by Teri Wilson
“I don’t know.” She stood, picked up the walker and positioned it closer to his chair. “We’re late for dinner. We can talk about this another time.”
He glanced at the walker, but didn’t budge. “Don’t let the choices your parents made rob you of a lifetime of happiness, Evangeline. Your mom and dad both made terrible mistakes. Mistakes that caused you deep pain. No one knows that more than I do.”
She shook her head. No. Please no. She didn’t want to go there. Painful childhood memories had no place at a pizza party.
But Grandpa Bob kept on talking. To make matters worse, Olive and Bee were gazing up at her as though she’d just crushed their dreams of being flower girls. Or in their case, flower dogs. “But it’s time to let the past die. You’re having a child. That means a new life. A new future. Not just for the baby, but for you, too.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Do you? Because I’m not so sure you do. Trust yourself, sweetheart. You’ll know love when you see it. It won’t look anything like what your parents had. It will look more like sacrifice than selfishness.” At last he stood, meeting her gaze head-on. “It’ll be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And when it’s real, it has a way of repairing old wounds. Believe it.”
She smiled a bittersweet smile. “I’ll try.”
Believe it.
Believe.
Again, the echo in her head sounded so much like Ryan’s voice that it was almost as if he was right there.
Whispering in her ear.
Chapter Fourteen
Evangeline stood at the head of one of the larger dining tables in Bennington 8 with six bottles of wine lined up in front of her. Three reds and three whites, arranged from light to dark.
“So to recap, the wines we’re featuring this evening are all from France.” She glanced at the eight people seated at the table—all of them servers scheduled to work when the restaurant opened in fifteen minutes. Then she pointed at one of them. “Gia, can you name the regions represented by this selection?”
Gia nodded. “The chenin blanc and muscadet are both from the Loire region. We’ve got a sauvignon blanc and a red blend from Bordeaux, plus two reds from Burgundy—one light and the other bold.”
“Excellent. I think we’re ready. Any questions before the doors open?” Evangeline gave the group a final once-over, but no one raised a hand. “Very well. I’ll be here all night if you need anything. As always, I’ll drop by each table personally, but it’s important for everyone to have a good understanding of all the wines on offer.”
The servers thanked her, and the few that still had wine remaining in their tasting glasses finished it off before leaving to prepare their tables for the evening. Evangeline’s glass was still full, of course. But she’d placed it discreetly behind the row of bottles, and no one appeared to notice that she wasn’t actually drinking anything.
So far, so good. Her evening wine briefing with the staff had gone exceptionally well, and according to the maître d’, Bennington 8 would have a full house tonight. They were booked solid from opening until close.
She’d be on her feet for hours. With any luck, she could escape to Ryan’s office for a few minutes of rest before the doors opened. It wasn’t until she gathered the bottles and returned them to the wine cooler that she realized he hadn’t stopped by her evening tasting like he usually did.
She situated the muscadet back in place, only to realize she’d put the chenin blanc where the Bordeaux was supposed to be. An atypical mistake. But she was feeling a bit...unsettled.
She and Ryan had barely seen one another in the past twenty-four hours. He’d left her a voice mail message while she was at the pizza party letting her know that he’d been called away overnight on business. Something about a hotel property that was about to go on the market in Chicago. He and Zander were thinking about buying it.
She’d been relieved at first. At least that’s what she’d told herself. She needed time to shake off the things that Grandpa Bob had said to her. Time to get the ridiculous idea of marriage out of her head. And she couldn’t very well do that while she was sleeping in Ryan’s bed, with her head on his chest and his hands buried in her hair.
Time to herself would be good.
But then she’d let herself into his apartment, and it had felt so cavernous without him there. So empty. Even Olive and Bee missed him. They’d kept hopping off the sofa during her Say Yes to the Dress marathon to scour the penthouse in search of him.
Something’s wrong, she thought as she switched the chenin blanc and the Bordeaux. She’d thought he would be back by now. She should have at least heard from him, shouldn’t she?
Then again, why should he keep her apprised of his every move? As Grandpa Bob had so bluntly pointed out, she wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t even his girlfriend. She just happened to be pregnant with his baby.
There’s more to it than that, and you know it.
She squared her shoulders, shut the door to the wine cooler and made her way to the maître d’ stand. Now wasn’t the time to analyze her relationship. Or obsess over why Ryan hadn’t contacted her. Or, more disturbingly, why she’d watched six straight episodes of a show that centered around women choosing their wedding dresses. She had less than ten minutes to herself before she began recommending wine for Manhattan’s elite.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be in Mr. Wilde’s office until we open,” she said.
The maitre d’ nodded. “Yes, Miss Holly.”
His office was empty, which she supposed should be a relief. She wasn’t sure how she would have felt if he’d been here all evening and hadn’t popped in on her tasting like he usually did. But he’d assured her he’d be back before Bennington 8 opened for dinner. Everyone was on high alert in case Carlo Bocci showed up.
