He dragged a hand through his hair, grasping for a way to make sense of everything, for some way to reach her. “You can’t—”
“I have to go.”
Panic mushroomed inside him. “Rosa, you cannot blurt out news like this and then take off.”
She flinched at his gruff tone.
“Just . . .” Jeremy held his hands out in supplication. “Just give me a minute to process this. Please.”
His entreaty came out on a ragged rush of jumbled emotions, but it seemed to do the trick because Rosa sagged back against the door rather than opening it.
A tense silence filled the foyer for several seconds.
“I am so sorry,” she finally whispered.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
She shook her head, misery stamping her pale face.
His chest tightened, his own uncertainty and the need to soothe her consuming him. God, what he wouldn’t give right now to wrap his arms around her and promise that everything would be okay. But he didn’t know that for sure. Worse, she probably wouldn’t even welcome his embrace.
“I had a plan,” she continued. “I did, really. I practiced what to say a million different ways on the drive over. Not a single one was like that.” She jabbed a hand toward his living room as if their disastrous scene from moments ago was still pictured there.
“Believe me, that is not how I envisioned telling you. And—and I know it’s the last . . .” Her voice shook as it trailed off. Her dark eyes glistened, her fingers nervously fiddling with the gold crucifix on her necklace. “. . . the last thing you wanted to hear. Just like, just like—”
Two tears streaked down her cheeks to drip off her quivering chin. “Just like sleeping with me was probably the last thing you thought about doing that night.”
“Hold on now. Don’t go putting words in my mouth.” He took a step closer, desperate to touch her, to show her how wrong she was about him.
She shrank back against the door and his frustration skyrocketed.
“This was a mistake. I should go,” she repeated.
Sparks of anger shot through him. “No, you shouldn’t.”
Wariness flared in her brown eyes.
He clamped his mouth shut, annoyed with his inability—again!—to find the right words to calm her. Like the morning after Yaz’s wedding. Only, this time, Rosa was intent on walking out the door herself.
He couldn’t let her. Not now. Not knowing that she was carrying his baby.
Because yeah, there was no doubt in his mind that this child was his.
His only doubt at the moment involved whether he could convince her to stay. Or how exactly to proceed from here.
Rosa was having his baby. The words filtered through his shock-fogged brain.
Suddenly, like someone jerking open the curtains and allowing the morning sunshine to fill a darkened room, Jeremy understood what this meant. What he needed to do.
“Come on, let’s go back and sit down.” Dazed but certain, he made a conscious effort to keep his voice level and calm as he held out his hand, willing her to take it. “We need to talk about this.”
Rosa stared at him uncertainly. Her gaze darted from his proffered hand to his eyes. When she started worrying her bottom lip, the pressure in his chest eased the slightest bit.
That was a good sign. At least it meant she was considering his plea. No longer ready to race out the door.
Because, no matter what, walking away was not an option for him. If Rosa gave birth to his child, whether she wanted him to or not, he’d be a part of that kid’s life. Maybe he carried Roger Wilson’s deadbeat father genes; there was nothing Jeremy could do about that. But he’d been raised by Sherman Taylor since the age of six. Adopted by Sherman at the age of seven when he had married Jeremy’s mom. The man was a great father figure and role model.
Sure, when Jeremy’s loser dad had come around trying to extort money by threatening to sell his sordid tale to the tabloids, Jeremy may have gotten a little spooked. What kid wouldn’t if you were the spitting image of a scumbag like Roger. Jeremy had heard the maid and cook gossiping about his resemblance. Still, looks could be deceiving, and blood alone did not make a father.
“I didn’t come here expecting anything from you,” Rosa said, interrupting his thoughts. Her voice trembled, but she held her head high, her shoulders proud. “I can handle this on my own.”
Her spurt of gumption in the midst of what he knew had to be a scary situation for her filled him with admiration.
As shell-shocked as he was right now, he could only imagine how Rosa, demure and devout, must be reeling.
“I’m sure you didn’t. Expect anything, I mean,” he explained when her expression crinkled with confusion. “You’re probably the least conniving person I know, Rosa. That’s part of your charm.”
She blushed, bringing a deep pink to her otherwise chalky complexion.
Now he realized the cause of her pallor, the reason why she’d refused his offer of wine and coffee earlier. She’d already begun considering the needs of their child.
Their child.
The phrase brought anxious anticipation whipping through him at tornado speed.
He was going to be a father.
Rosa was going to be a mother.
Together, they had created a bond between them that would never be broken. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Unlike Roger Wilson, Jeremy was man enough to respect the mother of his child, refusing to make her feel alone or defenseless.
Instead, he’d be the kind of father Sherman Taylor would be proud of. The kind of man who brought honor to the Taylor name by doing the right thing. And that meant . . .
“I think we should get married,” he announced.
Rosa’s head reared back, thumping against the front door behind her. Her arms went slack at her sides. Her purse dropped onto the floor, something inside hitting the tile with a clank.
That weird shade of green slowly crept into her face again before she slapped a hand over her mouth, pushed past him, and ran down the hall.
Seconds later, he heard her vomiting in the bathroom.
Chapter Four
“I am not going to discuss this right now,” Rosa whispered, desperate for Jeremy to drop the topic before one of her sisters walked in on them arguing in the kitchen. She shot a nervous glance over her shoulder at the archway leading to the family dining room.
Por favor, Dios, let them stay out there.
“We have to figure out—”
“Yes, I know that. But not today.” She shook her head, taking out her frustrations on the boiled potatoes she was mashing. “I’m still processing everything. Please, you have to back off.”
She spun around, a dollop of potatoes dropping off the masher and splattering onto the worn linoleum floor. She glared at Jeremy, her annoyance mounting when he merely shrugged his shoulders, his expression calm.
Through the archway, she caught sight of Lilí and Yaz, along with Tomás and his daughter, Maria, setting the table for the Thanksgiving meal. Maria chattered away, probably sharing another story about her dance class with Yaz or something that had happened at school. The sounds of a football game on the television in the family room drowned out Rosa’s conversation with Jeremy in here—she hoped. Like she’d told him several times since his surprise arrival, this was neither the time nor the place to discuss their situation.
She hadn’t figured out yet how to tell her sisters. Was dreading it, actually.
At the moment, her plan was to take a page out of Scarlett O’Hara’s how-to manual and leave this conversation with Jeremy until “tomorrow.” When her sisters weren’t within earshot and after her first appointment with Dr. Jiménez.
“I thought you were going skiing with your family in Aspen for the holiday?” She ripped a paper towel off the rack, then crouched down to swipe at the potatoes before someone stepped in them.
“Yaz invited me to join you guys. I can go skiing
anytime,” Jeremy answered, apparently nonplussed by Rosa’s less than effusive greeting. She, on the other hand, was still reeling from the shock of opening the front door to find him standing on the porch earlier.
Talk about a Thanksgiving surprise.
“And of course you jumped at her offer. Great.” Rosa surged to her feet, giving her indignation full throttle. Ignoring her conscience reminding her to stop overreacting and start being the good hostess her mami had taught her to be. “Even though I told you I’d call when I was rea—”
She broke off, belatedly realizing her mistake in moving too fast as the blood rushed out of her head. The edges of her vision greyed. Jeremy’s face blurred and she swayed to the side.
He grabbed a hold of her arms to steady her before she face-planted next to the splattered potatoes. “Easy. I got you.”
For as long as she’d known him, Jeremy had been a good person to lean on. As a friend. All week, he’d been pressing for more.
Before, she would have welcomed his advances. Had even pined for his attention, penning countless lovesick verses about her secret crush.
Now, things were different.
Now that he finally sought her out, it was only because of his sense of obligation.
Disappointment churned in her belly, adding to the nausea she’d been fighting all day.
Tiny white spots filled her vision, the greyed edges growing until all she saw was a pinprick of light.
“Everything okay in here?” Lilí poked her head in the kitchen archway just as Rosa’s entire body went slack.
Jeremy scooped her up in his arms like she weighed no more than a rag doll. The metal masher utensil slipped from her grasp to clatter on the floor, making the mess even bigger. At this point, she was too weak to care.
Her limbs felt heavy, like someone had injected her veins with lead. Eyes closed to ward off the dizziness, she pressed her cheek against Jeremy’s chest and his soft cable-knit sweater.
“What the hell happened?” Lilí cried.
“Nada. Por favor, don’t worry,” Rosa murmured. “It’s no big deal.”
Jeremy muttered something she couldn’t make out, but thankfully he didn’t argue.
Instead, he carried her out of the kitchen, past the dining room and the cacophony of voices asking what was wrong. Once in the living room, he gently laid her on the coffee-colored microfiber sofa, his cool hand smoothing the hair off her forehead.
“Qué pasa? Is Tía Rosa gonna be all right?” Maria’s squeaky little girl voice was pitched higher than usual, her concern evident.
“I’m okay, nena,” Rosa answered, not wanting to alarm the six-year-old. “I just got a little dizzy. Give me a minute and I’ll be ready to serve the food.”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so. Between the rest of us, we can do it,” Jeremy countered.
“Yeah!”
“Of course!
“I’m a good helper!”
“Tell me what you need.”
Her sisters, Maria, and Tomás all joined in the chorus of helping-hands volunteers. Rosa’s frustration escalated. She was not about to spend their first Thanksgiving without either of their parents lying on the couch, feeling useless when it came to helping her family. Just like when Papi had made her stay at school to finish her master’s degree, so Yaz had come home from New York to care for him when he got sick.
“No, es nada. Estoy bien,” she argued, struggling to push up to a seated position. Her stomach complained, and she grimaced at the rising nausea.
Jeremy nudged her shoulder until she lay back down. Then he knelt on the carpet beside her. “It’s not ‘nothing.’ You practically fainted.”
“What?” Yaz rushed forward. She bent over the back of the sofa, her face scrunched with worry as she scrutinized Rosa. “Are you feeling sick again? I told you the other day you didn’t seem like yourself.”
Rosa brushed aside Yaz’s hand when her sister reached out to check her temperature. “I said I’m fine.”
The room had stopped spinning. The vertigo had passed. Embarrassment over being the focus of everyone’s attention sent a heated blush creeping up her neck and into her face.
“I was wiping the floor and stood up too fast, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong.”
Jeremy started to say something and Rosa sent him a pointed “hush up” glare.
“Estás segura?” Yaz pressed.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Rosa wanted to be annoyed at the henpecking, but she had to admire how easily Yaz had stepped into the worried parent role. Being a stepmom agreed with her sister.
Unlike pregnancy apparently did with Rosa.
The past few weeks, she’d spent more time crouched in front of the toilet bowl than anywhere else. Gracias a Dios she had a private restroom in the library’s office at Queen of Peace. That’s the only way she’d been able to stay at work.
“Maria, come along and get Rosa a glass of water. Lilí and I can see what still needs to be done in the kitchen. Tomás, will you carry the turkey to the table, por favor?” Yaz rattled off the instructions, then turned back to Jeremy. “You—”
“I’ll sit tight with Rosa for a minute, make sure she’s good to go.”
“I don’t need a babysit—”
“Good.” With a brisk nod, Yaz spun around and headed to the kitchen. Maria skipped along beside her.
“You don’t need to hover. I’m fine,” Rosa groused. She despised her petulant tone, but Jeremy’s pushiness was driving her to it.
Already today he’d brought up the idea of marriage again. It made her heart race, and not in a good way.
“I’ll believe you’re fine when you start looking a little less like Kermit the Frog. Green isn’t really your best color.” Still kneeling beside the couch, Jeremy peered down at her. “I’m worried about how much weight you’ve lost. Have you seen an obstetrician yet?”
“Shhh!” She pressed her fingertips against his lips to silence him. “Por favor.”
Heat flared in his blue eyes, sparking an answering heat within her. Quickly she dropped her hand, curling her fingers on her lap.
Her gaze darted toward the dining room, where Tomás was busy setting the stuffed turkey in the center of the table, oblivious to what was going on between her and Jeremy.
Rosa took another breath through her mouth rather than her nose. It was the only way she’d been able to stand being in the kitchen surrounded by all the Thanksgiving dinner smells while her stomach revolted at the idea of eating anything. Until a few minutes ago she’d been doing okay.
Lilí bustled in to place the plantain tortilla on the table. She glanced over, and Rosa tried to give her sister a reassuring smile.
“Fine,” Jeremy mumbled. He lifted Rosa’s legs so he could sit at the end of the couch, then laid her feet on his lap.
She watched the muscle work in his jaw. More than likely, he was fighting the urge to voice the arguments about why his idea was “for the best.” Though she’d heard them already.
She prayed he wouldn’t go there again. Not now.
His proposal—if you could even call it that—had replayed over and over in her head in the days since she’d visited his condo. Certainly by her romantic-heart standards it left much to be desired.
Having him say those words to her was something she’d dreamt of before. Silly dreams. Her poet’s heart spinning romantic lines in her journal. But the reality of it was, he’d only asked her to marry him because of the baby. Not because he loved her.
Regret pierced her chest with a swift, burning pang. Having a strong sense of responsibility was an admirable trait, but not a reason to propose to someone.
“I’m cooom-iiing,” