes. His eyes are as wide as dinner plates and his mouth falls open. His face blanches – like he's just seen a ghost.
“You’re kidding me,” he says.
“No,” I squeak out softly.
“But – how?”
I cock an eyebrow and look at him. “Really?”
“I mean, we’re always so careful,” he says.
“There was that one time,” I say. “In the bathtub. That's the only thing I can think of, unless the protection failed. Either way though – yeah.”
He sits back against the seat and looks up at the sky, letting out a long breath. His face is unreadable to me. I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling.
“Wow,” is all he says. “Unreal.”
Snow flurries swirl through the air. The Christmas lights all around us suddenly seem garish, and the holiday music feels forced. I’m completely overwhelmed and on the verge of a complete breakdown.
I close my eyes, take several deep, calming breaths, and wait a moment. When I feel a little more grounded, I open my eyes and turn to him.
“I know we haven’t talked about it,” I say. “And I know you may not b
e ready to be a father. I just – if you don’t want to be a father, that’s fine. Just tell me. But, I can’t give this baby up. Even if that means raising it on my own. Obviously, I'd rather have you in our lives, but if you don't want to, I get it, Carter. And it's fine.”
“I understand,” he says.
Those two words sink into my heart like a lead weight. He doesn’t have an expression of joy on his face. Of hope. Of looking forward to a shared future. It’s a look of resignation, and an expression of goodbye. I bury my face in my hands, holding back the tears that threaten to flow. I knew this was a possibility and did my best to prepare myself emotionally for it.
At least, I thought I did. Preparing yourself in front of a mirror and actually being face to face with it are two separate things entirely. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, willing myself to be calm and control my emotions. To understand that he’s not ready to be a father. That’s okay. I can do it on my own.
I don’t know what that means for us, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, I guess. I honestly don’t think we can be a couple if he doesn’t want to be a part of his child’s life. I think the constant reminder would be too painful for me, and too confusing for the baby.
When I feel sufficiently composed again, I pull my hands away from my face and see Carter sitting there in the carriage, his body turned to me, holding a small, black box in his hand. It has a big red and green Christmas bow on it.
When he has my attention, he pulls the bow off and puts it in my hair, eliciting a nervous giggle from me. He opens it up, and I draw in a sharp breath when I see what's inside – a breathtaking diamond ring.
I have to shake my head as I look at it. A couple of times. Everything suddenly feels so surreal and strange. And I have no idea what in the hell is going on. I have no idea what to make of any of this.
“Wh – what is this, Carter?” I ask.
He slips off the seat and gets down on one knee, the smile on his face so bright, he might be able to power all of New York City. The carriage sways and shimmies as we wind our way through the park, and the carolers suddenly sound sweet again. It's amazing how quickly your perception can change with your mood.
“You know, I’ve dreamed about being with you and starting a family for a long time,” he says. “I always knew you were the one. Still believe it to this day.”
I shake my head, still not understanding. “I – what –”
“Darby, you make me the happiest man in the world. There’s nobody on this planet I’d rather spend my life with than you. There is no one else I want to raise a family with,” he says. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife? I mean, since you’re now my baby mama, I think we should make it official, don’t you?”
He smiles at me, holding the ring up. Tears well in my eyes, making my vision even blurrier. I wipe them away quickly, my confusion slowly drifting away on the breeze.
“Yes,” I blurt out. “God, yes.”
His smile is impossibly wide as he slips the ring on my finger and kisses me deeply. He reaches down and gently places his hand on my belly, a look of absolute awe on his face.
“We’re going to have a kid,” he says softly.
I nod. “We are.”
“When I picked you up tonight, I didn’t think I could be any happier than I already was,” he says. “I was wrong.”
I lean forward and kiss him again, pressing my body to his, letting him envelop me in a tight embrace. I know what he means. I never thought I would be as happy as I am right now.
We ride along, our foreheads pressed together, staring into one another's eyes.
“Thank you, Darby,” he says.
I cock my head at him. “What are you thanking me for?”
He chuckles “Well, for one thing, for making me actually like Christmas,” he says. “I never thought it was possible, but you are the most amazing Christmas present I could have ever gotten. Well, you and now, our baby. Talk about a holiday miracle.”
“I'm so happy to hear you say that, Carter.”
The carriage driver coughs to get our attention. We look up and see that he has a sprig of mistletoe tied to the end of a stick, hanging over our heads. We both laugh, and look at each other again, falling into a kiss filled with fire, passion, and best of all – hope.
