Claiming Her_A Romance Collection

by R. R. Banks

  Olivia reaches up and presses a hand in the middle of his puffed up chest to calm him.

  "It's alright, Philip," she says. "Don't worry about it."

  "Who is this guy?" he demands, pointing a long bony finger at me.

  "I met him in at the resort on Catalina Island," she says, disdain dripping in her voice.

  A vicious smile curls on Philip’s lips and two guys who look like they just walked out of a J. Crew catalog come up behind him. Olivia now stands in front of a wall of khaki and polo shirts. I realize now how well she fits in with them, but I can also see what sets her apart, the part of her I fell for at the resort.

  "This is the guy?" Philip asks in a condescending voice.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, squaring up to him.

  "Philip, stop," Olivia says.

  "What? It's not like there's a single person around here who hasn't heard about him by now."

  "What about me?"

  "Olivia didn't say anything about it, of course. She's a master of discretion. Charlene, though," he gives a short laugh, "the same can't be said about her. She came back here from that resort crowing about some pathetic member of staff who took a shine to Olivia. I guess that's you," he says, looking me up and down. "I hear you followed her around and tried to force yourself on her, and that's why she left early."

  Olivia looks up at him sharply.

  "Philip, stop it. Now. I told you that isn't true. Charlene's just spreading bullshit rumors again."

  Philip doesn't look convinced.

  "Look at you all dressed up," he says. "That's a pretty expensive suit you're wearing. You must have gotten a nice bonus to be able to afford to rent something that nice."

  Anger courses through me and I feel my hands instinctively tighten into fists at my sides. I force myself to stay where I am standing and hold it together. I notice he's standing fully behind Olivia now rather than beside her. The bigger and more aggressive he is, the more he uses her to hide, and as much as I would love a chance to get out some of the anger and tension I've been feeling by tearing him apart with my bare hands, I can't do anything that might put Olivia at risk. I exhale slowly and turn back to face her.

  "Olivia, we need to talk."

  She lifts her chin, trying to look strong, but I see it tremble.

  "I don't have anything to say to you," she says.

  "I think you do,"

  "If she says she doesn't want to talk to you, it means she doesn't want to talk to you," Philip interjects from behind her.

  I take a lunging step toward him, and all three men step back.

  "Back off," I growl.

  Olivia turns and looks up at Philip.

  "You stay here. I'll be right back."

  "You're not going to talk to him by yourself. You have no idea what he's capable of."

  She lets out a breath that makes her shoulders drop.

  "Yes, I do."

  What in the hell does she mean by that?

  She takes a few strides toward me before passing me, meeting my eyes to tell me to follow her around the corner of the building again.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask her as I round the corner.

  "I live here, Vincent. This is my home. I want to know what you're doing here." She throws her hands up in the air and closes her eyes, shaking her head as if to block anything I might say. "You know what? No. Never mind. I don't care why you're here. You need to go."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said you need to go. I don't have anything to say to you, and there's nothing you can say to me that I care about hearing. You had your fun, Vincent. You got what you wanted. It's time to let it go."

  "Olivia, what happened between us—"

  She holds up a hand again.

  "Vincent, please. You might think it was all fun and games at the resort, but, again, this is my home. This is where I live, where my family lives, where my friends are."

  "And your boyfriend?" I growl.

  "What?" she asks.

  "Don't give me that," I say. "Charlene said you probably came home to a rich boyfriend that reminds her of a dead fish. If I do say so myself, it looks like we've got a pretty good ringer right over there."

  "Philip?" she asks.

  There's a defeated note in her voice as if she's embarrassed she's been caught with him.

  "He's the serious boyfriend you told me about, isn't he? The one you said you broke up with?"

  "Yes," she says. "We did break up. Over a year ago."

  "And now?"

  She glances at her feet and then back at me.

  "And now…"

  Holding up my hand just as she had, I give a mirthless laugh and begin to back away from her.

  "No," I say. "Never mind. I don't want to hear it." I turn to walk away and then turn back to her, shaking my head. "You know what, Olivia? Say what you want about Charlene, but at least she's upfront. She might like to lie for the shock value of it all, but at the end of the day, you know who she is and she's not afraid of it."

  Olivia looks stung as I turn away, but I don't care. I don't appreciate being judged, especially by people who don't know me at all. Those men she was with seem to have very particular ideas about me, and aren't going to budge on them. The fact that they formed an opinion of me without ever having met me, based solely on the tale spun by a woman they admit to being known as a gossip, makes it even worse. There's even more of an edge on it when people find out about my family's power and wealth, and judge me based only on the money and the influence, rather than on me as a person.

  I walk back toward the convention center, chastising myself for even beginning to think that she might be different from any of the girls I grew up with or the women I pick up at my resorts. She's exactly what I've seen a thousand times before. Pretending to be someone and something she isn't at the resort meant that she was allowed to act up, and do things she would never do at home, without offending anyone or tarnishing her precious reputation. Just like the rest, she wants the perfect image, but doesn't want to live up to it. Going to destinations far from home and seeking out partners they perceive as below or less valuable than them, allows them to do it. They can maintain the veneer of the perfect, pedigreed, polished trophy wives knowing the "lesser" men they fuck can be easily manipulated and controlled into not revealing the affair.

