4 Men Of The House with correct Also By page

by Natalie Knight

  “Thank you,” I say and continue to dive in, gobbling the food down just as she’s instructing.

  “So…” she begins. “What’s your name?”

  She means no harm by the question. I know she’s just making polite and friendly conversation. Even still, I involuntarily tense up and toss a subtle glance at Daniel who coaxes me along with a nod.

  “Um…” I clear my throat and wipe my mouth on the napkin again. “I’m Rose.” I smile up at her with a mouthful of food, feeling embarrassed.

  “Rose,” his mom says as she closes the fridge behind us and walks back over to the table. “I like that name. Very classic. A beauty, just like you.”

  I blush at her compliment and bow my head. “Thank you.”

  “How did you two meet each other? What’s the story there?” She looks between us, and I imagine that the question is up for grabs.

  I’ll let Daniel cover this one.

  “Mom,” he says and casually points the fork in his hand in my direction. “You remember Rose.”

  His mom glances at me with a furrowed brow, investigating me while she tries to rack her memory. “I do?”

  “Yeah…” he says. “Well, you remember me telling you about her, anyway.” He laughs and takes a bite of egg. “She’s the one I met at the tea shop.”

  He told her about me? I feel my chest swell, knowing that he’s been talking about me to his mother.

  “Oh right.” She flicks her forehead as if she’s a scatterbrain.

  “How long have you two been together?” She eyes me, and I know this one is directed at me, so I have no choice but to answer.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat, but try to make the act as subtle as possible. “Um…one month.”

  Regardless of all the answers, his mom seems positively delighted. “Well,” she states and sits down next to me, “I have to say it’s such a pleasure to meet you, Rose. I just hate that it’s under these circumstances.”

  She gives her son a lecturing glance, and he shrugs with a grin.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, too,” I say shyly and look down at my plate which is now swimming in syrup.

  “I do genuinely apologize,” she says again and places a heartfelt hand to her chest. “I show up unannounced sometimes, and that gets on Daniel’s nerves.”

  “It’s really fine.” I dismiss her apology politely with a wave of my hand.

  “I usually try to drop by when I most suspect that Daniel won’t have anyone with him,” she explains. “Ah, well.” She claps her hands together and makes me jump. “I thought I’d make the best of a sticky situation,” she laughs.

  “No pun intended, eh, Ma?” Daniel chuckles and points his knife to his plate that’s also drowning in syrup.

  “Oh, you kids just eat and don’t fuss over me.” She waves a hand at all the food and stands up again to clear some of the empty dishes off the table.

  I eat as much as I can, under the circumstances, because let’s face it…I’m nervous as hell.

  This isn’t exactly the way I wanted to meet Daniel’s mother. I haven’t even showered yet. Internally, I struggle with self-doubt.

  What if his mom is just being polite? What if she really thinks I’m a whore and I should leave her son alone?

  It’s an answer I want to know but have no true way to ask.

  Once we finish eating, Daniel stretches and yawns, rubbing his full belly. He has all but recovered from the awkwardness.

  I just roll my eyes. It’s a typical male thing to do. As soon as their mommies come around with food, they become different people.

  They’re all the same, but I just brush it off in my head. He’s perfect in so many other ways, and besides, he’s just…well, normal, actually. It’s nice to see that.

  Daniel brings his plate to the kitchen along with mine. “Thank you for that amazing breakfast, Mom,” he tells her gratefully and plants a kiss on her forehead. “You outdid yourself this time.”

  “Darling, it was nothing…and my pleasure.” She squeezes him into a gentle hug.

  “Well, I hate to kick you out,” he laughs, “but we have to get ready for work now.”

  “Oh, right,” his mom says as she continues to wash up and load the dishwasher.

  As she finishes up and grabs her bag, I walk over to say goodbye. “It was so nice to meet you,” I tell her.

  She’s still smiling as she addresses her son. “Daniel, you should join us for dinner.”

