Accidental Father

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  As he smiled and offered his hand in greeting, his charm was nearly palpable in the small, cluttered office, which wasn’t nearly as fancy as she’d imagined. Still, it was a far cry from the hovel in Afghanistan that Marissa and Liam had called home.

  “Good morning, Ms. Waterford.” His English was almost perfect with only the slightest turn of a French accent. “May I take your coat?”

  She gave his hand a perfunctory shake and withdrew hers, shoving her fists in the pockets of her tan trench coat.

  “No, thank you. I won’t be staying long.”

  “Well, then how may I help you?”

  Though she tried not to judge people, she’d learned enough about Lejardin from Marissa’s stories to sum him up. This guy had superficial written all over him. He was too good-looking, from the obviously fake highlights in his hair—what kind of a man indulged in hair color if he couldn’t even pay child support?—to his clean, trimmed fingernails, to the soles of his fine leather loafers.

  She could see how the average woman would find him very attractive. But how in the world had Marissa fallen for a man like this? Her sister had always seemed above superficialities. It was simply the nature of her work as a foreign aid worker. Marissa was a humanitarian. She’d been attracted to men with a social conscience, men who put themselves on the front line to help others like she did. Not pretty boys who hid behind a law degree in a Parisian office.

  With a shaky hand, she took off her glasses and fought the urge to curl her lip. It was easier to look him square in his green-rimmed hazel eyes when her vision was slightly blurry. It distracted her from the way he was staring so intently at her.

  “I’m not the one who needs your help.” She held his gaze as his smile morphed from congenial into concern. “I’m here on behalf of your son.”

  The smile stayed firmly in place even as incomprehension clouded those hazel eyes. “Pardon? I must have misunderstood. I thought you said my son?”

  Julianne shook her head. “No, you heard me correctly. I’m here on behalf of your son. Liam. Marissa may have let you off the hook, but I’m here to tell you that it is time for you to step up and take responsibility for your child.”

  She waited for him to say something. Anything. Or at least to act contrite, to show some emotion other than denial. But all he did was stare at her as if she were a mad woman.

  Then he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong man. I do not have a child.”

  She frowned. Now he was making her mad. She hadn’t come here to listen to lies.

  “What kind of a man denies his son’s existence? Do you think if you pretend he isn’t there he’ll go away? That may have worked with my sister, but she’s gone now and so you have to deal with me. I’m not going to accept your shoddy excuses.”

  Alex was used to dealing with difficult people who flung crazy accusations. It was the nature of his position at iWITNESS—hearing reports of human rights abuse, verifying them and then exposing the heinous acts to the world and using his considerable contacts to apply political pressure so that the countries where these injustices happened were forced to stop the inhumane action.

  What threw him was being the subject of the accusation. Especially when the allegation simply wasn’t true. He didn’t have a son. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t deny his child’s existence. It took him less than ten seconds to regroup.

  “Ms. Waterford, please sit down.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Obviously, there’s been a misunderstanding. Perhaps we can talk and clear up the confusion?”

  She looked agitated. Even after removing her glasses, her blue eyes were a tempestuous sea that threatened to batter him with a storm of fury.

  When she remained standing, he repeated, “Sit down. Please.” His words were softer this time. “You’re Marissa’s sister, aren’t you?”

  She leveled him with a dark, layered glare.

  “Of course I am. I’d have no reason to be here otherwise.”

  He nodded.

  Finally, she sat, smoothing the fabric of black slacks that peeked out from beneath the folds of her tan coat. Perching on the edge of the seat as if she didn’t plan to stay long, she brushed her long, dark hair off her shoulder.

  That’s when he noticed her fingers were shaking.

  She was obviously distraught—overwrought, even. Why else would she think he had a son? Why would she take it so personally?

  With all the experience he had helping people who’d been through tragedy and lived through hell on earth, he should’ve known the perfect thing to say to Julianne to comfort her. But for a moment, words failed him. Until all he could say was, “Will you start from the beginning?”

  She seemed to size him up for an eternity. “You and Marissa obviously had your differences.”

  Differences? “No. Not really. We were good friends. I was deeply saddened by her death.”

  Julianne silenced him with a raised hand.

  “Good friends? That’s all she was to you? A good friend? Is that how you rationalized leaving her and Liam?”

  Alex heard the rising pitch of her voice. The woman looked ready to launch out of her chair at him. And for what? What on earth did he have to do with someone else’s child?

  “Who is Liam? Look, you’ve been talking in riddles since you arrived. I can’t help you unless you help me understand. Are you in some sort of trouble? If you are, I will help you in any way I’m able. Because your sister was a very dear friend.”

  Friends. That’s all they’d been. Yet, that old familiar pang coursed through him as memories of that night, that moment of weakness, that horrendous breach of good sense when he’d failed Marissa and jeopardized their friendship by crossing the line.

  The way Julianne was looking at him, it was almost as if she knew.

  Mon Dieu, would Marissa have told her sister?

  Alex bit back an oath and hid his rising panic from Julianne by turning toward his desk, under the guise of sitting down.

