When Art Falls

by Lorrain Allen

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

  “Good.”

  It’s been almost a week since Thanksgiving. Art and Mason came over for the holiday. Even though it was only us, I cooked a huge feast, so we’ll be eating leftovers into the foreseeable future. Thank goodness there was no awkwardness at all. My mom has warmed up to Art and has fallen head over heels in love with Mason, calling him her second grandchild. She’s been a bundle of energy ever since being offered a job as a sales associate at a department store. She cried when she found out. It’s only a part-time seasonal position, but it means the world to her, and she may be asked to stay on permanently after Christmas. Anneli and I took her out to celebrate while Art looked after the boys. With Art’s help, I surprised her with a new car. Now she can come and go as she pleases. Mason is doing better after the debacle his mother’s reappearance caused. Two weeks have passed since that incident. I don’t understand how a mother, or a father for that matter, can abandon their child. Unfortunately, Art and I are still at odds. I swear that man has mood swings like a woman on the rag, but our fucking is phenomenal. That’s something I’ll never complain about. Just when I think it can’t get any more intense, he surprises me by turning up the heat another notch.

  Clearing my mind, I try to focus on my current task. In my naïveté, I thought online shopping would be a great deal easier than actually going to a store. Boy was I wrong. Shopping and I are archenemies. Obviously the bitch has a vendetta against me, but she’ll need to get in line behind Art. I’m about to bang my head against the coffee table, but instead I place the laptop on it and lean back against the soft cushions of the recliner. Mom is at work and Sebastian is in his bedroom. A sudden wave of queasiness assails me. This has become more and more frequent over the last couple of days. I close my eyes, willing the unpleasant feeling away. It’s the turkey. Lord knows I’ve eaten like a glutton nonstop since Thursday.

  I pop up in a panic as déjà vu hits me. While taking a shower earlier, I noticed my breasts were a little tender. These are some of the same symptoms I experienced during my first trimester with Sebastian. I haven’t felt dizzy or vomited, but still, the similarities are too hard to ignore. Stop it, Cin, you’re being paranoid. There’s absolutely no way I’m pregnant. I specifically chose the Depo shot because I felt it’s a more foolproof method of birth control, and I didn’t want the added responsibility of taking a pill every day. A doctor would say the only way to prevent pregnancy is abstinence. Sure, I haven’t had my period in two months, but my doctor assured me that it’s normal for a woman’s monthly cycle to stop even after only one injection. I’ll just make an appointment to put my fears to rest. I refuse to think about it anymore and drive myself crazy.

  My nerves wouldn’t let me wait until morning to call my gynecologist’s office, so I sent a message through the Contact Us option on the website last night, requesting the first available appointment. I didn’t expect to receive a reply, but within an hour I was scheduled to come in the next day at nine. It didn’t sit right with me not to discuss the possibility of being pregnant with Art, but there’s no need to broach the subject until I’m one hundred percent certain. I sent Art a text instead of calling, letting him know I needed the day off because I’m not feeling well. Of course, he called until I answered, demanding I describe every symptom in detail. He was ready to cancel meetings and other scheduled engagements to see to my comfort. It took some time, but eventually I convinced him to continue with his day as planned.

  I fidget on the examination table as Dr. Gates enters the room.

  “Good Morning,” she greets, sitting on a stool.

  I clear my throat. “Good Morning.”

  “What brings you in today, Ms. Belo?”

  “I think I may be pregnant.”

  “Did you take a pregnancy test?”

  “Well, no. I prefer a blood test, just to be one hundred percent positive.”

  “Sure, but a urine test can be done too if you’d like. The choice is yours.”

  “I’d rather not panic until absolutely necessary.” I laugh nervously.

  “Trust me, I understand your trepidation. Just having a blood test done is fine,” she assures me. “What are your symptoms?”

  “Nausea and my breasts are sensitive.”

  “When did this start?”

  “About a week ago.”

  “Have you been feeling fatigued?”

  “Not really.”

  “What about morning sickness?”

  “Nope. Do you think I’m being overdramatic?”

  “No, making an appointment was a smart move on your part so we can get to the bottom of the sudden changes you’re experiencing.”

  “I read that only three in one thousand women will get pregnant while on the birth control shot.”

  “That’s true. The failure rate is less than one percent.”

  “Aren’t I lucky,” I say sarcastically.

  “You have options—”

  “I’m keeping my baby, if there is one.”

  “Good. I should have the results in two to three business days.”

  “Tomorrow is Friday, so I won’t know until Wednesday at the latest? That’s a long wait.” I’m going to go bonkers.

  “I’ll put a rush on the order so it’s back by tomorrow, and I’ll personally give you a call once the results are in.”

  I’m so happy Art recommended Dr. Gates. She’s professional, super nice, and attentive.

  “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “How did you and Art meet?” I ask.

  Her demeanor changes, and she looks uneasy. “Through mutual acquaintances.”

  That’s weird. Her lack of a detailed response and her tone brooked no further conversation on the topic. Did my question upset her? If so, I wonder why? They couldn’t have dated. She’s almost old enough to be his grandmother, so why the abrupt change over a simple inquiry?

  “Again, thanks for all your help today. I truly appreciate it.”

  She nods her head, leaving the room. Her reaction is strange as hell. What is going on? I’ll revisit this later. I have bigger fish to fry in my life, like the possible bun baking in my oven.

  As I settle into my car, a new thought flashes through my mind. What if Art doesn’t want our baby? My heart would rip in two. Having one baby daddy who isn’t interested in his child is a nightmare, but two would be a damn tragedy. How will Mom and Anneli take the news? I can’t stress myself out. Not in my condition.

  Condition?

  God, I’m acting like the pregnancy is confirmed. Tomorrow can’t get here soon enough. I’d rather stay home and wait for the phone call, but Art will become suspicious if I miss work two days in a row. It’ll be difficult acting like nothing is wrong around him. I’m going to be on pins and needles until Dr. Gates calls.

  “You’re quiet today.” Art brings his car to a stop in front of the mansion.

  We were almost at our destination when Art realized he forgot the USB needed for this morning’s meeting.

  “I’m not accustomed to talking unless there’s something to talk about.”

  He eyes me suspiciously. “How are you feeling?”

  “Great. It was just a twenty-four-hour bug, nothing serious.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m right as rain.”

  His unwavering gaze nearly has me blurting out the real reason I missed work yesterday.

  “Give me a few minutes,” he says, leaving the car.

  “Okay.” I check my cell phone, hoping to see a missed call from Dr. Gates, though it’s still early.

  After a few minutes turns into several, I go inside to search for Art. Maybe he needs help finding the USB. I follow the sound of his muffled voice to his study. His words become clearer the closer I get to the door, which has been left slightly ajar.

  “Are you sure she’s pregnant?”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Did he conspi
re to purposely get me pregnant? Dr. Gates’s sudden change in demeanor makes perfect sense now. Fucking bastard!

  “Good. I’ll have the money transferred to your account.”

  Am I in the fucking twilight zone? I storm through the door and grab a vase off a nearby table. Art turns around just as I launch it straight towards his fucking head. He throws up his arm, blocking the impact. My preferred target was his beautiful masculine face, but a sense of gratification flows through me as blood pours from the cuts on his forearm.

  “I’ll call you back.” He puts the cell phone in his pocket. “That’s a twenty-thousand-dollar vase.”

  “Fuck the vase!” I yell. “This is the second time you’ve done something to my body without my permission!”

  He points at a blood stain on his shirt. “This is one of my favorite shirts.”

  “You’re an egomaniac on a power trip.”

  He shrugs his shoulders, cool as a goddamn cucumber. “Thanks for the compliment.”

  I charge at him in a blind rage. He laughs, deflecting each blow as if I were nothing more than a bothersome fly.

  “Your behavior isn’t good for the baby.” He grabs my wrists, preventing me from scratching out his eyeballs. “The health of our unborn child should be your number one concern.”

  I go full apeshit on his ass, kicking and swinging, trying my best to hurt him. The fucker must have been a gladiator in his past life. He picks me up, holding me like a sack of potatoes.

  I struggle to break away. “What was in the shot that bitch gave me?”

  “It was harmless,” he says, dumping me onto the sofa.

  I scramble to the other end. “Tell me!”

  “A saline solution,” he answers, undoing his slacks.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “All this fighting made me horny as fuck.”

  “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to have sex with you!”

  “You should realize by now that whatever I want is mine, by any means necessary.”

  “A victory gained by force is hollow.”

  “I beg to differ. A victory, especially one gained by force, is the sweetest aphrodisiac.” Art latches onto my ankles and drags me across the sofa. I sit up, slapping him across the face. He pushes me back, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.

  “Keep fighting. It makes my dick harder.” He pries my thighs apart, then settles between them, pressing me into the cushions with his heavy weight.

  “I hope you burn in hell,” I grind out. “Does having power over me make you feel like a big strong man?”

  “It’s almost better than coming deep in your pussy,” he says, licking me from my chin to my forehead.

  “You’re a weak, pathetic excuse of a human being.”

  “You can pretend you’re not enjoying every single minute, but—” His hand slips under my dress and pushes into my panties, easily penetrating my center.

  I bite my tongue to silence my moan. He slowly withdraws, lifting two glistening fingers to my face, showing me what I already know. I’m wet as shit.

  “This doesn’t lie.” He brings his fingers to his nose and inhales deeply before lapping them clean. “So fucking tasty.”

  “Can I taste?”

  Art opens his mouth, presenting his tongue, and I eagerly suck on it as he enters my body. He fucks me slow, tenderly—not hard, which is his usual method, but the effect on me is just as profound. This is different. A claiming. He’s making love to me for the first time, and I bask in it. It’s too overpowering—every thrust, every sensual kiss—God help me. Is it possible to die from extreme pleasure?

  “You’re crying.” He licks my tears.

