A Ruthless Proposition

by Natasha Anders

  “It’s really plain fare. If I’d known Luc was going to be asking Dante around for dinner, I would have planned something with a little more flair. He’s not exactly the type of guy you serve beef stew to. Although, he’s not at all a snob, is he? The last time he came around to dinner, he schooled your brother in proper manners and cleaned up the kitchen after we ate. He even helped me fix dessert. Seemed to enjoy it, really.”

  Cleo hadn’t heard anything beyond the revelation that Dante Damaso was coming around for dinner and was immediately thankful that she hadn’t already agreed to stay for the meal.

  “Well, thanks for the invitation, Blue, but—much as I’d love to—I really can’t stay. I’ve been feeling a little under the weather lately. I’m worried I’m coming down with something.”

  “But you drove all this way. I thought . . .”

  “I was in the area for . . . uh.” She ground to a halt as she comprehended that there really was no good reason for her to be so far out of her way. “Well, I wanted to see you. I haven’t seen much of you since getting back from Tokyo, what with the job change and all. But I underestimated how ill I was feeling. I should go home and get into bed.”

  “What are your symptoms? Maybe I have something here that can help with them?” Blue was a nurse and had first met Luc eight years before, while he’d still been taking care of their ailing grandparents. Blue had been one of the junior nurses in the oncology ward, and while nothing romantic had flared between them at the time—what with Luc being so preoccupied with the stress of having two extremely ill, elderly people to take care of—he had appreciated the young nurse’s kindness and concern. Their relationship had bloomed after the elderly couple had passed away.

  Luc was completely smitten with the tall, doe-eyed, caramel-skinned, brown-haired woman and had asked her to marry him a few years after they’d started dating. But he wanted her to have a fantastic wedding, so the wedding date kept getting pushed back due to financial reasons. They’d been engaged way too long, and while Blue was infinitely patient and understanding, Cleo sometimes wanted to give her brother a swift kick in the butt for being so stubborn on the matter of the house.

  “Some tummy issues and just general listlessness. Cal was sick last week, and I think I probably caught this from him.”

  “Okay, then stay hydrated and eat as much broth as you can manage. And get a decent night’s sleep tonight,” Blue said, stepping into her caregiving role with complete ease. Cleo smiled warmly at the woman before nodding toward the pot sizzling away behind Blue.

  “Your onions are burning,” she pointed out, and laughed when Blue swore and dashed for the pot.

  “Give my brother a hug from me, and tell him I’ll see him soon,” Cleo instructed as she got up from the table, eager to leave before Dante and Luc showed up. How weird was it that after years of friendship between the two men, she’d nearly run into him in their family home for the first time ever? Then again, before her accident, Cleo had hardly been a regular visitor to the house. She’d always been miserable here. She hated how strict her grandparents had been, how she and Luc were never allowed out past seven on a weeknight and nine on a weekend, even when they were in their late teens. Luc had been the ever-obedient good boy, while Cleo had been a rebel—receiving constant censure from their grandparents.

  Cleo had left home as soon as she was eighteen and had moved in with a small commune of fellow dancers while attending the University of Cape Town School of Dance, earning the elderly couple’s disapproval. Every time she visited home—usually at Luc’s behest—she had always wound up arguing with her grandparents, so she regularly made excuses not to visit. Which was something she would regret for the rest of her life.

  Cleo moved to hug Blue, who was still cursing over her charred onions, and made her escape before the other woman could offer any further protest.

  Dante parked his Jaguar in front of his friend’s huge, rather creepy old house at exactly the same time as Luc drove up in his serviceable old Ford sedan. He felt his lips settle into a relaxed grin as he caught the other man’s eye. Luc’s face lit up with a huge smile as he got out of his car and rounded the trunk to greet Dante as he leisurely climbed out of his own car.

  “Hey, howzit?” Luc called, and grabbed Dante’s hand for a brief shake before tugging him in for a one-armed hug. “Good to see you, Dan. Ready for tonight’s match? Barcelona’s going to wipe the floor with Real Madrid.”