  When he was facing her again, he asked, “Is this Liam you speak of Marissa’s son?”

  “Your son.” She looked exasperated, as if she wanted to yell, That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.

  One time. He and Marissa had slept together one time.

  But one time was all it took.

  Obviously.

  “How old is the boy?”

  It took every bit of strength Alex could muster to keep his voice steady. His mind raced to do the math: If Marissa carried the baby nine months…and it had been nearly two years since he’d last seen her—since that night…the child would have to be just over a year to even possibly be his.

  “He’ll be fourteen months old on the twenty-eighth of this month,” Julianne said. “I have his birth certificate right here. Your name is on it.” Fourteen months.

  She’d said the words as though they were any words: “Nice weather we’re having” or “I like dogs.”

  Fourteen months.

  The time frame fit. Oh, hell.

  As Alex Lejardin studied Liam’s birth certificate he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. He sat there and stared at the paper for a long time—his features blank, the color fading from his sun-bronzed cheeks.

  If she didn’t know differently, she might believe this was the first he’d heard of Liam. But she knew better. Marissa had told her he knew. Marissa had said Alex left when he found out she was pregnant. That he had chosen not to be part of Liam’s life. Marissa had come to terms with it, but Julianne wasn’t going to let Alex get away with denying all knowledge of the boy. The liar.

  “Look, don’t worry,” she said, mustering the strength to say what she came to say. She had to say it, just spit out the words, because the longer she danced around the issue, the harder it would be. “I’m not here to ask you to take custody of him. But a little financial support would certainly help the boy. Marissa had no life insurance, no benefits—another hazard of the thankless job that cost her her life.�
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  She choked on the last word and bit her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. She hated this—everything about it. Losing her sister. Having an orphaned nephew. And now, being forced to face Alex Lejardin with her hand out. Begging for money went against every fiber in her being. She was used to scraping by on her modest income with the orchestra. She’d even learned to plan ahead so that she survived during the times when the orchestra couldn’t make payroll. That was the price she paid for her music, to do what she loved.

  The life of the starving artist was fine for a single woman, but not for a baby boy who’d never asked for this fate in life.

  Alex raked his hands through his hair. His eyes searched the small, cluttered room as if looking for a way out.

  She waited stoically, watching him. The way he went to such great lengths to put on this act sickened her. She disliked him even more, watching him try to squirm his way out. Even though she wanted to tell him to save his act for someone more gullible, she knew she’d stand a better chance of gaining his support if she stayed calm.

  She’d do it for Marissa.

  For Liam.

  “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t an emergency.” Her voice was steady now, as emotionless as she could render it. “I am a musician with a symphony orchestra, and the arts are…well, the arts are struggling in America. I simply want to be certain that Liam has what he needs. The money I’m asking for isn’t for me; it’s for his—”

  Alex slammed his hand down on the desk.

  Julianne flinched and leaned back into her chair. Just a little. It was instinctual when a man this vibrant showed such emotion.

  “Why didn’t she tell me? All this time I’ve had no idea I have a child. A son.”

  She met his gaze and the anguish she saw threw her off kilter. Then he looked away and squeezed his eyes shut.

  He opened them after a deep exhalation.

  “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “This is a lot to process.” He shook his head again. This time it was as if he was trying to clear the confusion. “Obviously, we have a lot to talk about.”

  It took a while for Julianne and Alex to put the pieces together, but by the time she left two hours later, Alex was convinced of one thing: Marissa Waterford had lied to both of them. She’d lied. How could this woman whom everyone had perceived as such a saint do such a thing?

  She’d lied to her sister, painting Alex as a dead-beat who’d disavowed responsibility and run with his tail tucked between his legs when he’d learned Marissa was pregnant.

  At the same time, Marissa had simply chosen not to inform him that she was pregnant with his son—even after he’d called her to try to make amends for that night.

  That fateful night two years ago, when Marissa learned that Alex was leaving Afghanistan to accept the position with iWITNESS in Paris. She’d set out on a mission to convince him to stay, complete with mellowing alcohol and lots of female flesh on display. For one crazy moment, Alex had given in to the temptation she offered, but after they’d made love, he’d known he’d made a colossal mistake.

  The next morning as he prepared to leave for Paris, she confessed she hoped that once they’d made love he’d stay. He told her he couldn’t. He knew he could help more people in his new position in Paris than he could working the front lines. While he cared deeply for her, all he could be was her friend. He stressed how important she was to him, that he didn’t want to lose her friendship.

  But it was too late. The damage had been done.

  Obviously stung, Marissa had insisted it was best that they made a clean break. Her goodbye was civil, chilly and punctuated with the firm click of his hotel room door as she walked out on him. After he’d settled in Paris, Alex had called her several times to salvage their friendship, but she’d made it clear she wanted no contact.

  She’d told him that hearing his voice hurt. She’d asked him to quit calling. Not wanting to hurt her any more than he already had, he respected her wishes.