  Daniel looks at me first. I just shrug because I don’t want to come across as rude.

  “Yes!” his mother exclaims as if she’s just proclaimed the most elaborately seamless plan ever. “Bring her over to the house. That way, she can meet the family, too.”

  Daniel’s eyes widen in horror, but he nods, knowing there’s no way out of this one.

  “Sure,” I tell her with a smile. “That sounds wonderful. Count us in.”

  Daniel’s shoulders relax slightly. I don’t mind coming to his rescue once in a while. Besides, he’s already been a champ and met my family. Maybe it’s time for me to return the favor and oblige him with a meeting of his own kind.

  After all, if he’s going to be the father of my baby, might as well be on good terms with the grandparents.

  Daniel

  I slam the phone down and swear under my breath. Since arriving at the office, I’ve been stuck with the receiver to my ear.

  The back of my neck is aching, as are my shoulders. Every time I complain about this, my secretary gives me no sympathy.

  She suggested ages ago that I get one of those headsets to save myself from the cramps I get from squeezing the phone between my head and my shoulder, but I cannot imagine anything worse than having a phone permanently stuck to my ear.

  And so I continue to suffer.

  I’ve barely finished the last call to the general manager of one of my resorts when the blasted thing rings again.

  “Hello,” I bark into it, sounding as angry as I feel.

  Right now, I curse the person who invented the damn thing. I mean, as far I’m concerned, life would be a whole lot easier if I could spend less time on the phone.

  Perhaps I could disable it? My eyes fall on to the cell phone lying on my desk with three missed calls and eight text messages.

  I roll my eyes.

  Perhaps the indicator of how the day was going to pan out had been Mom arriving unannounced and uninvited at my apartment this morning.

  Of course, she’s done it before, many a time, just not ever when I’ve had a woman stay the night.

  This might be due to the fact I rarely have a woman stay over. Most of the casual hook-ups don’t make it back home with me. There’s no way I want them to get too fucking comfortable.

  I mean, once I take a girl home, she might get fucking difficult to get rid of again. I’ve heard the horror stories, read the outlandish claims online.

  I’m not falling victim to some gold-digging chick. Nope, not me.

  “Oh,” I hear my mother’s voice and regret sounding so harsh. “I though you’d be over the moon.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  What is she getting at? Does she know something I don’t?

  I hear Mom sigh. I hate it when she’s cryptic.

  “Did you and Rose have a fight, dear? You seemed to be getting along fabulously this morning…” She drifts off.

  Am I standing on the line or something? What the fuck is my mother talking about now?

  “Um, why would we have had a fight? Did she say something to you?”

  My mother laughs. “No, sweetheart, she didn’t say anything to me. You both looked happy and relaxed in each other’s company. I’m surprised the afterglow hasn’t lasted all day with you.”

  I sigh. Fucking awkward.

  “Tough day in the office, Mom,” I grumble and look at my too weak, too lukewarm pretend double shot flat white. When my assistant brought it in to me, I asked what she calls this.

  “The coffee you ordered,” she r
eplied and was gone before I could say anything else. Without actually tasting it, I know it’s going to be fucking awful. It looks like dishwashing water.

  A coffee bean might have walked past it, but that is incredibly doubtful. How shops get away with selling this shit as coffee is beyond me.

  Mental note to self—make sure office staff never ever buys coffee from where this one came from again, ever.

  “Oh, that’s a shame, darling.” My mother is happily prattling away in my ear. She’ll be happy if she hears the occasional grunt, yep, or nope. I think my mother could talk under wet cement or water.

  “Daniel, are you listening to me?”

  Fuck. What did she ask?

  “Sorry, Mom,” I mumble. “Had to answer a question from my assistant,” I lie.

  “I asked if you like this girl,” Mom repeats her question.

  I frown. “Which girl?”