“I love you, Darby.”
“I love you too.”
“You’re mine,” he says. “And I’m yours.”
“Forever.”
The carriage pulls off into the cool, winter night, and into the charm and beauty of Central Park during the Christmas season. Everything around us seems beyond perfect. I never expected to feel this happy at any point in my life. But, now that I have it, I never want to let it go – neither the feeling, nor the man.
“Merry Christmas, Darby,” Carter says.
“Merry Christmas, my love,” I reply.
THE END
Keeping Up With R.S. Lively
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How did I end up accidentally married to this arrogant jerk?
My memory is a bit hazy, maybe you can tell me...
I had a crush. He's the boy from the other side of town.
Way out of my league.
Rich as sin, and breathtakingly gorgeous.
No way he would ever notice me.
Turns out he did.
The boy I wanted is now a man.
And nothing like the charmer of my teenage fantasies.
He's ruggedly handsome, hot as hell, and knows exactly how to drive me wild.
I can't control myself around him.
If only I'd listened to reason.
Now, I'm knocked up and married to this domineering billionaire.
Can you tell me how we ended up here?
Chapter One
Emma
Thirteen years earlier…
The blue is a nice shade, but somehow, I don't think many people in pre-World War Two Russia were spending a lot of time at the hardware store picking out paint samples. Maybe brown. But everything else is so brown.
I let out a sigh and look at the row of colored pencils in front of me, totally uninspired. Finally, I pick up the boring brown shade and use it to start filling in the sketch on the pad in front of me.
"What are you up to in here?"
Turning, I see my mother standing at the door. She rests her head on the door frame as she gazes in at me. She looks exhausted, as usual. Her thick dark blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail, is starting to slide out of its elastic band, and strands tumble down around her heart-shaped face. She's amazing at her job as a caregiver, and loves being there for the people who need her, but sometimes there's a hint of some untold emotion behind her blue gaze. Sometimes when I see her at the end of the day, and she doesn't know I'm looking at her, it looks like regret.
"I'm just working on some set designs for the play," I say. "I'm supposed to go over to Dean Laurence's house tonight to finalize the designs and start working on them." I glance at my watch to check the time, and realize I somehow lost an hour staring at the colored pencils. "Actually," I say, starting to gather up everything from the desk, "I should probably get going."
I shove everything into my satchel and throw it over my shoulder.
"Will you be back in time for dinner?" my mother asks.
I shake my head.
"Probably not," I answer. "I'm sorry, Mom. The play is coming up fast, and the sets have to be amazing."
She nods, looking sad. I know she's disappointed I won't be able to eat with the rest of the family, but I think taking a long bath and getting to bed early will probably do her some good.
"Have you seen Carina?" she asks.
"Not since getting home from school," I say.
My older sister is now Mom's only shot at some companions
hip this evening. My father left for work almost an hour ago, and won't be home until the early hours of the morning. If Carina doesn't get home soon, Mom will probably take advantage of the empty house by warming up a frozen dinner, throwing on a pair of sweatpants, and melting into the living room couch for a few hours of mindless TV.
"You said you're going over to the Laurence house?" she asks.
I nod.
"Yeah," I say. "Dean and I are in charge of the sets.”
"How are you getting there?"
"I'm just going to walk," I say.
"I hate when you walk across the island like that."
"It's not that far," I say. "Besides, I like it. I enjoy the solitude. I think better when I'm by myself, out in the fresh air."
"You're by yourself here," she says.
"It's different," I reply. "Being able to look around and see the sky, and the people, and just experiencing everything around me gives me so many ideas. It's not like I've never taken the walk before," I say.
"That's for sure," Mom says. "It seems like you’re spending more and more time over there."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
She shrugs and glances at her feet.
"I just worry about you getting wrapped up in them, that's all."
"What do you mean, wrapped up in them?"
She looks at me with her tired eyes. Mom looks sad in a distant way, and I know what she's thinking. It’s always the same whenever we end up talking about Dean.
"They aren't like us, Emma. You know that."
"Why not, Mom? Just because they have money? That doesn't make them a different species, you know. It just means they have a big house and can buy more things than we can."
"It means a lot more than that. They think differently. They see the world differently. They have opportunities and possibilities we wouldn’t dare to dream about. I don't want you getting entrenched in that and start worrying about who you are, and the life you have ahead of you."