  “Oh, amigo, stick to rugby; you clearly know nothing about soccer.” Dante laughed dismissively at Luc’s—frankly ludicrous—prediction, and just like that it was as if they’d seen each other only yesterday.

  Their banter continued all the way into the house and then into the kitchen, where Luc greeted his gorgeous fiancée with a sweeping kiss, and Dante followed it up with an only slightly less sweeping kiss. This was the closest thing he had to a proper home in this country, and he’d always guarded these relationships jealously. The knowledge that he’d nearly completely fucked it up with everything that had happened with Cleo was chilling, and he considered himself lucky that he’d managed to get through that entire sordid situation with this important friendship still intact.

  Beer in hand, he settled back, ready to enjoy his meal and the companionship for the rest of the evening.

  “So what the hell has been going on with you lately?” Luc demanded of Cleo a month after she had narrowly escaped running into Dante Damaso in this very house. Thankfully she hadn’t seen the man at all since then. “We’ve hardly seen you since your return from Tokyo.”

  “I’ve been busy with work, and I can’t seem to shake this damned bug. I feel like I’ve been sick forever,” she groused. They were having dinner around the kitchen table, and delicious though it was, Cleo was having a hard time keeping it down.

  “You do look a little paler than usual,” Luc said, concerned.

  “Do you have to say ‘than usual’? You make me sound like Morticia or a zombie or something.”

  “She’s definitely looking a bit vampirical, isn’t she, babe?” he asked Blue, who nodded somberly despite the laughter dancing in her eyes.

  “Is ‘vampirical’ even a word?” Cleo scoffed.

  “If it isn’t, then it should be.” Luc shrugged.

  “I’m just tired and a little depressed because it just never stops raining.” They all simultaneously glanced at the ever-present bucket in one corner of the room, which was rapidly filling with water. It had been raining almost nonstop for nearly a week now, and aside from being depressing and cold, it had caused floods, accidents, and illness. Cleo couldn’t remember any other winter being this desperately grim before.

  “Is this still the same bug as last month?” Blue asked, her pretty brown eyes warming with concern, and Cleo nodded.

  “Yes. It’s so irritating. It’s nothing serious, just a dodgy stomach and a bit of dizziness. It comes and goes.”

  “There is a stomach bug going around,” Blue said. “You can consider yourself lucky if all you’re suffering from is dizziness and a bit of nausea. We’ve practically been swimming in vomit at the office this week.”

  “God, Blue.” Luc grimaced, and she grinned unrepentantly. She’d left the hospital a couple of years before and now worked for a private practitioner. The job offered better hours and a much better salary.

  “Sorry.” Blue grinned, and Luc rolled his eyes, unable to even pretend to be mad at her when she flashed those dimples at him.

  “Well you have lost some weight over this past month.” Blue was all seriousness again as she gave Cleo a critical once-over. “Weight that you can’t really afford to lose. Have you been throwing up a lot?”

  “Right, I’m done.” Luc tossed aside his napkin and got up, collecting his and Blue’s empty plates along the way and dumping them in the sink.

  “Not that much,” Cleo said, ignoring her brother, who was pointedly clearing the table and piling more dishes in the sink. “Just a couple of times a day, really.”


  “Headaches? Fever?”

  Cleo shook her head. Blue gave her a speculative look before glancing over at Luc, who was now doing the dishes.

  “Hey, I wanted your opinion on this dress I bought the other day.” Blue changed the subject abruptly, and Cleo raised her eyebrows in surprise. Luc glanced up.

  “What dress?” he asked.

  “It’s a surprise. You don’t get to see it until our anniversary dinner next week.” She gave him a sexy little look over her shoulder, and he practically frothed at the mouth in response. Which was an exchange Cleo would rather not have witnessed. Blue grabbed Cleo’s hand and dragged her from the kitchen, up the creaking staircase, only to let go once they were in her and Luc’s huge bedroom, which was also filled with brimming buckets and pots. She shut the door firmly behind them.

  “This better be one hell of a dress, Blue,” Cleo warned, rubbing at her shoulder. “I think you’ve just about dislocated my shoulder.”