  After only two sips, I know this poor excuse for a cup of coffee is undrinkable. As soon as I can, I’m going to have to get someone to get me something better than this crap.

  If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s drinking bad coffee. Life is too short to drink anything but strong, good quality coffee.

  “Do you like Rose?” My mother repeats her question yet again. “Really, Daniel, I don’t know what’s the matter with you today.”

  Interesting question. Do I like Rose?

  I love to fuck her.

  I like her scent, the perfume she uses, and those eyes.

  I like the way she jokes with me and looks at me.

  “Yes,” I reply after a brief hesitation. “Yes, Mom, I like Rose.”

  Silence.

  What happened? Did Mom faint?

  “Mom?”

  I think I can hear some sobbing. Oh no, fucking hell, please don’t let her cry. Inwardly, I groan.

  I shouldn’t have said I like Rose. She’ll be making all kinds of fucking plans now. If I’m not careful she’ll arrange a wedding, book a baby shower, and celebrate our first anniversary―all in the blink of an eye.

  “Can you bring her to dinner?”

  Phew. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Yeah, sure, I told you we’ll come to dinner.”

  My emails on the computer are going bananas. Apparently, several people are in desperate need to discuss a range of different issues with me, from a blocked toilet, to a cat stuck up in one of the palm trees of one of our resorts.

  I frown. What the fuck am I going to do about a cat stuck in a tree? Why are they bringing this shit to me?

  “Sunday night.”

  “Pardon?” That’s right, I’m still talking to my mom. “I’ve got to—” I start but she cuts me off.

  “Come to dinner this Sunday night with that lovely girlfriend, Rose.”

  I sigh. No point arguing about this. It makes sense for me to introduce Rose to my family, anyway; I’ve met hers already.

  “Promise you’ll come to dinner this Sunday, Daniel. With Rose.” My mother sounds all serious, and I realize she’s calling me Daniel, not Danny.

  “I promise, Mom, but I’ve got to get back to work now.”

  After she’s hung up, I stare at the wall of messages and try and work out which one is the most important. I decide the cat one is the least important, and it goes to the bottom of the list.

  But before I make the next work call, I better attend to something else. I pick up my phone.

  “Hey, darling,” I say with a smile.

  “Oh, hello there, handsome,” Rose replies, and I picture her sitting at her desk.

  I wish she were here in the office with me. Perhaps I should see if I can find a job for her with me here.

  Of course, I’m sort of getting her a job by doing this whole pregnancy thing. I know we’ve not discussed it since agreeing to getting to know each other, but we both know the end goals was―is―a baby.

  “I just got off the phone with my mom,” I tell her.

  “Good for you. She okay?”

  I chuckle. “She’s fine. She was reminding me about the dinner she mentioned when she was at the penthouse. She wants us to come to their house this Sunday.”

  There’s silence. I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do if she backs out now that she isn’t being put on the spot by my mom.

  “Okay, sounds good,” Rose replies, and she sounds quite cheerful.

  “You sure?” I double check. I don’t want her to do it because she feels obliged.

  “Absolutely. I mean, your mom and I are practically best friends already after this morning,” she jokes and I hear her laughter. The sound is music to my ears.

  “Great,” I reply and play with my gold-tip fountain pen. I need to end the conversation, but I don’t want to get off the phone with her yet.

  After cursing the little device earlier, now I’m enjoying talking to Rose.

  “I better get back to work,” Rose announces, but I just thought of something.

  “Shall we make a day of it, and I’ll pick you up?”

  “I can’t leave until later in the afternoon. I’ve got a busy week ahead and need to finish everything by the end of the week. Sorry.”

  I wish we could spend the day together, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “No worries, Rose. Make sure you look after yourself and eat properly and don’t work too hard.”

  “You’re starting to sound like my boyfriend,” Rose observes, a smile in her voice.

  “Isn’t that what I am, your boyfriend?”

  Instead of a reply, Rose laughs and then she’s gone.

  Isn’t that what I am―her boyfriend? An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Maybe we better talk about where we’re heading.

  And soon.

  Before I can pick up the phone and start returning these calls, my secretary buzzes me.

  “What is it now?” I bark into the receiver and notice it’s nearly lunchtime. After this call, I think I’ll head out for lunch.

  Since I’ve not had a proper cup of coffee this morning, I’ll need to have two with lunch.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but I have someone on the phone who says they need to speak to you urgently.”

  I roll my eyes. I’ve tried to train my secretary to give me all the information there is when she tells me about a caller, but clearly this has not sunk in yet.

  “And who might this person be who needs to speak to me so urgently?”

  “Sorry, sir, it’s a woman called Maggie.”

  The only object on the desk is my cup of coffee, and so I take it and fling it across the room.

  It lands against the blank wall with a little thud. Liquid splatters over the wall and onto the carpet. I don’t fucking care.

  “I’m not available to speak to her. I will never be available to speak to this woman ever. If she calls again, don’t bother putting the call through to me.”

  I slam the phone down and clench my fists. Slowly, I try and count to one hundred. I’ll need to bring my raging thoughts under control quickly.

  When I’m still super fucking enraged by the time I’ve counted to four hundred and fifty, I decide I better go for a walk and get my flat white now.

  I’m sure a walk and a good cup of coffee will put me into a better frame of mind.

  Rose

  For some reason, the butterflies won’t go away. They’ve taken up residence in my stomach and refuse to move out. If anything, they’re multiplying.

  I knead my fingers in my lap and stare out the window of Daniel’s car. Maybe it’s the big billboard staring at me from various buildings―the smiling mom and baby tugging at my heartstrings as a permanent reminder that I’m not getting any younger.

  Then there’s the ad for some retirement plan, asking if the timeline is being met. It’s one of those obtuse marketing strategies where the consumer is not actually sure what’s being advertised. It might just be me, but I don’t get the ad at all.

  The only thing it does to me is remind me of
the timeline I have with Daniel.

  Okay, so we don’t actually have a timeline, and maybe that’s the actual problem.

  When we first started on this road to get to know each other before we made a baby bargain, we should have discussed a time frame. Would the get-to-know-each-other phase last one month, two months, or three?

  I mean, some people spend years getting to know each other only to find out when they’re old and gray that they’re not compatible. With the biological clock ticking, I don’t have that luxury.

  And, let’s face it, if he’s still not sure if we should go ahead, it won’t be different in a month, a year, or ten.

  God, in ten years I won’t be fertile anymore, I’m sure of it.

  He’s not going to wait that long to make up his mind, is he? I gnaw on my bottom lip and shoot him the occasional sideways glance. His jawline is relaxed, and there’s a little twinkle in his eyes.

  What’s stopping him? Second or third thoughts? Maybe he never meant to go through with it anyway?

  I mean, this might be just a way for him to get a free fuck. The thought is absurd, I know. I’ve read the websites, the social media accounts, and all the other crap where women drool over the man and can’t wait to jump his bones and have his baby.

  Okay, so he’s not doing it for the sex, I get it.

  “Ready, darling?” His soft voice rouses me from my meandering thoughts.

  I look around.

  He’s parked the car outside a nice, colonial-style two-story home. A magnificent garden with a white pebble path stretches out ahead of me.

  I see roses, marigolds, purple flowers, and something that looks like daffodils. It’s a feast for the eyes.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I make myself smile. Now is not the time to ask about the timeline.

  I can imagine his face if I brought it up now, outside his mother’s house.

  “So, Daniel how about that timeline?” I’d ask. “Are you ready to have that baby yet? And has your lawyer drawn up the contract yet? I mean, we want to make sure we document it all and prepare for any eventuality.”

  With a shake of my head, I dismiss such crazy ideas. But seriously, would there really be a contract? It might be a good idea, right?