Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  "Yeah, some girl left it behind, I think."

  "You let a girl keep something at your suite? That's almost like commitment."

  "I don't think you want to be making fun of me right now,” he told her mildly as he offered her his hand to help her up off the couch.

  "I could use a bubble bath,” she said, and the way she said it reminded him that she was just about holding on to her composure by a fine thread.

  "Okay,” he said and leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “This will be okay, Sophie."

  She didn't say anything. She sniffled.

  He drew back and placed a light hand at the small of her back, nudging her out of his office. “I'm going to be in my suite for a bit, if you need me,” he told Marjorie.

  "Oh,” said Sophie as he kept her moving toward the elevator. “Are you busy? I should have realized how you were busy, and—"

  "I'm not busy,” he told her. “Hush.” He leaned over and called for the elevator, and she did hush. She didn't say another word to him as they went to his suite, as he dug out the bubble bath, as he left her in the suite's enormous bathroom and collapsed onto his couch.

  A baby. He needed help. He needed lots of help. He was way out of his league. He had no idea what he was supposed to do when his baby sister told him she was pregnant.

  He wanted badly to tell their mother and let her deal with it but Sophie had asked him not to and frankly he understood where the kid was coming from. It was just...

  A baby.

  Basically it would be his baby, just like every baby that his female relatives had, because they were completely incapable of choosing appropriate men to father their children. Damn it.

  He needed help. Sophie needed to talk to a woman—somebody who wasn't, just below the surface, simmering with disgust that he kept being forced to raise children he didn't want, and with the terrible, tragic disappointment of his lovely, splendid sister having to go through this.

  He needed someone else. Lucy was not appropriate. Lucy was an employee. He didn't want her entangled in his personal life.

  He could call Monica, but Monica had been irrational with her own pregnancy of late, and the last thing he needed was for Sophie to be rendered any more irrational than she naturally was.

  But, damn it, he needed someone.

  * * * *

  Aubrey had moved on to sketches of her portrait subject. The background was done. It was a pretty simple background, just that lovely gray-green color and a modern slash of white across the lower left-hand corner. Now she had to work on poses and the rest of the props. She had had Moira posing for sketches all day, and she would polish them, pick her favorites, and let Moira choose the best.

  Unfortunately, Moira could not be quiet while she posed. She insisted on talking. For a little while Aubrey got a small reprieve from the endless chatting while Moira was on the phone with Hannah Dunbar's mother for a long time, giggling about the possibility of their children getting married. Aubrey sketched sourly until Moira finally hung up the phone and sighed and asked, “How was your Valentine's Day?"

  Aubrey considered the question. Well, A-Rod had been traded to the Yankees, Gray had exercised his uncanny talent for making simply holding hands even better than sex with Paul had been, and her date with Doug had consisted of him babbling about his clarinet and reviewing in detail every nightclub they could go to until she finally convinced him she had a headache and had to be taken home, where she had had to endure a bit more groping than she was comfortable with. But other than that...

  "Great,” she told Moira, smiling brightly.

  "I heard that Doug took you to Picasso's. That was so thoughtful of him."

  It was Gray who had been thoughtful, damn him to hell. “Mm,” said Aubrey noncommittally, sketching quickly.

  "Gray had a dinner date with Hannah. I think it went well."

  Great. “That's good."

  "Gray can be very charming."

  Of all the words she could use to describe Gray, “charming” wasn't one of them. “Really?” she drawled.

  "Yes. Oh, I know he was a bit abrupt at dinner when you met him, but he doesn't quite approve of the portrait thing. He thinks he covers up when he doesn't approve of things, but he's appallingly bad at it. He doesn't have much patience, really. I mean, he never loses his temper, but he can be a bit abrupt. And he can also be quite charming.” Moira's voice turned dry. “He gets that from his father, who was also too charming for his own good. Or for my good either, as it turned out."

  "Ah,” said Aubrey, because she wasn't sure what else to say. Lovely to hear that Gray had some of his deadbeat father in him. That was probably behind the fact that he'd avoided starting a family of his own up to that point.