  “Let me go.”

  “No.”

  “Please, I need to touch you.”

  He releases my wrists, allowing me free rein. I pay homage to the sleek muscles of his arms and back.

  “Look at me.”

  The intensity reflecting in his sparkling green eyes is overwhelming.

  “You feel it too,” I whisper.

  “I’ve always felt it.”

  I fall over the edge and he follows behind me. We hold each other, sated and breathless.

  “It’s true what they say.”

  “About what?”

  “Pussy is riper during pregnancy.”

  “How much did you pay her?”

  “She’s set for the rest of her life.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I want you to have my baby.”

  “That’s not a decision you make on your own, Art!”

  “It’s done. Get over it.”

  “This isn’t about you wanting me to be the mother of your child. You want complete control over me.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Having another baby without a ring on my finger is not an ideal situation for me.”

  He pulls out of me and walks over to his desk. I remain on my back, legs spread wide with his cum trickling to the crack of my ass. He rummages through the drawer, then returns holding something.

  “What do you have there?” I ask, moving to a sitting position.

  He grabs my hand and slips the largest diamond I’ve ever seen onto my finger.

  “Is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

  “I’m not asking.”

  “You’re making a hell of an assumption.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “I won’t be forced into a marriage.”

  “You’re going to do exactly what I want.” His self-assurance grates on my nerves. “Resistance is futile. In a few months, your name will be Cinnamon King.”

  “What you and Dr. Gates did is highly illegal…” I pause for dramatic effect. “Maybe I’ll contact the DA. You both could go to prison for a very long time.”

  “Be my guest. You don’t have any proof.”

  “Your phone records and bank statements can be subpoenaed.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid enough to use a cell phone and bank account that can be traced back to me?” He laughs. “Come on. Give me some credit.”

  “Swiss bank account? How many illegal dealings are you involved in?”

  “The Falcon name wouldn’t be what it is today if only squeaky-clean tactics were used.” He smirks. “You have five minutes to clean yourself up. Thanks to you, we’re going to be late for the meeting.”

  “Me? You really are a piece of work.”

  “You’re not allowed in my study again.” He nods towards the blood and semen stains on the cream-colored sofa. “You ruined my sofa and broke my vase.”

  “And you conspired with my doctor to get me pregnant. So yeah, my grievance is more severe than yours.”

  “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep you.” The ferocity of his tone leaves me breathless. “You belong to me and always will. God help anyone who tries to take you from me.”

  “I’m not a possession.”

  He stoops until we’re at eye level. “Property of Arthur King is stamped on your ass.”

  “That doesn’t make me yours.”

  “But it does.” He places his large palm on my flat belly. “I would die for this baby, and it isn’t even born yet. Don’t fight this. You won’t win. Start making preparations for a wedding.” He walks out of the study.

  Silence fills the car as Art drives me home later that evening.

  “What about our living situation?” I ask.

  “You and Sebastian are moving in with me. We’ll transfer him to the school Mason attends next year.”

  “What about my mom?”

  “Your mother can stay in the house. It’s hers, or she can come too.”

  This is all happening so fast, my head is spinning.

  “My lawyer will draw up paperwork for me to legally adopt Sebastian and for you to adopt Mason. We’re going to be a family.”

  “What?”

  “I already consider him my son, and Mason wants you to be his mother.”


  “Trevor never relinquished his parental rights.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “It doesn’t concern you.”

  “How do you expect us to have a successful marriage if you shut me out? You can’t make decisions on your own.”

  “I’m going to pay him a visit.”

  “I want to go too.”

  “No.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “No, the fuck you’re not!” he shouts. “I don’t want you near him. I’ll take care of all the details.”

  “That’s not how a marriage works.”

  “It’s how this one will.”

  “The hell it is.”

  “He hates you and Sebastian. You have no reason to see him again.”

  “It’s been eight years. There’s a chance he’ll be more accepting of Sebastian.”

  “Has he even reached out to you once?”

  “No,” I admit.

  “If he had a change of heart, he would have. You and Sebastian are my responsibility now. I will be good to him and our baby.”

  “What about me? Will you be good to me too?”

  “I will once you admit the truth and spend the rest of your life making it up to me.”

  “I’ll never admit to something I didn’t do.”

  “Then you have your answer.”

  “It’s not healthy to hold a grudge for this long.”

  “Neither is eating a juicy sirloin saturated in butter, but I’m still going to fucking eat it.”

  This man is so goddamn infuriating, but I love him with my stupid ass, even after everything he’s done. I’m an idiot.

  Peering around the table, I anxiously watch my mom and Anneli as they enjoy brunch. I suggested we go out under the guise of having girl time, but in reality, I felt the need to disclose the news of my pregnancy in public so they’d be forced to keep their voices low. The engagement ring is hidden in my bedroom away from their prying eyes.

  “Are you going to eat or spend the entire time looking at your mother and me?”

  “Just spit it out,” Mom says.

  “I’m pregnant,” I blurt.

  Neither one responds to the announcement.