  “Never mind the dress.” Blue waved her hand dismissively. “How do you feel after the dinner we just had? Any nausea?”

  “Not right now,” she replied, still massaging her shoulder.

  “Any other tummy issues? Maybe down at the other end?

  “Gross. No.”

  “No fever, no headaches, just nausea and dizziness?”

  “What, is there some delayed echo in here?” Cleo asked sarcastically, and Blue glared at her.

  “I’m working up to something here, okay?” she hissed. “Let me do my thing.”

  “Get to the point, will you?”

  “Fine! But don’t snap my head off when I ask my next question.”

  “Oh my God, you’re so dramatic,” Cleo teased. “How did my practical brother wind up with such a drama queen? Just ask the question.”

  “When was your last period?”

  All thought fled Cleo’s mind as her knees buckled and she sank down onto the bed. Blue’s question hit her like a ton of bricks, and she finally understood what her friend was leading up to.

  She did some frantic calculations and came to the realization that she couldn’t even remember when she’d last had her period! She’d been so preoccupied with the new job, her weird illness, and the fact that she stupidly missed seeing Dante Damaso more than she had ever expected. Dante bloody Damaso, who may well have knocked her up!

  “Cleo? Is it possible that you’re pregnant?” Blue asked quietly, and Cleo raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with absolute fear.

  “It’s possible,” she whispered. “But not likely. I mean, we used condoms.”

  “They’re not a hundred percent effective,” Blue murmured, and sat down beside Cleo to wrap an arm around her narrow shoulders. “It’s just a theory. You could still just have a stomach bug.”

  No, now that Blue had raised the possibility, Cleo didn’t see it being anything else.

  “I haven’t had my period in a while,” she confessed.

  “If you don’t mind me asking . . .” Oh, Cleo knew what was coming next and braced herself for it. “If you are pregnant, who’s the father? You haven’t been dating anyone. Have you?”

  “That’s not important,” she whispered. God, she felt completely sick. “If I am . . . if there is—” She shook her head, unable to formulate the words. “He won’t be involved.”

  “Well,” Blue said after a moment, “before we get ahead of ourselves, we should probably confirm that you’re actually pregnant.”

  “Right,” Cleo whispered. She felt . . . numb, with an underlying sense of dread and confusion. How was she supposed to cope with this? She would make a terrible mother. She would be a complete failure at it, just like her own mother had been. And to do it on her own, without a partner to support her . . . she would totally mess up the kid.

  “Oh my God, Blue,” she finally said, a sob escaping from behind the hand over her mouth. “How can I be a mother? How do I support a baby? What if I forget to feed it? Or if it gets sick and I can’t tell that something’s wrong? My salary only barely covers the rent and food for the month. How will I afford nappies and clothes and other baby stuff? Babies need a lot of stuff, don’t they?” She could hear her voice rising hysterically with each question, and Blue’s other arm came up to enclose her in a warm and comforting hug.

  “Ssh, Cleo. Let’s get you to a doctor first and confirm the pregnancy, then we’ll start worrying about everything else. You have options, but you don’t have to think about them right now, okay? For now, just take a deep breath and relax. Everything will be fine.”

  Cleo buried her face in Blue’s neck and wept, desperately wanting to believe that comforting bit of fiction despite knowing that nothing would ever be fine again.

  “Don’t tell Luc, okay?” she requested in a small, shuddery voice. “Not yet.”

  “I won’t,” Blue promised. “It’s not my place to tell him.”

  “I’m sorry you’re going to have to buy a dress for your anniversary dinner now,” she apologized miserably.

  “Since when is it a hardship to buy a new dress?” Blue quipped, but Cleo knew that Blue and Luc were both pinching pennies to save for the wedding. She gave Blue a look, not wanting to state the obvious, but Blue merely smiled and hugged her again.

  “Go and wash your face so that your brother won’t see that you’ve been crying, okay? And for my own peace of mind, I’d prefer it if you slept over here tonight. I don’t want you driving in the state you’re in. Not when it’s pouring outside and the roads are like rivers.”

  Cleo nodded, allowing her future sister-in-law to boss her into the bathroom and into a warm shower. She was waiting when Cleo stepped out of the bathroom fifteen minutes—and a good cry—later, with warm, fuzzy pajamas that were too large for Cleo.

  “I told Luc you’re staying because you aren’t feeling too well and that you were headed straight to bed, so you don’t have to face him again tonight.” Cleo hugged the other woman tightly, overwhelmed with love and gratitude.

  “I love you, sis,” she said. “I wish my brother would hurry up and marry you already.”

  Blue planted a kiss on Cleo’s head.

  “It’ll happen,” she said with a sweet smile. “Now off to bed with you.”

  Cleo had difficulty sleeping that night. Her mind was racing with a million and one different scenarios. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she was pregnant, and like Blue said, she had options: she could give the baby up for adoption or she could terminate the pregnancy or she could work throughout her pregnancy and save enough money to help her during the first few months of motherhood until she was ready to go back to work. She could move in with Blue and Luc, who would undoubtedly welcome her with open arms. Then there was that other possibility . . .

  She could tell Dante.

  She would rather eat worms than tell Dante Damaso.

  But since this baby was half his, surely he had a right to know about it? And it wasn’t her fault his stupid condoms had failed and he happened to have champion swimmers, was it? Why should she be the only one worrying about this? Why should she give up her baby? Or get rid of her baby or beg her brother for help when its father was more than capable of supporting it?

  But seriously . . . she would rather eat worms than tell Dante.

  It was on that troubled note that she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

  Cleo called in sick the following day and drifted listlessly around the empty house for part of the morning, battling the familiar nausea she now dreaded. Once she’d managed to get the vomiting under control, she climbed into her battered old Volkswagen hatchback and headed home for a shower and change of clothes. She would be meeting Blue in Three Anchor Bay—close to where the other woman worked—later in the afternoon, where they would be going to an OB/GYN.

  When she stepped into the tiny flat she shared with Cal in Newlands, her slender shoulders drooped beneath the crushing weight of depression. A quick glance around was enough to nearly send her to her knee
s in despair. How could she bring a baby into this place? It was a tiny one-bedroom flat with an open-plan kitchen and living room. Cal slept in the living room, but he never bothered to put away the bedding, and the sleeper couch was strewn with his clothing. There were empty takeout cartons scattered about; the half-eaten bowl of popcorn she’d made for a movie three nights ago still stood on the coffee table where she’d left it. The sink was piled high with dishes, and the place smelled stale and a little damp.

  Cal wasn’t home and she hoped he was out job hunting if he wasn’t auditioning somewhere. She knew an audition was probably highly unlikely because, knowing Cal, he would have been talking about it for days before it actually happened. But Cal had developed a reputation within their small dancing community of being problematic. It was getting harder and harder for him to dance with independent groups because word had gotten around about him. He’d once had a position with a contemporary dance troupe and blew it when, after one lead, he started making impossible demands. Cleo wished that he would stop sabotaging himself, but it was difficult to talk to him about the situation. He got ridiculously defensive and would storm off in a sulk for hours—sometimes days—on end.

  Cleo sighed, not in the mood to further speculate about her roommate’s possible whereabouts, and wearily made her way into her tiny bedroom. It was a total wreck. The bed was unmade and buried beneath a mound of clothing; her wardrobe was open, with even more clothes spilling out of it. At least there were no weeks-old cartons of food in here; Cleo never ate in her bedroom.

  She pushed some of the clothing aside and sank down into the space she’d just created, buried her face in her hands, and cried for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours. After getting it out of her system, she trudged to the bathroom for her shower, determined to be a little less mopey. She probably wasn’t pregnant and her period was just late, due any day now, which would explain the mood swings and the weird bouts of crying.

  Just PMS, that was all.

  “You’re definitely pregnant.” Cleo stared at the OB/GYN in dismay, her hand gripping Blue’s so tightly it actually hurt. “Early days yet, just heading into the eighth week, I’d say. That would place the delivery date somewhere in March. Sound about right to you?”