  Olivia isn't married, but that doesn't change much. It just means she's in training.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Olivia

  I shake my head as I walk back over to Philip.

  "Why did you have to act that way?" I ask.

  "What do you mean?" he asks. "Am I wrong in assuming that guy is the help who was inappropriate with you at the resort?"

  "He's harmless," I say. "There was no need for you to be so crude."

  Even as I say the words, I know they are a complete lie. Vincent is far from harmless. In more ways than one.

  "I'm sorry," Philip says. He reaches for me, but I pull away. He steps toward me and wraps his hands around my waist, so I can't move any further away from him.

  "Hey," he says. "Come on now, don't be this way." I look up at him and he smiles. "You can't expect me to just stand here and not defend a lady, can you? Especially my lady."

  The term of affection makes my chest tighten slightly and I wish he would let me go. When he finally does, he takes my hand. I fight the urge to pull it away. I don't like the way it feels, although I try to force myself to. It doesn't compare to how my hand used to curl into Vincent's, fitting perfectly against his palm as we walked along the beach. I give my head a subtle, hard shake to force the thought away. I remind myself that this is exactly why I took Philip’s call a few days after getting home. He had been reaching out to me for some time wanting to rekindle our relationship. Now seems like the perfect time to go back to something familiar I can trust. Philip is what's right for me. He might not be the most exciting man I've ever known, and my heart might not flutter around him, but I had my taste of e
xcitement and look how well that turned out.

  Maybe it was the flutters that did it. My heart fluttered so much and skipped so many beats when I was with Vincent that it made it weaker, so much so that when he broke it, it shattered completely.

  I'm still shaken by the encounter with Vincent the next day. I never expected to see him again, much less here at home. I can't imagine any reason why he would be here other than to see me, and that makes no sense. What happened between us still hurts me deeply, but I have to admit other feelings still linger beyond the pain. As much as I chastised Tia for even suggesting it, I knew back then that I was falling in love with Vincent. As resistant to his advances as I was when we first met, the more I saw beyond the hard shell, the deeper I fell for him. I tried to convince myself that Vincent was nothing more than a fun vacation romance, and that when the end of my time at the resort came, I would be able to walk away from him easily. In a way, the thought of never seeing him again once we parted ways added to the sparkle and thrill of those first few encounters.

  By the time the end of the vacation came, however, I knew that wasn't the case anymore. I knew giving him my virginity wasn't only a parting gift. It was a gesture of hope for the future I imagined for us. I never really knew who he was, but I don't care, even if he is a member of the staff at the resort. Though both Charlene and Philip have the chilling ability to turn that into something derogatory or that Vincent should be ashamed of, it doesn't matter to me. I wanted him to be a part of my life, no matter who he was. I couldn't imagine my family being judgmental or refusing to accept him if I brought him home. My family may be wealthy and powerful, but my father is also a kind and compassionate man who raised me to see the good in people, and be as humble as possible. He taught me to never think of myself as being above anyone else, but to always be thankful for the life and opportunities I was given. If I had brought Vincent home, I knew they wouldn't have seen him as anything less. All my father cares about is that my partner loves me and is good to me. I thought that Vincent would be that man for me, and now my heart is broken.

  The thing is, even if my family had been judgmental about him or rejected him, I wouldn't have cared. In the brief time I spent with him, Vincent helped me discover things about myself and about life I never knew before. He made me willing to try things and let myself be vulnerable, and he taught me, likely without even realizing it, that I didn't need the approval I thought I did. I feel like all of that crashed down around me, along with the rest of my illusions of love and passion, when I saw those pictures in the resort lobby. I can't bear what he did to me. It made me recoil back into myself and into my old ways, including my relationship with Philip. But I know he'll always be with me.

  Two months later…

  "Are you saying you didn't know?"

  The shock has taken all the words out of my mouth. I'm shaking so hard I can barely even respond.

  "No," I finally say. "I didn't know."

  Dr. Pruitt looks down at me over the bridge of her nose.

  "Olivia, I need you to be honest with me."

  "I am," I stammer. "I didn't know. This is a complete shock."

  "You told me you weren't having sexual intercourse."

  I try not to cringe at the word intercourse. I've always hated it. It's one of those words that’s often substituted for another one that's supposedly inappropriate, yet somehow ends up seeming dirtier and more uncomfortable than the original.

  "I'm not," I say. "Philip and I haven't been having sex. We never have."

  "I didn't ask you about Philip. I asked you about you."

  It takes a few seconds for what she said to really sink in, and when it does it hits me so hard it takes my breath away.

  "I've only had sex once," I say.

  "Like they say," Dr. Pruitt says, "that's all it takes."

  I shake my head.

  "We used a condom—"

  "They aren't foolproof, Olivia. You should know that by your age. They're extremely effective in theory, and usually in practice, but not always. Even with absolutely perfect use, there still a margin of error."