  "I think Hannah Dunbar would be lovely for Gray,” mused Moira. “I mean, she would make him a perfect wife. Gray needs a wife with class, unlike the women he tends to date. Hannah has so much class. She would give him lots of babies. And she would take care of him. Gray doesn't allow himself to be taken care of. He's too busy taking care of everybody else."

  That was when the knock sounded on the door, thank God, because Aubrey thought she would gag if Moira waxed eloquent over Gray and Hannah's storybook romance any more.

  "Can I get up?” Moira asked politely.

  "Please,” Aubrey replied, trying not to sound too grateful.

  Moira swung the door open on Gray. Aubrey felt his presence swoop into the suite in a suffocating manner. Aubrey leaned more over her sketch, moving the charcoal in a concentrated manner.

  "Gray!” she heard Moira exclaim. “Is something wrong?"

  "No,” he answered shortly. “Can I talk to you?"

  When Moira didn't answer, Aubrey sneaked a glance at him and confirmed the fact that yes, he was indeed talking to her. “Huh? What?” Had he not understood her carefully enunciated ground rule?

  "I need to talk to you for a second. Are you in the middle of something?” He craned his neck to look down at her sketch.

  She pressed the paper against her chest to keep it out of his sight and frowned. “Yes, I'm in the middle of something. I'm working."

  "Gray,” his mother said anxiously, “what's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong. I just need to talk to Aubrey for a second."

  Aubrey could feel Moira looking from one to the other of them and, so as not to provoke any more speculation than Gray already stupidly had, she stood up. “Fine."

  Gray looked relieved. She followed him out of the suite. He closed the door behind him and kept walking, down the hallway.

  She stopped. “Where are you going?"

  Gray paused by the elevator, gesturing to her.

  Yeah. Like she was going to come like a damn dog. She folded her arms and regarded him with what she hoped was a threatening look. “What about my ground rule don't you understand?"

  Gray, looking disgusted, stalked over to her and put his mouth close to her ear. “Do you want my mother to hear everything?” he hissed between his teeth and then stalked back to the elevator.

  Damn. He had a point. She followed him to the elevator, close enough so that he would hear her if she whispered, which meant she had to tip her head back to look him in the eye. “I repeat. What about my ground rule don't you understand?"

  Gray looked as if he had been about to say something completely different, but he stopped and looked down at her with interest. “This was your ground rule about us not seeing each other again?” he clarified thoughtfully.

  "Yes."

  "No, I understood all of that. Listen—"

  "So you're just ignoring me? You're ignoring my ground rule?"

  "I told you I was going to. I told you I thought it was a silly ground rule. I need—"

  Arrogant bastard. Aubrey whirled on her heel to beat a dignified retreat.

  But Gray's hand clamped around her arm, pulling her back, making her feel like she'd just run into a live wire. “Wait. I'm sorry. I really need your help."

  Aubre
y pulled out of his grasp, away from his hand, feeling shaken by the jolt of electricity. “No touching,” she warned him.

  He held his hands up in the air, safely away from her. “Okay. That's a good ground rule. I can live with that ground rule. I need your help, Aubrey.” Keeping his hands harmlessly in the air, he touched her instead with serious periwinkle-blue eyes.

  Aubrey sighed and recited her mantra. To herself, of course. “What?” she snapped—because she just couldn't say no when he looked at her so beseechingly. “What do you want?"

  Gray's gaze flickered toward the door to his mother's suite then back to her. He lowered his voice. “I just found out my sister is pregnant."

  "Oh,” said Aubrey, because she didn't know what else to say.

  Gray began pacing. In a tight, constrained path. Aubrey realized that if she'd spent a little more time studying him instead of yelling at him, she would have sensed the tension in him long before this. He was coiled tight, and it came gushing out of him in a tidal wave of words.

  "It's been a hell of a day. And I don't know what to do about it. She doesn't want Mother told, and I can understand that. My mother can be intimidating, and Sophie's just a kid, and she's spoiled and babied, I'll admit it, I babied her, because she is the baby, and also the only girl, and of course I babied her. I'm only human after all. But the fact remains that even though I see why she doesn't want to tell Mom, I have got to tell someone. I need someone to come help me with this."

