“I’ll have ice water,” Maryanne said.
Lucas patted her hand. “Go ahead, order what you want.”
“No, really. I’m good.”
“Iced tea for me,” he said to the waiter, and turned to Maryanne. “How about some appetizers?”
Under the table, Maryanne slipped her stocking-clad foot up his calf and caressed the inside of his knee. He coughed and said to the waiter, “Give us a few minutes?”
The waiter discreetly disappeared. Lucas scooted close to Maryanne and held her hand. “I was thinking of saving you for dessert. Why didn’t you have anything to drink?”
She rolled her eyes. “I could be—are you testing me? Besides, I told you I wasn’t going to drink anymore.”
“I’m proud of you.”
She made a waving motion. “I ought to slap you. You were testing me.”
He tugged at his collar. He’d just stepped into it again. Clearing his scratchy throat, he said, “I obviously care about the person I’m committed to.”
“Whoa, boy. Slow down. It’s not like you asked me to marry you.” Maryanne pointed to the appetizer menu without batting an eyelash. “Let’s see. Chicken satay served with hushpuppies and gravy. Ghost pepper sausage in wonton skins dipped in fish sauce. Which one, or is this a test also?”
“Whatever you like.” A dull thudding settled in his chest. She was obviously babbling to cover her uneasiness. “Sorry.”
“Vera makes this really tangy lumpia with fish sauce. You like fish sauce?” She raised an eyebrow and poked her carmine tipped fingernail into his dimple.
At least she was smiling, although she ignored his apology. He’d better not be so judgmental or he’d scare her away. “Sure, I love it.”
“A man who loves fish sauce. Nice.” Her tongue encircled her lips. “I love raw oysters, you know?”
Whatever that was supposed to mean. Lucas scratched his head and ordered an assorted platter, including Cajun spring rolls, satay, hot sausages, pickled peppers and dipping sauces.
“This food sounds atrocious.” Maryanne wrinkled her nose, studying the menu. “Hoisin sauce jambalaya with Chinese fragrant sausage. Blackened catfish with lemongrass and tamarind chutney. Where did they come up with these combinations?”
“It’s called fusion cuisine.” Lucas caressed her hand. “Like me and you.”
Her face brightened with a sweet smile. “Between us, we cover the globe, don’t we?”
“Almost.” He sipped his iced tea. “Ohlone Indian. You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“Sure there’s not something else you want me to pull?” She squeezed his thigh.
He almost spilled the tea. She was feisty tonight, like she was overdoing the cheerfulness. He cleared his throat. “Ready to order?”
“Sure, I’m wanting hot sausage tonight.” She licked her lips suggestively.
How could he resist? He dipped a ghost pepper sausage in cayenne sauce and shoved it in her mouth.
She spit it into a napkin and downed a gulp of ice water. “Ow! That’s hot!”
A waiter poured water into Maryanne’s glass. “Take your order, miss?”
Maryanne blew into her hands, fanning her mouth. “I’ll have the blackened catfish. Can we make it medium spicy?”
“Sure thing,” the waiter said. “And you?”
“The jambalaya with the Chinese sausage, and substitute fish sauce for the Hoisin.”
Maryanne snickered after the waiter departed with the orders. “I’m part Chinese from my mom’s side. Are you sure you’re not allergic to the red dye in the sausage?”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy stabbing me with your EpiPen.”
She plucked the EpiPen from her purse and made jabbing motions at him. He countered with his chopsticks. They played footsie until the food arrived. The melting pot fragrance tangoed sweet and spicy, exotic and downhome, east and west.
Lucas spread his napkin. “Are you going to behave? This is supposed to be a romantic candlelit dinner.”
“Oh, goody, I love romance.” She nabbed a sausage from his plate. “Tell me, Mr. Lil’ Bit, when you said the ‘L’ word, was that just a teensy bit or a lot?”
She hadn’t said she cared about him the same way, and he couldn’t let her have that much control. He played with his food and peeked at her. “I was just trying to get you to go on a date with me.”
“Wrong answer!” She pointed the EpiPen at him. “Now you have to play truth or dare.”
“Dare.”
A sly smile spread on Maryanne’s face. “I dare you to walk to the microphone and tell everyone you’re in love with Maryanne Torres.”
He shook her water glass. “This ice water or ice vodka?”
She leaned over and blew into his face. “Lucas Knight Breathalyzer. Do I pass?”
“If you let me do truth instead.”
“Just this once. Truth. Have you ever been in love?”
How did he get stuck on the receiving end of this? His knee jittered under the table. He couldn’t lie to her, but… “Can I go back to the dare?”
“No, because I’m going to ask you to remove your clothes next.” Her amused eyes made a slow tour down his torso.
“Yes.” He put both hands on the table.
“Wait, you can’t leave it like that.”
“I only had to answer the question. My turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.” She dabbed her lips and sat up straighter.
“Do you fantasize about having sex with me?”
A pink spot appeared on each cheek, but she held his gaze. “What do you think?”
“Nuh, uh.” He wagged his finger. “Answer the question.”
“Yes. Okay? Happy?” She attacked the catfish with her fork. “My turn. Truth or dare.”
“Truth.”
“Tell me about your first love.”
“That’s a dare, not a truth.”
“Please? I want to know.”
The game was no longer fun. He hoped he didn’t look like a drowning man. He took several deep breaths and wiped his palms on his pants. “There’s not much to say. I pretty much made a mess out of it.”
“Do you still speak to her?”
“No, I was seventeen. Her name was Daria. I last saw her in a courtroom.”
Her eyes turned serious. “What happened?”
Now that she opened this line of questioning, he might as well tell her everything. It would hurt if she couldn’t accept it. But better than hiding it and having her find out later. The heaviness settled in his stomach, and his chest constricted. Lucas stared at the painting on the wall of a family of blue cranes flying into the sunset. “I killed her brother.”
She inhaled sharply and rested a hand on his forearm. He could feel the tension in her posture, but he appreciated her reassuring touch. He shut his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, and the words tumbled out. “It was self-defense, but they put me in juvenile for six months because I had drugs on me. He tried to kill me. Jumped me with a baseball bat and had his friends hold me down. He took a swing and missed, hitting one of his friend’s hand. Both guys let go, so I grabbed my knife. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“Why was he beating you up?”
“I got Daria pregnant.”
She jerked away from him. The silence stretched, and Lucas shifted in his seat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maryanne smearing chutney over her catfish.
“Do you still see your kid?” she asked in a small voice.
“She aborted it. There was nothing I could do about it.” His voice caught in his throat, barely audible.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” She clutched his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry you asked? I’m not the guy with the shining armor and halo anymore, am I?”
She rested her head on his shoulder and hugged him.
~~~
Maryanne opened the door to the restroom. The waiter had interrupted them with the dessert menu and Lucas ordered a tiramisu to
be shared between them. She looked in the mirror and dabbed at her eyes. He still hurt over it. Killing someone, even in self-defense had to weigh on his conscience day and night. The way his voice choked up when he told the story showed he was still grieving.
She stepped into a stall to use the toilet. Her panty-liner was clean, not even a spot of blood. Worry rose like a coiled snake. She held her breath, counted to five and let it out. All the stress had delayed her cycle. And now, the evening had been ruined by her nosy questions. She’d ask Lucas to take her home, and then decide what to do.
She fixed her makeup and exited the bathroom.
“There you are,” Lucas walked up to her. “I’m sorry I put such a damper on the evening. Care to dance?”
“Okay, one dance and we should go. It’s been a long day.” She looped her hand in his arm and followed him to the dance floor. The jazz band finished up a swinging piece, and the audience clapped.
The lead singer flourished his arm and pointed to Maryanne and Lucas. “I have an announcement.”
Maryanne’s face heated. “You didn’t.”
Lucas winked at her and nodded at the lead singer.
The spotlight swung toward them and the speaker said, “A young man here wants all of us to know that he is in love with a very special woman. Lucas Knight loves Maryanne Torres.”
The crowd cheered and whooped. Maryanne hid her face. “What if someone recognizes me from the church scandal? I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I’m a daring man.” His voice was silky in her ear.
The piano played the prelude to “Unforgettable.”
She caught her breath. “I love this song.”
“That’s our cue, sweetheart.” Lucas swung her onto the dance floor as a male voice crooned. He placed his arms around her and stared at her, his green eyes dreamy with emotion.
Maryanne swayed with the music and darted a nervous glance at the tables. “They’re probably laughing at me.”
“Will you shut up?” he whispered. “I never want to forget this moment.”
A female voice joined the singing. Soon, other couples surrounded them. Lucas held her tightly. Even with the stiletto platforms, Maryanne’s face barely reached his shoulders. She ached to feel his lips on hers, his sensual breath caressing her ear. She slipped her fingers behind his neck and brought his head down.
His scent, a magnetic, sporty fragrance quickened her pulse and spiked her desire. He was every inch a man, and she wanted every last bit of him. He rubbed his cheek on her temple and kissed around her ear. Tickling, gently nibbling around the rim and nipping her lobe. She plastered herself against him, absorbing his heartbeat, surrounded by his strength. He’d told the club, the world, he loved her. Nothing could be better than right here, right now, at this unforgettable moment.
She looked up. “Lucas, you make me feel so special.”
“Because you are. You are my world, Maryanne. My everything.” His deep voice vibrated to the core of her heart. His warm lips traveled down her eyelids, kissing a tear that trailed from the corner of her eye. “Truth.”
“What have I done to deserve you?” She melded to the smooth rhythm of the dance, aware of his hard length against her belly. “Lucas, I’m in love with you too.”
The press of his luscious lips whisked her out of the world. She lost all sense of time and place, flung out like a star into a galaxy painted across the night sky. The music faded, the lights dimmed, and the crowd thinned. She was alone, in an unforgettable realm, surrounded by Lucas, carried away in his strong arms, safely tucked beneath his heart. Silence reigned for a heavenly moment and time stopped to the ebb and flow of a single kiss.
The piano and saxophone started again, joined by the humming duet, male and female. A light applause emanated from the crowd. Maryanne opened her eyes. A grinding feeling gnawed her stomach and dread rose like a plume of nausea. The pregnancy test could shoot her star out of orbit and crater their perfect illusion of love.
Chapter 15
“That was some evening,” Maryanne thanked Lucas as he opened the car door and helped her out.
He squeezed her hand. “It’s not over yet, is it?”
She scrambled for something natural to say. Ordinarily, she’d ask him up, but the question of pregnancy had to be settled without him knowing. They walked to her door, and she paused before putting the key in the lock.
“You want me to come in?” He looked hesitant, his palms turned face up.
“I had a great time. I did.” She kissed his cheek. “It’s late and you should probably go home.”
His brow furrowed. “Did I do something?”
“No, you were great.” She leaned against his chest. “I need to be alone right now.”
“Okay, I can respect that.” He held her for a moment and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Call me anytime.”
She gave him a tiny wave and stepped into the apartment. Once inside, the jitters she’d suppressed hit full force. She waited the space of three heartbeats and peeked out the curtain. Lucas was nowhere in sight. Gotta do it. Oh, dear God let it be nothing. Sweat bloomed over her forehead, and she felt light headed.
She opened the cabinet under her bathroom sink and extracted the leftover test from the double-pack she bought during her last scare. Her hands trembled so much she had to bite the wrapping off the stick. The test was still good with a single pink line, the control line, showing. She sat on the toilet. Please, please be negative. One, two, three, four, five. She wiped herself and stared at the toilet paper, willing it to turn pink, to show even the slightest tint of blood.
The instructions said to wait three minutes. Maryanne placed the stick on the counter. She’d walk away. Should she set a timer? She glanced at the clock and paced. How could this have happened? Ryan wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. The singles’ class they attended recommended abstinence. Her head ached. But it’d been her fault to drink, to think it could numb the pain of Lucas’ rejection. Great, just great. Now Lucas would really reject her if she were pregnant with another man’s baby, as if seeing her have sex on the video wasn’t enough of a blow.
Nausea bubbled to her throat. Her father was having the video analyzed. After he’d calmed down, he contacted a lawyer to trace the originator of the video and sue for defamation. Gil Torres, professional plaintiff. It was how he put her through college, bought her a car and designer clothes.
She crossed to the dresser and stared in the mirror. Two minutes. It had been her fault. She should have stayed home that night. You, she pointed to her image, don’t need a man. You have to stand on your own before standing next to someone.
She passed the bathroom door. One minute. Why did Lucas have to declare his love and make this harder? Hugging herself, she leaned against the wall and counted to sixty.
Time was up. She marched into the bathroom and picked up the stick. Two angry pink lines pointed accusatory fingers at her. She threw it into the wastebasket and sank to her knees.
Pregnant. It was still early.
She had options.
After taking a shower, Maryanne booted her laptop and researched the abortion pill. Some sites said it was only safe to six or seven weeks, others up to nine. She printed a pregnancy calendar with the only possible conception date, May 24, and picked up her embryology text. It was already past midnight. The date was Saturday, June 29—seven weeks and one day from the last menstrual start, May 10. The baby’s eyes, ears, mouth, nose, lip, tongue, and teeth were forming. Brain and cranial nerves were already developed. Crown to rump length about a third of an inch.
Images of embryos popped up in her search window. One was about seven weeks old and showed eye buds and toes. She scrolled down and caught sight of tiny dismembered body parts. A shockwave pierced her heart, and she ran to her bedroom, gasping.
She crawled under her blankets and tried to sleep, to empty her mind. She shouldn’t have looked. Darkness spun around her. Horrid shapes combined with pressure on her chest an
d the pulse swishing in her head. A mechanical sucking sound tore through her abdomen, and crimson gushed behind her eyelids—the vacuum jar, red with blood and a blot of tissue, the image from her previous abortion. A tiny fingernail scratched down her spine. Warmth was just out of reach.
~~~
It was almost noontime when Lucas returned to his apartment with his bicycle. He hadn’t slept well and the fifty-mile ride had done nothing to cool his nerves.
“Where were you last night?” his sister, Sandra, asked. “You’re still hooked up with that girl on the video, aren’t you?”
“When are you going to get a job and your own place?”
Sandra wiped the crumbs off her sweatpants and opened the refrigerator. “You come back from Colorado, dump your stuff and disappear. Then you come back late, all grumpy without talking to me. Ma wants to know when you’re taking me to Pastor Stone’s church.”
“I’ll let you borrow my car.” Lucas sorted through the mail and found a handwritten note: Sorry we missed you, Pastor Ortega, Glory Baptist Church.
He waved the note at Sandra. “Where did this come from?”
“Oh, some Mexican preacher came by. I told him we’re not his kind.”
“You’re not his kind, Sandra.” Lucas tucked the note into his jacket pocket.
“Maryanne Torres, she’s Mexican, isn’t she?”
“So what?” He didn’t owe Sandra or anyone else an explanation.
“Don’t go around thinking you’re not black, cuz you’re just as black as anyone else.”
“Shut up.” He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. His family acted as if he rejected his race if he didn’t date black women. But it was their fault for teasing him, calling him white names since he was old enough to remember.
He soaped himself and washed his hair. Maryanne had been tense last night when she pushed him away. It could have been a delayed reaction to the news he had killed Daria’s brother. Her family hated him even before he got her pregnant. They were light skinned Puerto Ricans from the island. But she loved him, or so she claimed, until the day she cut him and his baby out of her life.
Hidden Under Her Heart Page 11
