Keeping Her

by Cora Carmack

  “But you won’t have even been engaged for a year at that point.”

  This was one thing I wouldn’t submit to her on. There was no way in hell that I was waiting over a year to get married. Garrick and I had had enough waiting for a lifetime.

  “Yes, but we’ve been together over a year.”

  “No, you—­” His mother stopped, her brows furrowed and one finger in the air. “Wait, you’ve been together over a year?”

  I nodded, and then immediately wished I hadn’t. Her eyes narrowed, and she fixed me with a look that was more sledgehammer than fishhook.

  “I was under the impression that the two of you met in Philadelphia. But Garrick would have been teaching in Texas a year ago.”

  I swallowed. God, please don’t tell me that Garrick hadn’t told them about how we’d met. After he told Graham and his big speech about not lying or being ashamed, I had just assumed that he’d told them, the basics anyway.

  Based on the calculating look on his mother’s face, I was going to say that was a big, fat no. “So the two of you met in Texas?”

  I tried to say yes, but really I just made noises and nodded.

  “How old are you, Bliss?”

  I could have narcolepsy! That would get me out of this question, right? I could just pretend to pass out. Or maybe I could really pass out?

  My non-­answer must have been enough to confirm things for her because she spun on her heel and started in Garrick’s direction.

  I darted around her and held my hands up.

  “Mrs. Taylor, wait. We didn’t do anything wrong. I promise.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Her smile gave me chills. “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

  “You don’t?” I was shocked into silence.

  “No, dear. My son is the one who has done something wrong.”

  I flinched back like she’d slapped me. I had enough doubts about Garrick being with me in my head, all of which seemed to have compounded in the hours since we’d arrived. I didn’t need her adding any more to that. I stood up taller, and in my plain clearance dress, I faced off against her immaculate, no doubt heinously expensive cocktail dress.

  “With all due respect, Mrs. Taylor. You’re wrong. Your son loves me. And I love him. We’re both adults, as we were when we met. If you make a big deal out of this now, you’ll only ruin this party and possibly the already unstable relationship you have with your son. He’s twenty-­six, almost twenty-­seven years old. He has a career and a fiancée, and you’re not going to win any battles by treating him like he’s a kid again. He’s an adult,” I reiterated, though that was another word that had been said and thought so many times it was beginning to lose its meaning. “We both are. How we met doesn’t matter.”

  Her red lips flattened into a line, and her gaze felt sharp enough to slice bread. She made this sound in her throat, not quite a laugh, more like a noise of surprise. “You have a head on your shoulders after all.”

  Hey there, backhanded compliment. We’ve been seeing a lot of each other.

  She was the one missing vital organs . . . like a heart. She stared at me for a few moments longer, and then smoothly turned her back to where Garrick was standing.

  “Two questions, Bliss.”

  Did I really just talk her down? Holy crap.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She clicked her nails together and looked away from me as she asked, “Would you like to have lunch on Thursday?”

  I was so shocked, I nearly choked on my saliva, which would have totally ruined the whole head-­on-­your-­shoulders moment from a few seconds ago.

  I forced myself not to say, “Um,” and continued, “Yes. Lunch. I would like that.”

  “Fantastic. And the last thing. You want to get married soon?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we do.”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  I blanched and said firmly, “No. Absolutely not. I’m not . . . we’re not . . .”

  I stopped. Full stop. Screeching-­tires-­stopped. I resisted the urge to reach for my day planner. I didn’t have it anyway. I’d left it back in Philly. But I have a vague recollection of jotting down a note to get my birth control prescription refilled.

  How long ago had that been? I’d been finishing up that run of Peter Pan and we were doing the maximum number of shows a week because it was selling so well. Things had been so busy, and . . . damn it.

  “I—­”

  I closed my gaping mouth and gave her a tight smile. I shook my head and said, “No. Nothing like that.”

  Shit. Why was my memory such a blur? This is what happened when you worked multiple jobs with no consistency, and you did the same shows day in and day out. It became really fucking hard to distinguish one day from another.

  Mrs. Taylor said, “Okay then. I’ll let you get back to my son.”

  I nodded, already a thousand miles away.

  “And Bliss?”

  I lifted my head and met her cool gaze again.

  “No more breaking things, okay?”

  “Right.” I gave a pained laugh. “Of course.”

  She walked away, her heels clicking against the marble floor, and I should have felt relieved to see her go. I should have been glad when Graham and Rowland came over to check on me, but I wasn’t either of those things.

  Because if I was remembering correctly, I was late.

  And I was going to be sick.

  “DIDN’T REALIZE YOU were that pissed. You must be a real lightweight.”

  Rowland and Graham were waiting when I got out of the bathroom, and I didn’t know whether I wanted to find Garrick or avoid him, whether I wanted to scream or cry or throw up some more.

  “I just . . . I need to sit down for a bit.”

  “We’ll go in the sitting room,” Graham said.

  Damn it. This place would have a fucking sitting room. My parents were proud of their newly remodeled bathroom, and this place was practically a palace.