Evangeline doubted he’d come on a Friday night, though. So far all of the restaurant reviews he’d conducted in New York City had been done on weeknights, and Mon Ami Jules was still the only one that had been awarded a Michelin star.
Still, she was starting to worry.
She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the brandy-colored distressed leather sofa that was situated in the corner of the office, and a chill coursed through her. The snow hadn’t let up for days, and it was beginning to look like the city was sleeping beneath a fluffy white down comforter.
She sat up and spied one of Ryan’s impeccable suit jackets draped over a hanger on the back of the door. A blanket would have been sublime, but also Armani wool would do nicely.
After sliding the jacket from its hanger, she returned to the sofa and snuggled beneath it in a semifetal position. The cool silk lining was soft against her cheek. She closed her eyes and took a deep inhale, filling her senses with his scent—that unique bouquet that was pure romance. Pure Ryan. Oak and pine, with just a hint of sandalwood and crushed wild violets. If he’d been a wine, he’d be a rich, bold red. Her favorite kind.
A second passed, maybe two. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall asleep.
Thank you, first trimester.
She wasn’t sure when exactly she gave up the fight or how long she’d been unconscious when a low, familiar voice dragged her from her slumber.
“Hey there, sleeping beauty.”
Her eyelashes fluttered open, and she found Ryan bent over her. There were snow flurries in his hair, and laugh lines around his eyes and it was such a surprise, such a relief, to see him that the hot sting of tears pressed against the backs of her eyes.
This was bad.
So very bad.
Don’t fall in love with him. You can’t.
“You’re back.” She blinked furiously.
“I am.” He leaned down and pressed a slow, soft kiss to her lips. His mouth was cold against hers. He tasted of icicles and roasted chestnuts. “Happy to see me?”
M
ore than she wanted to admit, even to herself. “Very.”
They’d never kissed in the office before. Never even held hands. This was a first, and it should have scared her, but it didn’t. It felt right. “How was your trip?”
“Quite productive.” His smile dimmed. “But now I’m worried about you. Are you okay, love?”
“I’m fine. I had a few minutes after the staff tasting, so I thought I’d rest for a bit before we open.”
He went quiet for a beat too long, and that’s when she noticed the glittering lights of the theater district shining through the office’s corner window. The sky was inky black.
“Oh my God.” Panic gathered in a tight knot in her chest. She sat up so fast that her head spun a little. “What time is it? How long have I been asleep?”
“It’s about eight thirty. Don’t worry. I’m sure everything is fine.” He brushed the hair back from her face. “Just tell me again that you’re feeling all right.”
“I am. I promise, but I need to get upstairs. We’re booked solid tonight.” She’d promised to visit every table personally. Why hadn’t anyone come to find her? What was going on up there?
She flew to her feet, and Ryan’s jacket—her makeshift blanket—fell to the floor. She’d forgotten all about it. “Oh, sorry.”
She bent to pick it up, but he beat her to the punch. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
He gathered the Armani in his hands, but as he stood back up, something fell from one of its pockets. Evangeline was already hurrying toward the door, and she tripped over it. She stumbled into Ryan, and he caught her by the shoulders so she wouldn’t fall.
“Oops, that was a close one.” She laughed, but when she pulled back and caught a glimpse of Ryan’s face, she knew something was wrong. He’d gone ashen.
“Ryan, what is it?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. Zander...”
She wasn’t sure what he said next, because when she followed his gaze to the white box at her feet all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat. Impossibly loud, impossibly fast, as if her heart was trying to burst out of her chest.
“Eve, don’t,” Ryan’s voice managed to cut through the fog in her head. “Please.”
But it was too late. She’d already bent to pick up the box. She had to. She needed to be sure the letters on the cardboard really spelled out the words she thought she’d read.
They couldn’t.
But they did.
Noninvasive Prenatal Paternity Test.
* * *
This can’t be happening.
Ryan had spent just about every minute he was away thinking about the things he wanted to say to Evangeline upon his return—the promises he wanted to make, the question he wanted to ask her. He’d run through a dozen different scenarios in his head, but not one of them had involved the box that she was currently clutching in her trembling hands.
That godforsaken paternity test.
Damn you, Zander.
A knot of regret wound itself tightly around his throat. He couldn’t blame Zander for this disaster. His cousin’s motives had been pure. The blame for the wounded look in Evangeline’s sapphire eyes rested squarely on his own shoulders. The minute he’d laid eyes on that box, he’d known it was trouble. He should have disposed of it instead of shoving it inside his coat pocket.
But he hadn’t. He’d dropped it in the pocket of his Armani as if it was something as inconsequential as a paper clip instead of a hand grenade. And now that grenade had just detonated in the face of the woman he loved.
“Here.” She shoved the box at his chest. “You dropped something.”
“This isn’t what it looks like. I promise it’s not.” God, he hated himself.
“It looks like a paternity test,” she said flatly.
He chucked it in the trash can beside his desk with such force that the wastebasket fell over, rolled across the floor and bumped into the wall. “It’s garbage.”