  Aubrey took an instinctive step back, thinking, Oh, no. She didn't want to get involved here. “Gray—"

  "Because the thing is that I am too emotionally entangled. I mean, I am so angry with her for being stupid enough to get herself in this situation, and I need to calm down a little bit before I have a real conversation with her about this and the fact is that I am not calm yet and you are not emotionally entangled and you could be calm."

  "Gray—” Aubrey began again.

  "She's only twenty years old. I mean, twenty years old. She's just a kid, for crying out loud, and I know she's scared to death and overwhelmed and the last thing she needs is for me to yell at her or make her feel like I'm disappointed in her, which, obviously, I am, but it would be better for me not to add more to her plate on top of what she already has on her plate."

  "Gray, I think this is a family issue—"

  "No. I just explained to you—"

  "But what do you want me to do?"

  "Just talk to her. I think she just needs to talk this out with someone who's not ... well ... me.” He winced a bit. “That came out wrong. That made me sound cowardly. That isn't what I meant. I just ... I'm close to kicking a wall here, Aubrey."

  "Okay, well, don't do that, Gray. But ... I don't know anything about being pregnant."

  "You cannot possibly know less than me. Really all you need to do is listen. Really. Just until I calm down a bit. Please. Please.” He finally stopped pacing and looked at her with such ridiculous hope that she—

  Oh, damn it, damn it, damn it! She closed her eyes. “Okay.” She opened them. “Okay. Fine."

  "You can't tell my mother,” he said quickly.

  "I figured that out,” she assured him dryly. “What's your plan for getting me out of here?"

  Gray paused. “Well, I didn't really have one."

  Apparently Aubrey had to do everything. “We'll say it's a surprise. For her. That you're planning a surprise for her. Is that something you would do?"

  "Well ... yeah, I guess,” he said dubiously, “but then we're going to have to come up with some sort of surprise."

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, not right now we don't. And not once your sister tells her she's pregnant. Then your mother will have much more important things to deal with."

  "Right,” Gray agreed.

  "I'll do the talking. Something tells me you're not a very good liar."

  A frown flickered across Gray's face, but she ignored it and walked back to Moira's suite and knocked on the door. Moira opened it immediately. “What—?” she began curiously.

  "Gray had a great idea,” Aubrey told her. “A really fantastic idea."

  Moira was taken in immediately. “Really! What is it?"

  "It's a surprise. I can't tell you. But I really want to go work it out with him.” Aubrey collected her sketches and charcoal and glanced at Gray, who nodded in affirmation.

  "It's a terrific idea,” he said.

  "But what—"

  Aubrey shoved Gray out of the room and smiled at Moira brightly. “See you later.” She shut the door behind them. Gray had already called for the elevator and it came right away; he was holding it open for her.

  "But—!” Moira's voice called after them as Aubrey ducked onto the elevator and Gray released the doors.

  "Think she's suspicious?” asked Gray.

  "Probably. But not that your sister's pregnant, at least. What's her name? Sophie, right?"

  "Yes. Sophie.” There was a moment of silence. Gray watched the elevator light climb upward in floors. Aubrey watched him.

  "Gray,” she ventured after a second.

  "Mm?"

  "What do you want Sophie to do?"

  He looked at her quizzically. “Do?"

  "With the baby. About the baby."

  Gray looked confused. “Well, I ... I don't know."

  Aubrey decided she had to be blunt. “Do you want her to have it?"

  Gray closed his eyes briefly. Then he swore and looked at Aubrey. “She does what she wants. That's what I want. I don't give much of a damn either way, to be honest. I just want Sophie to be happy."

  The elevator doors suddenly whooshed open and they walked out. “This way.” Gray walked over to the service elevator, stuck a room key into the slot provided, and called for it.

  "The service elevator?"

  "My suite's not accessible from the general public elevator,” he explained, stepping onto it and sliding his room key again, entering a PIN this time as well, before punching the very top button.