  And the room was even nicer in real life than in my imagination. It was much more chic than the Pride and Prejudice–era room I had pictured. And there were ­people milling around, standing near the floor-­to-­ceiling windows and luxurious curtains. I found an empty cream-­colored chaise lounge and collapsed onto it, too distressed to even worry about getting it dirty.

  I could be remembering wrong. I hoped I was remembering wrong. But the last time I could recall being on my period had been that final week in Peter Pan. It’s why I forgot about the pill pack because we weren’t exactly in danger of getting pregnant then. And that was . . . what? Six weeks ago? Maybe five? Either way, it was more than a month. But sometimes ­people were late without being pregnant. That happened . . . right?

  I could totally be jumping to conclusions.

  Or there could be something growing inside of me.

  God, that sounded so sci-­fi movie.

  What did I know about being a mom? What did I know about anything? I was a total mess. I couldn’t even do my own taxes, or survive an engagement party, or turn on a fucking light without breaking something. And I was supposed to grow and raise another human being?

  My child would be so socially inept that it wouldn’t even be able to walk upright or speak in complete sentences or be around other ­people.

  I would give birth to a hermit child.

  Breathe. Breathe.

  Damn it. That reminded me too much of Lamaze, and I felt sick again.

  What if it turned out like Hamlet the devil cat and it hated me?

  Shit. Shit.

  I really just wanted to shout that word at the top of my lungs, but probably not the time and place.

  “Is she okay?”

  I opened my eyes to see a tall blonde, whose legs put mine to shame. She wore a short, black sheath dress with kick-­ass turquoise he
els, and there was basically a model standing over me as I panted and tried not to lose the remaining contents of my stomach.

  Thanks, world. I appreciate it so much.

  “Now is not a good time, Kayleigh,” Graham said.

  “Did something happen? They didn’t break up, did they?”

  Why did she sound hopeful?

  Rowland spoke before I could, “No, she’s just not feeling well. We’ll find you later, Kayleigh.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, feel better.”

  I hated when ­people said that. Like I could just magically make that happen. Or like I didn’t already want that desperately. But gee, thanks for the recommendation.

  When she was gone, I looked at Rowland. “Who was that?”

  He looked at Graham, and maybe some of Mrs. Taylor’s perceptiveness rubbed off on me because I just had a feeling. “Is she an ex?”

  “Ehh . . . umm . . . uhhh . . .”

  This day could stop getting worse at any time. Any time now. Really.

  “Why would his parents invite an ex to this?”

  “Well, Kayleigh is a friend of the family. But we’re guessing that Eileen, Garrick’s mum, was keen on causing some problems because . . . well, Kayleigh’s not the only one.”

  “Seriously? How many?”

  Rowland looked at Graham again, and I was on the verge of strangling him. If I was pregnant, I could just blame it on the hormones. Call it temporary insanity.

  “How many, Rowland?”

  He scratched at his head. “Well, it’s not like I’ve counted.”

  “Guess.”

  “Man, did Eileen give you some of her super powers?”

  “Rowland,” I snapped.

  “I don’t know, ten.”

  “Ten?”

  Garrick had ten ex-­girlfriends here.

  Garrick had ten ex-­girlfriends before he’d even gone to college?

  And that was just the ones who’d showed up here. No telling how many more there were.

  Hey, Universe? Think you could take a break on the whole raining-­down-­shit-­on-­Bliss thing? I’d appreciate it.

  I stood to go back to the bathroom when Garrick stepped into the room. “There you are. I was a little worried my mother had killed you and was hiding the body.”

  I didn’t laugh.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I started to nod when Graham answered, “She’s feeling sick. And she might have just met Kayleigh. And Rowland has a big mouth.”

  “Jesus.”

  He reached a tentative hand out to touch my shoulder.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how angry are you?”

  I pressed a hand to my temple, where a dull throb was beginning to form, and said, “Tired.”

  Rowland said, “Oh, well that’s good.”

  I heard a thwack that I guessed was Graham smacking him upside the head.

  Garrick laced our fingers together, and kissed the back of my hand. “Come on. We can go ahead and go to bed for the night. It’s a bit early, but we can blame the jet lag. No one will miss us.”

  Only the ten ex-­girlfriends here to get him back. Yeah, I was totally good with going to bed early.

  I said good-­bye to Rowland and Graham, and wished Rowland luck at landing one of the exes. Then I let Garrick lead me out of the sitting room, and toward the staircase that wound up from the dining room.

  His mother intercepted us just before we got to the stairs. “Where are you two going?”

  “Bliss isn’t feeling well. And we’re both still adjusting to the schedule. We’re going to retire early. I think we’ve seen the majority of the ­people you care about us seeing.”

  I didn’t look her in the eye, scared she would be able to read my mind with her freaky Slytherin stare.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I have the guest room all set up for her.”

  Garrick tightened his grip on our luggage, and maneuvered around his mother and onto the first ­couple steps.

  “That’s not going to happen, Mum. Her luggage is already upstairs, and we’re not accustomed to sleeping apart.” I blanched. If he said that to my parents, he would be staring down a shotgun. “We’ll be in my room.”

  I let myself glance at his mother. She took a deep breath, and then her eyes met mine. Despite feeling miserable, I squared my shoulders and raised my eyebrows in a look that I hoped said, I told you so.

  As long as it didn’t say, I totally lied to you and might actually be pregnant after all.

  I followed Garrick up the stairs, still trying to wrap my head around this evening. Should I tell him? What if I was just remembering wrong? I didn’t want to freak him out over nothing.

  I should just wait. I’d keep thinking back. Maybe I’d forgotten something or was remembering the days wrong. Or I could go buy a test.

  Yes. That’s what I should do . . . to be certain.

  I was so eager to brush my teeth that I didn’t even say anything to Garrick before I retreated into the adjoining bathroom. And maybe I would just check one more time to make sure I hadn’t started in the last ten minutes.

  Garrick knocked on the door a few minutes later, and who would have ever thought I’d be willing my period to start?

  His voice was soft, tentative. “Are you okay, love?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay. I’ll be out in just a second.”

  I took a deep breath.

  There was no reason to panic yet. I’d told Eileen that I was an adult, and it felt good to stand up to her. To say that and actually mean it. It was especially important that I act like one now. Because if I was . . . if we were pregnant, there was a lot more at stake than a visit to meet the parents and a stupid broken vase.

  So tomorrow I would get a pregnancy test. ­People did that all the time. And it came back negative all the time. Tonight I just needed to put it out of my mind and get some rest. I would only make myself sick again worrying about it.

  The bathroom door squeaked as it opened, and Garrick turned from where he was changing clothes. He was just sliding a pair of pajama pants up over his hips, and if that wasn’t the perfect way to clear my thoughts, I didn’t know what was.

  9

  Garrick

  BLISS STOOD FRAMED in the bathroom door, and I was at a loss for how to act. I had no idea how things had gone with my mum or afterward. All I knew was that she was quiet. Too quiet. And as much as I didn’t want her to be feeling ill, I hoped that that’s all it was about.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She crossed her arms over her stomach and said, “Okay. I think it was just . . . a long day. And it got to me. I’m fine now.”

  “And my mother?”

  “Should be a Disney villain.”

  I exhaled a laugh. Even sick and stressed she was . . . remarkable.

  “But that was okay, too?”

  After a torturous moment, she nodded. “I think so. We came to an understanding.” That sounded ominous. “She invited me to lunch the day after tomorrow.”

  My eyebrows shot up.

  “That means it went more than okay. It went well.”

  A small smile blossomed across her face. What was that science theory? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction? Seeing her smile lightened me. She anchored my thoughts, recentered my focus, balanced my life. And I needed that . . . desperately. Being back here . . . it was strange. I was struggling to walk that line between being polite and friendly, and falling back into my old ways.

  “Now about these exes . . .”

  Speaking of old ways.

  “Exes?”

  “Oh yes. Rowland estimated there were about ten in attendance.”

  Goddamn it, Rowland.

  I closed my eyes to resist the urge to go downstairs and mangle him.

  “I
’m sure he was exaggerating.”

  The arms crossed over her stomach raised to cross over her chest, and she looked so deliciously bossy. Couldn’t we just skip this part and get on to what we’d planned earlier?

  “Do you have that many exes here in London?”

  I wracked my brain for a way that this conversation wouldn’t be disastrous.

  “I don’t know that exes is the right word.”

  “So they weren’t all relationships? What . . . just sex?”

  I grimaced. Guess we were cutting to the chase then. I didn’t so much like this bold side of her when it was directed at me.

  “Bliss . . . I was a right prick when I lived here. You would have hated me. My parents were not so good at the parenting aspect of life. They gave me money and a long leash, and like a stupid teenage boy, I took advantage of it. Often. Things are so beyond different now that that feels like a different life. A different person. And it was, really. When I left London, it was a rude awakening to live life outside this bubble of money and influence and tradition. But it was good for me. I grew up. I found something I really love, which led to finding someone I really love. If there were girls from my past here tonight, I didn’t notice them. They don’t matter. Nothing about this place matters at all in comparison to you.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, surveying me. There was just a hint of a tear shining in the corner of her eyes, then she closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s impossible to be mad at you. This is setting a dangerous precedent for our relationship.”

  That was a good sign.

  I stepped forward and settled my hands on her hips. “I like that precedent.”

  Her hands came up to my chest. “I know where you get it from. Your charm. Your father joins you and James Bond as a smooth-­talking Englishman. He was really nice about the vase thing.”

  I groaned. “He is a smooth talker, yes. But don’t let him fool you. He’s not nearly as nice as he pretends to be.”

  She traced her fingers along my jaw and pulled my face down toward her. “What does that mean?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing you need to worry about. We just have different priorities is all. Business and money and class always come first to him.” I laced my fingers at the back of her neck and grazed her jaw with my thumbs. “I may have inherited some things from him, but not that. You will always come first. Our family will always be my primary concern.”