She held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain, Ryan. I understand. I really do.”
But the pain in her gaze told him she didn’t. She thought he felt no different about her than he’d felt about Natalie. She thought he didn’t trust her. Hell, she probably thought he’d toss her and her sweet little dogs out on the street if the baby she was carrying wasn’t his. Why else would he be toting around a paternity test in his pocket?
That wasn’t how he felt at all. Not even close. “Understand this, Eve. I’m in love with you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You’re not.”
They were right back to square one. Right back to the morning he’d woken up in her non-pet-friendly apartment in the Village and she’d insisted that he didn’t actually want to see her again.
Once more, he was losing her.
“This is all a terrible misunderstanding, and I can explain.” She had to believe him. He’d drag Zander into this if he had to. It couldn’t be too late.
“I need to go,” she said quietly.
She walked past him, and he turned to stop her, struggling to find the words that would convince her to stay and hear him out. But then she opened the door, and Elliot stood on the other side with his hand poised to knock.
His gaze shot back and forth between them, and he let out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank God you’re both here.”
“No. Not now.” Ryan held up a hand. “Whatever it is, it’s going to have to...”
“Carlo Bocci is here,” Elliot blurted, cutting him off.
Evangeline froze. “What?”
Elliot nodded frantically and tried to elaborate, but his head bobbed up and down faster than he could get the words out. “Yes...he’s...”
“Let’s calm down,” Ryan said, stunned at how calm he managed to sound. “We’re ready for this. We’ve been preparing for weeks.”
“You’re right. Of course. We’re ready.” Beads of sweat were breaking out across Elliot’s forehead. He looked anything but ready.
Ryan’s temples throbbed. Why the hell did this have to happen now? He could barely think straight. All his focus was concentrated on Evangeline and repairing the mess he’d just created. At least Bocci’s appearance had kept her there. For the time being, anyway.
Focus. “How long has he been here? Where exactly is he?”
Elliot took a deep breath and managed to get himself together long enough to spit out the facts. “He just checked in with the maître d’. He’s early. He’s got a nine o’clock reservation under a fake name—Mark Spencer. The maître d’ recognized him right away and is planning on seating him at table twenty-five.”
“Good.” Ryan nodded. Situated in a semiprivate alcove at the right of the entrance, table twenty-five was the best seat in the house. It was spacious and had a sweeping view of the city. They’d been limiting reservations at this particular spot for weeks in anticipation of this exact scenario. “Why hasn’t he been seated yet?”
“He asked to visit the bar for a cocktail first.” The last remaining splash of color drained from Elliot’s face. They hadn’t planned on such a request.
Evangeline frowned. “Is that normal?”
“I have no idea,” Ryan muttered. “But at least it buys us some time.”
“Right.” Evangeline took a deep breath. “I’ve got to go. I need to select his wine.”
She was correct, of course—they couldn’t keep standing there.
But Ryan was reluctant to let her out of his sight. Actually, that was an understatement. The thought of her walking out the door was killing him.
All in, remember?
He had to trust her. They could finish their discussion later, after Bocci had gone. Everything would be fine. It had to.
“Go.” A dull, cavernous pain bloomed in place of his heart.
He implored her with his gaze. We’re no
t finished here.
But she turned around and left without casting even a cursory glance in his direction.
“Mr. Wilde.” Elliot cleared his throat.
Ryan tore his attention from the empty spot that Evangeline had just vacated and tried to act as if he was on top of things. Totally in control. “Yes?”
“Should I call the other Mr. Wilde and let him know Bocci is here?”
“I’ll do it.” Zander would want to know what was going on, and Ryan should be the one to fill him in.
Plus, making the call and dealing with Zander would give him something to do. He couldn’t pace around Bennington 8 for the duration of Bocci’s meal, analyzing every bite the reviewer ate. Nor could he pace the length of his office, waiting to talk to Evangeline. He’d lose his mind.
“Very well,” Elliot said. “I’ll get back to work.”
“Perfect.” Someone needed to keep an eye on the rest of the hotel. The night was spinning out of control. Ryan didn’t want to contemplate what else could go wrong. “Thank you, Elliot.”
The manager gave him a final nod and then left.
Ryan raked a hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted beyond measure. He looked around the office. The overturned trash can and his suit jacket, forgotten in a heap on the floor, were the only outward signs of the chaos that had just taken place. He’d expected worse. It felt like a tornado had just ripped through his life. Shouldn’t the paint be peeling off the walls or the building be crumbling down around him?
He righted the trash can, and bile rose to the back of his throat when he caught a glimpse of the paternity test lying at the bottom of the bin. He swallowed it down, picked his jacket up off the floor and hung it back on the hanger where it belonged. Small things, but it helped him feel like he had some semblance of control over his world.
But his life no longer revolved around the Bennington. Not the way it used to. Evangeline was his world now. He wasn’t sure when exactly it happened. But it had. At some point during the past two months, everything had shifted. Everything had slipped so perfectly into place—his mind, his heart, his very existence.
