by Nicole Casey
Of course, this was all hindsight. I didn’t know much at such a young age. All I knew was that I suddenly had a new sister and one whom I didn’t particularly care for.
Call it child instinct but from day one, I knew there was something wrong with that girl.
It wasn’t really surprising really. Her mother carted Eloise around like an accessory, teaching her the ways of manipulation and gold digging from a young age. It would have been a miracle for any child to escape from such an upbringing unscathed.
Not to say I didn’t give her a chance—or at least I tried the best way a kid can under those circumstances. But it quickly became evident what kind of person my little sister was; cunning, deceitful and outright narcissistic. Whoever says you can’t judge psychopathic tendencies in children clearly never met my step-sister.
I couldn’t count how many times she would steal something and then plant it in my room before running off to tell my father or her mother.
My father didn’t pay her much mind and Maddy would reprimand me but when nothing beyond a scolding would manifest, Eloise had to up her game. She got three maids fired before I intervened and told her and threatened to have her arrested.
She was young enough to buy into my threats but I had also made an enemy for life. Her mannerisms became more pathological and more passive/aggressive over the years but I watched a sociopath in the making. I never trusted the girl and while she maintained contact with me after I left home after college, I would have happily dismissed her from my life altogether if it had been up to me.
I knew that this thing with Genevieve had nothing to do with her being sisterly and setting me up with a friend for the sake of seeing me happy. True, Genevieve was beautiful enough for any man and honestly, if I hadn’t met her through Eloise, I probably would have asked her out…well, maybe before that enigmatic Vegas adventure. Who didn’t love a big busted redhead? And I could see she was interested in me.
But just knowing that Genevieve had any ties with my sister was enough to turn me off to the woman forever.
“You’re a fool,” Eloise crooned into my voicemail. “She’s rich, beautiful and too smart for you. You don’t deserve her.”
In another she screamed, “Are you gay for real? What’s wrong with you?”
Eventually she just jammed up the space and I left it like that but I had to admit that the wheel in my mind was turning, trying to anticipate her next move. Eloise did not take rejection well and to reject Genevieve was obviously a direct slap in the face to her. Well, it was obvious to her, not me.
It didn’t matter anyway. The new PR campaign was underway and I had a feeling that we were hearing the last of the weird, unsubstantiated rumors which had come from God only knows where.
According to the marketing experts, I was Julian Bryant, family man, family values. Whatever that meant.
Anyway, I wasn’t receiving any backlash from the tenants that I knew of. The drama was more or less over as far as I could tell. Then again, I didn’t exactly keep my eyes on the tabloids. I was too busy running an empire.
I was knee deep in paperwork when Terry knocked on the door, his eyes clouded with worry as usual. I had forgotten he was there. I considered that a good thing—it meant he wasn’t obsessing about something.
“Julian, sorry to bother you but a package just arrived for you.” The lawyer looked ill at ease but what else was new?
“A package?”
I tried to remember if I’d ordered anything from Amazon lately but I drew a blank. My online shopping had taken a back-burner lately too. I really needed to step up my social game. I was turning into a work-crazed misfit.
“What is it?” I asked, focusing my attention back on him. Terry stepped forward into the room, a manila envelope in his hand.
“Before I give this to you, do you want to tell me anything?”
I guffawed.
“You’re going to need to be more specific than that, Terry,” I replied, sitting back to run my fingers through my chestnut hair. I needed a haircut. I’d have to remind my assistant to do that soon. Man, I really was falling apart those days. I wondered if my lack of self-care had started when I returned from Vegas.
I turned my eyes back to the computer, almost forgetting that Terry had come in for a reason. The lawyer cleared his throat and I looked at him again.
“Here,” I said impatiently, gesturing for him to give me the envelope. No wonder it took me forever to get things done. I was being interrupted every six seconds.
“Julian, I need you to be straight with me. What happened when you were in Vegas last?”
My lids dropped and narrowed my aqua eyes into slits. That was a very pointed question, two months in the making. What did Terry know that I didn’t? I studied his face closely.
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly. He had my undivided attention now.
“Anything you want to tell me? Anything you did?”
A dozen images of the black-haired girl flashed through my mind at once and for a second, I was breathless by the vision.
Kitten. This is about her.
“Nope. Why?”
Terry’s gaze locked on mine and his lips formed a line which spoke volumes about how much he believed me.
“Julian…who is Mrs. Bryant?”
The question didn’t compute at all. There had never been a Mrs. Bryant, at least not as long as I’d been alive.
Even my mom had kept her maiden name. My poor dad couldn’t get a woman to take his surname, even with a fortune attached to it.
“My grandmother?” I suggested. “What is that? Give it to me.”
I was on my feet, reaching for the envelope and he reluctantly handed it to me. The postmark was from Las Vegas which had apparently inspired all the questions but the address was confusing.
To Mr. and Mrs. Julian Bryant.
My home address was printed on the package and I got a chill of apprehension reading it.
What the hell was it?
I gave Terry another look of confusion and reached for a letter opener, my pulse quickening.