  A margin of error. I also hate the way that sounds. She's saying a lot of things I hate today. That one, though, digs into my heart. I know she's talking about the condom, but it comes across like she’s talking about my baby. My baby. I have to say it to myself again just to try to get it to process in my mind. How could this be happening? How in the hell am I pregnant? This isn't the way this is supposed to be. No matter how it happened, I refuse to believe that my baby is an error.

  "I thought…"

  I hesitate, unsure of how to say what I'm thinking.

  "You thought what?" she asks.

  "That I knew my body better. That I would feel different. That I would be able to sense something so incredible happening inside me."

  All the explanations run through my mind, but finally, I shake my head.

  "That I would know."

  "It's not always that easy," she says, seeming to soften slightly from her immediately judgmental response. "How long ago was this instance of intercourse?"

  "Can we just say sex?"

  She looks at me with a hint of the shock I'm feeling.

  "What?"

  "I'm dealing with a lot. I've had a cold all week and I came in here for what I thought would be a routine examination only to find out I'm pregnant. I was a virgin until recently and now I’m freaking pregnant. I can really deal without the delicate clinical terms, if you don't mind. Apparently, I am well past the education stage."

  Dr. Pruitt laughs and gives a single sharp nod of acknowledgment.

  "Fair enough. Alright, Olivia. When did you have sex?"

  "In August."

  The laughter fades from her eyes.

  "August?"

  "Yes."

  "Olivia, that was almost three months ago."

  I nod.

  "I know."

  "You're at the end of your first trimester and you had no idea? You haven't had any symptoms?"

  I shake my head.

  "I haven't felt sick. I haven't had any cravings. I haven't gained any weight."

  "Your period has never been totally regular, but I thought it was at least somewhat predictable."

  "I've been under a lot of stress," I say. "Sometimes when that happens, it gets more irregular."

  She nods.

  "Well, it's not completely unheard of, and in your situation, it's understandable. It also means you likely haven't had a cold this week."

  "I haven't?"

  "You said you were feeling tired and a little achy, right?"

  "Yes. I know that sounds more like the flu, but I don't have a fever, so I assumed it was a cold."

  "It also sounds like pregnancy. For some women, the end of the first trimester is wonderful because it means their morning sickness is over and they suddenly have energy again. For others, it's the opposite. They feel exhausted and maybe even a little under the weather. Remember, it's hard work for your body to grow a new human being, and since you didn't even know you were doing it, it's highly likely that you weren't giving it everything it needs to do the job."

  I nod.

  "You're going to need to start taking in more calories. Not a ton. Despite what people say, you aren't really eating for two. Just for you and a bit. Adding three hundred calories or so a day should be plenty. Focus on lean protein and make sure that you're getting plenty of vitamins from fruits and vegetables, as well as the prenatal vitamins I'm going to prescribe you."

  I nod again.

  "If you do that for a few days and still aren't feeling better, let me know. I might run some additional tests to find out if you are deficient in any particular nutrient, so we can work on getting your body balanced. It needs to be in the best working condition possible, so it can focus on growing that precious little baby in there."

  I nod again. I feel like a bobblehead doll.

  Dr. Pruitt's expr
ession drops suddenly, and she looks embarrassed.

  "I mean, that is, if you're keeping the baby. Have you – have you thought about what you want to do?"

  I start to nod again, but then I look at her quizzically.

  "I found out less than ten minutes ago."

  "You're right. I should give you some time to think about it."

  I shake my head.

  "No," I say. "I don't need any time. I don't need to think about it. I'm keeping the baby."

  She smiles, and I know it's probably not considered professional or ethical, but that warm, genuine demonstration of happiness at my decision is encouraging. It's the first step of many. But at least I’ve taken it.

  Fear threatens to overwhelm me, and I nearly turn around before I step up to the door. I've been pacing outside of my grandmother's room for more than an hour since getting home from the doctor's office. We call it her room, but it's actually a separate apartment in her own wing of the house. Her being this close makes it easier for me to come right to her, even though the conversation looming ahead of me still seems impossible.

  I knew as soon as I walked out of the office that I was going to tell my family about my pregnancy today. I can't wait any longer. I already feel ridiculous for not knowing until nearly the end of the first trimester. At this point, it would only make it worse to wait longer than I already have. Even though the doctor reassured me that with the way my body functions and my lack of distinct symptoms, along with the fact that I've only had sex one time and we used a condom, it was perfectly understandable. I didn't feel the same way. I should have known. I should be more in tune with my body.

  The reality that I've been walking around pregnant for three months and didn't know only makes me more afraid to tell my family. I've never questioned their understanding or their compassion, and I've always admired them for how they are able to handle difficult situations with grace, but this feels like too much. It's a scandal like my family has never faced, and I'm terrified of what they'll think of me. That's why I chose to tell my grandmother first. Everyone says my father is the patriarch of the family, but the truth is Gigi is the matriarch. She's the heart of the family and one of my favorite people in the world. But she's also, exactly like I told Vincent, just a tad bit crazy. It's that little bit I'm relying on now. I hope I'll be able to talk to her more easily than I may be able to talk to my parents. Telling her will almost be like a practice run, preparing me to face them.