  They didn't have far to go before the elevator rocked to a gentle stop and opened ... right on his room, she realized. Right on his foyer.

  A marble foyer. A grayish-whitish marble. Gray stepped out without even looking around. Aubrey decided she shouldn't gape, but he had an actual Gainsborough hanging over the fireplace in the next room. She had to pause in the doorway and look at that.

  Gray turned back to her. She felt his eyes on her, so she looked back at him. “I thought you knew nothing about art."

  "Huh?"

  "That's a Gainsborough.” She waved vaguely.

  "A what?"

  "The painting. In the living room. It's a Gainsborough, isn't it?"

  "Oh, the one of the girl over the mantelpiece? I don't know what it is. I like the painting. I hope it's something, because it cost a small fortune.” Aubrey stalled at the entrance to his living room, gaping, so Gray decided the painting must have been worth it. He walked back and stood with her and regarded the portrait. “Is it Impressionist?” he asked after a moment.

  She laughed. “No. Oh, Gray, do you need art lessons. The money you must have...” She sighed heavily. “Why aren't you collecting?” Then she realized with alarm what she'd just said. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound—"

  "I do need art lessons,” he agreed mildly. “We'll work out a schedule for that later. For now..."

  Yes. There was a reason why she was here. She followed him through the main living area of the suite, less formal than the Gainsborough room had been, through that to his bedroom, which she steadfastly refused to look at. He knocked on an adjoining door.

  "Is that you, Gray?” called a girl's voice.

  "Yes, Sophie, it's me.” Gray swung open the door, revealing a pretty blonde girl sitting in a dressing area of the bathroom, dressed in an off-white terrycloth robe and brushing out her hair.

  She looked a great deal like Doug, that nearly white hair, those very bright eyes, the good looks that were much more striking on
the sister than the brother. Aubrey decided they must both resemble their father, because they looked nothing like Gray or Moira.

  "This is Aubrey Thomas,” Gray told his sister.

  Sophie looked uncertain. “Hi,” she ventured.

  Aubrey smiled at her. “Hi."

  "She's a friend of mine,” said Gray.

  Oh, thought Aubrey. Was that what she was?

  "I told her about your predicament,” continued Gray.

  "You did what?” shrieked Sophie.

  "Don't you think you need to talk to a fellow female?” Gray asked calmly.

  "No,” she retorted.

  "Well, I do. Aubrey's an extremely good listener. You need to talk about this."

  "I don't want to talk about this,” said Sophie petulantly.

  "Well, you need to,” Gray snapped. “Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. You have decisions to make and you need to start making them. So. I have things to do at the office. You and Aubrey can order up lunch and have a pleasant chat."

  And then, just like that, Gray departed, as if everything was settled. Aubrey could have killed him, dropping her so nonchalantly into the middle of this family disaster.

  But she smiled at Sophie gamely, trying to make friends. “You want some lunch?"

  "Are you sleeping with him?” Sophie asked, eyes narrowed.

  Aubrey was instantly offended—and then told herself not to be. Gray probably didn't usually associate with women he wasn't sleeping with. “No."

  "Yeah, you didn't seem like his type. I mean, red hair, yes, but no...” Sophie trailed off, as if the rest of her sentence wasn't obvious from the way that her gaze dropped to Aubrey's rather small breasts. Sophie cleared her throat.

  Aubrey kept smiling and repeated, “You want some lunch?"

  Sophie watched her for a second. Then she admitted, “No. Thanks. My stomach isn't settled. I don't know if that's because I'm pregnant or because I'm scared."

  "Probably a little of both. Some people eat when they're nervous. Me, I can never get myself to eat anything when I'm nervous."

  Sophie smiled tentatively. “Yes,” she said, “that's how I am."

  "We'll order some cheese and crackers. That might help your stomach.” Aubrey turned and walked into Gray's bedroom and did not look at the bed. She picked up the phone on the bedside table and dialed the number for room service and said, when they answered, “Yes. Could I have a tray of crackers and cheese sent up, please? And some tea and toast as well."