Mr. and Mrs. Julian Bryant.
“Julian, what did you do?” Terry mumbled but I barely heard him as I tore open the manila and peered inside.
“Holy shit!” I choked and dropped it as if it was on fire. “No way.”
I stared at it for a long moment, wondering if I was dreaming again. Then, I picked it up and carefully withdrew the square page inside.
Certificate of Marriage.
“Who is she?” Terry demanded. “Please tell me this wasn’t a drunken night you don’t remember.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” I replied truthfully. I had been higher than I’d ever been, that was true. Well, the champagne and scotch I’d thrown in there probably hadn’t helped matters at all…
“Julian, who is she?” he asked again and I scanned the letterhead carefully.
“According to this, her name is Kennedy Christensen.”
“According to that?” he echoed dubiously. “You really don’t know the name of the woman you married in Vegas? Is this a prank? Obviously you must remember something. People don’t just get married and forget it completely. Someone is just playing a joke on you or trying to extort money.”
“I don’t think so…” I murmured, closing my eyes as I sat back. I remembered her so clearly and now, there was proof that she wasn’t something I made up in my own mind. I didn’t know how I felt about that. On one hand, I was excited to know that this surreal woman existed somewhere out there but then again, did I want to be married to her? Not really.
No offense, Kennedy Christensen. I don’t really want to be married to anyone.
Shit, even her name was lyrical.
Kitten. Kennedy. Christensen.
Could she really have been so beautiful or was it my high mind?
If so, there was nothing about the girl which didn’t appeal to me. She had been fun, sexy, sweet from what I recalled. Her mouth…my God…her mouth�
�
“What are you going to do about this?” Terry demanded, his nearly-panicked voice shattering my reverie. I must have been lost in thought.
“Jesus, Terry, have you seen a woman around here the last couple months claiming to be my wife?” I demanded, forcing him to think reasonably. “Obviously we both did something stupid and she’s trying to forget it somewhere.”
“Somewhere? You don’t even know where she’s from?”
Fearing Terry was going to have a heart attack, I laughed, hoping that my mirth would lighten his mood. I failed miserably. Terry’s scowl deepened.
“Terry, it will be ridiculously easy to find her,” I assured him. “Internet remember?”
As I expected, my announcement was met with a blank stare. Finally, he spoke again.
“Julian, what if she won’t agree to the divorce? Or she demands money?”
“I have money,” I reminded him flatly but I was bothered by the insinuation that Kennedy had married me because she was after my money. I had no idea if she even knew my name.
What a mess. How did this even happen?
“Look at the bright side,” I chuckled. “No one can claim I’m gay if I got married in a secret Vegas wedding, right?”
“This is not a laughing matter,” Terry grumbled. “Your father would be spinning in his grave right now.”
My grin faded.
“Really? Because Maddy was a much better choice?”
Terry clamped his mouth shut.
“I’ll hire investigators to find her and serve her with papers,” he muttered but I held up my hand.
“No,” I told him. “I’ve got this.”
He stared at me balefully.
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”
“You have a bad feeling about everything,” I reminded him. “Anyway, it lacks a certain amount of chivalry to have strangers deliver divorce papers, don’t you think?”
“Right. You married a woman whose name you don’t know in Vegas two months ago and you’re concerned about chivalry.”
I scowled at him.
“You’re dismissed, Terry,” I told him curtly, turning back to my computer to open a new search bar.
“Deal with this, Julian. This family does not need more scandal.”
The statement left me scratching my head. When had we ever been met with scandal? But Terry was gone before I could push him on the issue.
I typed in Kennedy’s full name and the usual Facebook and LinkedIn profile searches appeared but instantly I found her, the amber eyes glowing out from the page.
If possible, she was even more attractive than I remembered her but it was hard to be certain through the grainy photos which I didn’t have access to without friending her. I was tempted for a second but I stopped myself. I didn’t want to shock her and scare her off without talking to her face-to-face. It seemed likely that she had no idea what we had done or if she did, she didn’t know my name to find me.
She’ll be just as relieved as I am to put an end to this, I assured myself, exhaling in a whoosh of air which could have meant anything.
I still hadn’t decided if I was happy or sad about this.
6
Kennedy
The morning sickness got worse, much worse and for three days, I was forced to stay in bed. I would seem to be fine and then I would be knocked down again the following morning like a bomb had been dropped on me.
“You should really go see a doctor,” Belle chirped on the third day when she called into the store. “That sounds like a bad flu. Or maybe you have salmonella poisoning. Or mono!”
Everyone was a doctor in the day of Web MD.
“I’m going today,” I lied. “If I can make it down the stairs.”
“I’ll bring you some soup and Gatorade tonight,” she promised. “Just don’t get me sick.”
Don’t worry, idiocy isn’t catching, I thought darkly. I wondered if Belle would consider that I might be pregnant.
Probably not. Who the hell would ever expect the Virgin Mary Kennedy Christensen to be with child.
I got sick in waves, first thing in the morning, then I’d be fine until about noon where I’d retch again for another hour and then I would repeat one or two more times in the late afternoon. Some nights I’d spring from bed at two or three o’clock. I wondered if it was normal or if I really did need to see a doctor.
