by Elle Casey
CHAPTER EIGHT
William
IT’S HARD TO BELIEVE THIS beautiful woman has gone from a just-one-night fling to being not only my housemate but also the mother of my child. I watch her through the kitchen window of our new home as she walks through the garden, her barely, almost imperceptibly rounded belly easy to see through the filmy material of her dress. I’ve begged her not to wear underthings while at home and today she has accommodated my fetish. The outline of her bottom is plain to see.
I grow hard imagining taking her out in the soft grass below the Japanese maple I planted when we moved here three months ago. We have christened nearly every part of the home and gardens as it is, but I shall never tire of worshipping her body. She is quite simply the most lovely and desirable woman I have ever met. I stroke the front of my trousers as I picture her naked underneath me.
My cellular phone rings, distracting me from my lechery. I turn away from the sexy vision of the goddess in the garden and instead focus on the caller.
“Edward! It’s been a long time, brother,” I say with genuine affection. Nothing can spoil my mood now, not even my wayward sibling.
“It’s not Edward, it’s Rachel.”
I frown. “Rachel? Do I know you, Rachel?”
“Of course you know me, silly. It’s me! Your old assistant?”
“Oh, right. Miss Meechum. Hello. And what may I ask are you doing calling from my brother’s phone?”
“He told me to call you.”
“Is that so?” Edward and I have hardly spoken since he left for Scotland three months ago. I’ve managed to stay completely removed from his business and that of my father as well, which suits me just fine.
“Yes,” Miss Meechum replies. “That is so.”
I admit to remaining a little peeved at the Jimson Weed debacle and have avoided family gatherings since my hospital discharge, not to mention the fact that the very mention of my father’s paramour is enough to have my lover and I both seeing red.
It’s quite disturbing for the two of us to see how easily my father has fallen under Ingrid’s charms. He is no longer the man I knew, the powerful figure at the head of a very successful business. Today he is spineless and weak, focused on only one thing: keeping Ingrid in his bed. It’s almost enough to have me offering to help. Almost.
“Well then?” I ask. “What is it?”
“What is what?”
I breathe out a sigh of frustration. “What did he want you to say to me, Miss Meechum? Was it something specific or were we to just exchange greetings?”
“Ummm … no. Well, I guess we were supposed to exchange greetings, but then there were some other things he wanted me to say.”
“Brilliant. Now as the greetings have been disposed of, I suppose you could get on with the remainder of the message.”
“Okay!” she says brightly. “But hey, how’s Jennifer doing? Is she getting huge yet? And how’s the new house? Frank says he’s going to buy you guys a puppy, by the way. Ingrid’s going to help him pick one out.”
“No!” I shout before I can stop myself. “Good God, do not let that woman choose a pet for my household. For all we know it’ll turn out to be a Hell Hound.”
“What kind of breed is that?”
I count to five before answering in an effort to get control of my temper. “Miss Meechum, I am quite busy as the moment, and much as I’d enjoy chatting with you about dog breeds and other stimulating topics, I really don’t have the time.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, Edward wanted me to pass on a message, and that message is that he needs you to come to Scotland, and it’s very important.”
I wait for more but am rewarded with merely silence.
“And …?”
“And what?” she asks.
“And what is the rest of the message?”
“There isn’t any rest. That’s it. He needs you to come.”
I hold the phone out and make as if to throttle it. If I could just strangle this thing in my hand, I’m certain I would feel much less desire to cause this woman bodily harm.
“Are you there?” says a tiny voice.
I put the phone back to my ear. “Yes, I am here. I wonder if you might be privy to the reason for which he needs to see me?”
She sighs. “Uhhh … that would be a … hmmm … no. No, I don’t. I came to his hotel room to get him and found his phone here in the room and that message on a notepad, but that’s it.”
“You have his phone …” I say, running through the possible scenarios in my mind. “You found it in his hotel room, you say…”
“Yes. Right next to the bed. And boy, is it messy in here. Your brother is a real pig. Pardon my French.”
My heart thumps strongly in my chest. “Take a photograph using his phone and send it to me.”
“You want me to take a selfie?”
“No, Miss Meechum, I want you to take a photograph of the room. Of the mess.” My brother might be a cad, but he’s also a complete nutter when it comes to his belongings. Everything has its place, and he makes sure that it’s there. All of his clothes hangers are evenly spaced and his shoes in a neat line, organized by color and style. The idea that he’d be living in a pigsty is more than distressing.
“Ohhhh, okay. That makes way more sense. I was going to say … I mean, what would Jennifer think about you wanting pictures of me?” She snorts. “That would be, like … super awkward.”
“Miss Meechum. The picture, please.” My toe begins to tap out a hurried rhythm on the travertine floor.
“Oh, right, okay. Hold on a sec.”
The sound of a camera shutter reaches my ears and then some other clicks come after. Less than a minute later and I have a beep letting me know I’ve received a message. Pulling the phone from my ear, I press the buttons that will bring the photograph up.
What I see makes my blood run cold.
“Miss Meechum, have you called my father and discussed this with him?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Please do it. Send him the photograph first.”
“Is Edward going to be in trouble for not making his bed?”
“Miss Meechum,” I say, my anger barely controlled, “Edward is a grown man and beyond disciplinary measures for poor housekeeping habits. However, if you take a closer look at what’s before you, I believe you would come to the conclusion that this room has been tossed by people searching for something. This is not merely a case of a man living a slovenly lifestyle.”
“Oh.” There’s a long pause. “Oh, my.” Another long pause. “Oh my goodness. I think you might be right!”
“Hallelujah,” I say, looking up at the ceiling. “Please, Rachel, call my father.”
“Should I call the police too? I think they have this yard here where they hang out. Scotland Yard they call it.”
“Scotland Yard … Good God, woman, just … just call my father. He’ll know what to do.”
“Okee dokee. I’m on it. Tell Jennifer I said hi.”
“Thank you. And I will. Good day, Miss Meechum.”
She giggles. “You’re so formal all the time.” She affects what I believe she thinks to be a British accent. “And a good day to you, Mr. Stratford, toodle loo, tah-tah, and cheerios.”
I sigh heavily. “It’s not a breakfast cereal, Miss Meechum. Not a breakfast cereal.” I disconnect the call before she can respond.
Jennifer steps through the French doors with a smile on her face and a few flowers in her hand. “Who was that?” She moves to the kitchen to get a vase.
“Miss Meechum,” I say, my mind preoccupied as it runs through possible scenarios involving my troublesome brother. What has he gotten himself into now?
“Oh, bummer, I wanted to talk to her.”
“Whatever for?” That pulls me out of my trance. “You’re not friends, are you?”
“Sure we are. I just had lunch with her last week.”
“I thought that was with Mia.”
“Rachel
was there too. Remember? I told you she wore that hot pink dress with the big peacock on the front?”
“Oh. I must have blocked that uncomfortable detail out.”
Jennifer sidles up to me and frowns. “What’s wrong, babe? You look stressed.”
“I don’t want to be melodramatic, but I think something’s happened with Edward.”
“Something? Something as in…?”
“Trouble.”
She pulls away. “Are you serious?”
I show her the photograph. “This is his room.”
“Man, he’s a pig.”
I take the phone back and look at it. “No, he’s quite fastidious, really. This is not his doing.”
She takes the phone and looks at it again. “So what are you going to do?”
“Me? Nothing. I told Miss Meechum to contact my father. Edward is there on company business, so my father needs to manage it.”
Jennifer gives me that look. The one that tells me I’m about to be doing something I rather wish I wasn’t.
“Babe, you can’t pretend like you’re not involved with them anymore,” she says.
“I most certainly can. Stratford Investments is no longer my concern, as you well know.”
She places her hand on my arm. “What I well know is that they are your family, and even though you haven’t seen your father much or Edward, it doesn’t mean you don’t feel responsible for them.”
“Nonsense. They are grown men. They don’t need my aid.”
“Maybe they don’t. Maybe they do. You should at least make sure before you decide what to do.”
She leaves me to fluff her flowers, and I glare at the telephone. Edward, that bloody plonker. What has he done now?
CHAPTER NINE
Jennifer
WILLIAM IS PACKED AND READY to leave for the airport when his phone rings.
“Stratford,” he says.
I watch him, admiring the way he fills out his traveling suit. He’s been working out like crazy, telling me he needs to get in shape for fatherhood. I think he’s actually afraid he’s not up to it. He’s even practicing getting up in the middle of the night, just in case. He makes me laugh and forget how scared I am to be a mom.
“Edward!” he exclaims. “Where in the bloody hell have you been?”
I put my hand on my belly as the baby makes some flutter-kicks inside. Or maybe it’s just gas bubbles. I’ve been told it’s too early for me to tell the difference, but it sure doesn’t feel like gas.
“That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever,” William growls. “I have my valise right here by my feet, and I’m thirty minutes from driving to the airport to come fetch you. What am I to do now?”
I wish I could hear what Edward is saying, but since I can’t, I wait. William is pissed, though, that’s for sure.
“Fine. Have it your way. You owe me, brother. You’ve shaved at least five years off my life.” A few more seconds and he pulls the phone from his ear to stare at it. “He rang off.” William looks at me, mystified. “He actually disconnected the call without even a by your leave.”
“Maybe he was in a hurry,” I offer, knowing full well that wasn’t the case.
“Maybe he needs a good punch-up.”
I walk over and rub William’s back. “And you’re just the guy to give it to him. Is he coming back soon?”
“Yes. He’s on his way to Glasgow right now to catch a flight to London. He just called to let me know there was no need for me to intervene.”
“Well, that was nice. He saved you a trip out there.”
“Nice? You must be joking. He puts us all in an uproar with his skiving off and then out of the blue bothers to call and say, ‘Oh, hello, I’m just jet-setting around Europe, no need to worry…’”
I shrug, knowing that trying to make William not mad at Edward is a lost cause. “You know how he is.”
“Yes,” he says, glaring, but not at me exactly. He’s just mad and Edward’s not here to take it out on. “He’ll not be invited to the wedding. I’m putting my foot down on this one.”
I blink several times. “Wedding? What wedding?”
His face turns red. “Heh-heh … did I say that out loud? Silly me.”
I cross my arms both cranky and nervous all of a sudden. “What wedding?”
William puts the phone on the counter and then wraps me in his arms, pulling me close. “I was just thinking that maybe … perhaps … one of these days you might want to … you know … go to one of those.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.” He’d better not be proposing like this, just because he got mad at Edward.
“I cannot?” He looks afraid.
“No, you can’t. If you plan on asking me an important question that will involve the rest of our lives together, you ask me the right way, not in reaction to Edward pissing you off.”
He pulls away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wasn’t going to do any such thing.”
“Then what wedding were you talking about?”
“The one between my father and Ingrid.”
My jaw drops open. “Are you serious?”
He gives me an awkward grin. “Surprise?”
I try to laugh but it comes out more like a bark. “Ya think?”
“He told me earlier today that they’ve planned it, a last-minute affair apparently, but with all the packing and worry over Edward I hadn’t yet broached the subject with you.”
Now I actually believe him and go from being cranky at what I imagined to be his casual blow-off of what should be a seriously romantic moment between us to being annoyed that he forgot to mention this important bit of news. Frank and Ingrid? Talk about a tragedy.
“When? When are they getting married?”
“This week-end. At my father’s home.”
“That’s two days from now!”
“Yes, quite.”
I swallow hard, trying to force the bile to stay where it belongs. “That is just … oh my. I don’t know what to say.” I could say that his father should be institutionalized for being such a nut job.
That woman he’s marrying has wreaked more havoc on this family than should be legal. So far she’s managed to insinuate herself into the family business, move into and redecorate Frank’s home, and even bring her three Great Danes to live there. William went over there once to pick up some documents from Frank and told me that he was practically mauled when he arrived. I saw the drool marks all over his pants, so I believe him.
“Yes.” William sighs. “The woman who tried to blackmail me with a sex tape she made of us is about to become … my step-mother. Shoot me now.”
My stomach churns. Are we going to be expected to hang out with them on Thanksgiving and Christmas? Oh my god! She’s going to be my child’s grandmother! All I can see in my mind is Snow White and the evil queen. She’ll for sure try to poison my baby with a bad apple, I know it.
“I seriously need a drink right now,” I say, feeling my face go pale.
“Orange juice,” William says, moving towards the fridge.
“Make it a double,” I say, taking a seat at the small table in the corner.
CHAPTER TEN
William
THE VERY WORST DAY OF my life has arrived. I tried to avoid it, tried to come down with a plague of some sort that would have necessitated my quarantine, but all was for naught. My father insisted I attend his wedding and act as his right-hand man. With Edward running amok, he said I was his very best choice, the only one he could truly count on to be there at the appointed time, and I couldn’t very well let the old man stand at the altar alone. He is my father, after all is said and done. The man who will be the grandfather to my child.
It makes me positively ill to see my father trussed up like a Christmas goose in all of his finery. Ingrid has pulled out all the stops, running up a tab that must be in the six figures to make this wedding appear out of nowhere to be something to be remembered and gossiped about for years
to come. Everyone who is anyone is in attendance, but the only person I want to see is my lovely housemate.
Jennifer looks stunning in her peach-colored confection. I want to eat her up, something I plan to do the moment we leave this ridiculous farce. Drowning in her love always helps me to disconnect from the pressures of the real world.
Unfortunately, she left me to go sit with the guests, to give her feet a rest, she said. I’m in my father’s suite, acting as his support figure in the moments before he sacrifices his entire life to live with the spawn of Satan.
“Are you sure, Father, that this is what you want to do? Because if you have any doubts, any at all, even just an inkling of a doubt, I would fully support your decision to cancel.” It distresses me that he’s changed so much since being with her. It’s as if she’s given him a brain transplant, removing his rational, thinking mind and replacing it with that of a lovesick adolescent.
“Cancel? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m in love. When you’re in love with a woman, you marry her.” He adjusts his tie in the mirror. “Which begs the question … when are you going to make an honest woman of Jennifer? I don’t want my grandson being born a bastard.”
A tight smile rises to the occasion. “Ever the silver-tongued devil …”
“I’m merely saying aloud what the rest of the world is thinking.”
“What you are doing is begging to be standing alone at that altar. I’ll not have you bad-mouthing my lady or my child. You have better things to concentrate on now, anyway. Like how you’re going to manage your honeymoon. They’ll not let you bring Jimson Weed on the airplane. You’ll be arrested for illegal drug trafficking.” There. Let him suck that for a while, bloody prat.
“I don’t need that anymore. It was just a hump and I got over it. Ingrid is bangers in bed. Really, she …”
I hold up a hand and move to leave the room. “One more word and I’m gone. I swear it, I’ll leave.” My stomach is not strong enough for that topic of conversation.
“Fine. Fecking nun.” He brushes the sides of his hair with his hands as he admires his reflection.