  For two years. Then the sad news of her death had reached him through their mutual colleagues, and he’d grieved for the friend he’d lost, for the friendship he’d never been able to repair. Now, three months later, her sister was standing in front of him, informing him that Marissa had borne his child. It was almost too much to comprehend.

  But one thing was certain: Even though he was never in love with Marissa, he would never have turned his back on her and their child…if only she’d informed him she was pregnant.

  Now, as he sat in his dark office, lit only by the amber hues of the setting sun streaming through the lone window to the left of his desk, Alex knew how it felt for the world to spin out of control.

  Or he might know if he weren’t so numb.

  Even so, with Julianne’s utterance of those fateful four words—You have a son—nothing in his world would ever be the same.

  The office was so still that the thoughts in his mind seemed to scream as he replayed their conversation over in his head: How, at first, neither of them had believed the other. While he’d confirmed that he’d been intimate with her sister, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Julianne the details of what had happened between him and Marissa.

  As she dug in, pouring on the guilt, accusing him of sidestepping responsibility, it crossed Alex’s mind that Julianne might be an opportunist. Given his family’s situation—less than two years ago his brother, Luc Lejardin, had married Sophie Baldwin, the heir to the throne of St. Michel, and had become the prince consort of that wealthy principality. Maybe Julianne smelled an opportunity to cash in.

  But then she’d suggested a paternity test—insisted on one, in fact—before he could even bring up the idea himself. Then she’d asked for so little, and for that paltry amount to be administered with a strict accounting of how it was spent on the child. Even though his head cautioned him to proceed carefully, little by little, the evidence had mounted until his reasons why not fell away, leaving him with a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach that Julianne Waterford’s claims just might be real.

  He had a son and tomorrow he would meet him for the very first time.

  Chapter Two

  Julianne Waterford bounced the fussy baby in her arms as she waited by the octagonal pond in Luxembourg Gardens. She pointed to the numerous model boats that sailed on the water.

  “Look, Liam. Aren’t they beautiful?”

  He squirmed and rubbed his eyes, and she was sorry for dragging him out on such a cold, windy March afternoon.

  Yesterday, she’d agreed to meet Alex Lejardin in Luxembourg Gardens so that he could meet his son for the first time. The park was close to her hotel and it had seemed like a good idea…at the time.

  After the tumultuous couple of hours they’d spent sorting out the facts, they’d come to terms with the bottom line: Marissa had lied to both of them. They’d finally agreed the best thing to do at this point was for Alex to meet Liam.

  Alex had suggested Luxembourg Gardens because it was “a kid-friendly place,” where they could rent a small boat and Liam could watch it sail on the Grand Bassin. It might have been a kid-friendly place on a warm, sunny day. Today, however, Paris was cold and gray with a biting wind that wasn’t friendly to anyone.

  Maybe Liam would be more comfortable in the stroller? At least it would shield him from the breeze. She tried to lay him down, but he cried and reached for her, uttering “Mama,” which completely melted her heart. So she held him.

  Where was Alex?

  Squinting at her watch—in her haste to get to the park, she’d forgotten her glasses—she saw that he was nearly fifteen minutes late. Her lips puckered in annoyance.

  She bounced Liam and glanced around the sparsely populated park as if she expected Alex’s blurry image to materialize out of the mist of her irritation. But the only people she saw were the handful of kids and adults sailing boats in the fountain, a couple canoodling on a nearby park bench and two strange fellows dressed in suits, wearing sunglasses standing in the dist
ance.

  Who did they think they were? The Men in Black?

  The strangest thing was that they stood far enough apart from each other so that she couldn’t tell if they were at the park together or not.

  Then again, it was hard to discern details in the distance without her glasses. A protective sense told her it might be best to hold Liam and keep an eye on the creepy guys.

  Ugh…great. She had half a mind to take Liam back to the hotel and tell Alex he’d have to come to them. Especially because Agents Kay and Jay were making her feel a little uncomfortable.

  But before she left, she’d give Alex a few more minutes. Nobody was going to snatch her baby away from her in broad daylight.

  Where in the world was Lejardin?

  Careful not to take her frustration out on the baby, she gently hitched him higher on her hip, shifting his weight. She didn’t realize it until after the fact, but his heavy eyelids had fallen shut and the motion must’ve startled him awake because he flung his head back and whined.

  Anita Collins, the woman who watched Liam while Julianne rehearsed and performed with the orchestra, had warned her that Liam hadn’t taken his morning nap. Even though Julianne was paying the cranky price for Liam’s lack of sleep, it wasn’t Anita’s fault. The woman was the best babysitter a person in Julianne’s situation could ask for. The wife of Graham Collins, the orchestra’s oboe player, Anita was a grandmotherly type whose own kids had not given her grandchildren. She cheerfully, almost possessively, kept Liam while Julianne worked.

  Because Anita traveled with her husband when the orchestra played out-of-town engagements, it was as if Liam had his very own nanny—with one important difference: Anita refused to accept monetary compensation. She said that the two kept each other company while the musicians worked and that was payment enough.