At some point, it would be unavoidable—I’d need to find an OBGYN but hopefully I had some time to worry about that. My online research told me otherwise, that I should be in the care of a physician right away and start taking prenatal vitamins.
The problem, of course, was money. I didn’t have health insurance and it wasn’t like I had a rainy-day fund kicking around.
And it’s only going to get worse when the baby comes.
The cruelty of what was happening scared me and I half-wondered if it wasn’t morning sickness I was experiencing but a malaise for my situation.
There was no one to turn to, no family to call.
I’d been part of the foster care system since some crackhead had left me at a firehall when I was two. He claimed he wasn’t my father but found me wandering through some flophouse and when no one admitted I was theirs, he took it upon himself to get me out of there.
I guess I should have been grateful that man had enough clarity to see that a toddler shouldn’t be walking around a drug house but in the back of my mind, I always wondered about my parents.
Like all kids who grew up in similar situations, I had fanciful ideas about who my parents were and how I’d come to be in such a place.
I was a princess from another country, kidnapped by junkies for drug money. I had stolen out in the middle of the night while my parents slept in their mansion and made my way into the flophouse. I had special powers and my parents sent me away to protect me from evil scientists.
Of course no one ever claimed a lost toddler or foreign princess and my powers had yet to materialize.
It’s not easy growing up realizing that no one wants you, that you’re not special nor bound for great things.
Even if you are a Kennedy.
Thankfully, I never dealt with some of the psychological trauma that young children face when they’re separated from their parents at that age but I had other scars, deep and permanent that no social worker ever really knew about.
I was never adopted but I did get identification with one of my many foster parents’ names for posterity.
I was just another number in the system, a no one, a nothing.
I’d be damned if my baby was going to grow up the same way but how could I possibly make it better for her?
The evening light was overshadowing the bright sunshine of day and I was just drifting off again when I heard someone climbing the steps in the hallway.
A quick glance at my alarm clock told me it was almost eight o’clock which meant that Belle wouldn’t be off work yet.
There was a pause outside my door and I heard the shifting of weight beyond. Was someone trying to break in? It had never happened before but I had always lived on the edge of my seat expecting it. My neighborhood was not renowned for its safety features.
Fear gripped me and I bolted up, too quickly. I looked around for a weapon and settled on the desk lamp sitting on the floor.
Slowly, I rose, creeping toward the front door. As I approached, a sharp rap caused me to scream. I collected myself quickly.
Robbers don’t knock on doors, I reminded myself quickly, taking a deep breath.
“Hello?” a man called from the other side of the door. “I’m looking for Kennedy Christensen.”
I slumped against the wall, my mind exploding. I knew his voice. I knew the timbre, the pitch. I’d heard it in my dreams or in my memory.
It was him. Unmistakably, undeniably him.
It couldn’t be, could it?
Of course it can be. He’s the father of this baby. You’ve already established he’s real. Get a grip on yo
urself, Ken.
“Hello?” he called again when I remained silent. “My name is Julian Bryant. We met in Las Vegas a couple months ago. I…I’m not sure if you remember me because I had a hard time remembering you.”
And there it was, out in the open. I wasn’t crazy. I hadn’t developed him in the throes of alcohol psychosis.
A whoosh of relief sucked out of me and into the air but the consternation mounted simultaneously.
Slowly, I unlocked the deadbolts, painfully aware of how I must look and smell at that moment but I had to open the door. I had to see him for myself, see if he was exactly how I remembered in my spotty recollection.
The door creaked and we stared at each other. Again, I had to cock my head back slightly to stare into his face, the scent of that aftershave filling my nostrils.
“You’re real,” he laughed and I felt an embarrassing spring of tears fill my eyes.
“Yes,” I whispered. “So are you.”
More silence ensued and I ran my eyes over his broad chest, covered in a shirt that cost more than my monthly rent and car payment combined.
He was rich, also how I remembered him.
What had he seen in me that night in Vegas? What was he doing here now?
“You left all your clothes behind,” he finally said and I could see he was trying not to appear nosy as he casually glanced around my dim, tiny apartment. “I seem to recall a shopping spree but truth be told, I don’t remember much of what you bought.”
He flashed me a brilliant white smile and it lit a fire inside my abdomen. A now-familiar gush of warmth eased through the crotch of my shorts and I hoped he didn’t see it.
“I don’t remember much about what happened,” I confessed, lowering my eyes. “But yeah, I remember there being a lot of packages inside your hotel room.”
I blushed when I said the words “hotel room”. I felt so dirty, like I was a call-girl or something. I didn’t know if I should invite him in but talking to him in the hallway where the neighbors might hear seemed conspicuous. On the other hand, my unit reeked of the aftermath of morning sickness. What if he figured it out?
I realized I was being ridiculous. He had no reason to guess that I was pregnant, not when I hadn’t believed it myself. Even if he did, he wouldn’t assume the baby was his. I hadn’t seen this man in two months. Anything could have happened in that time.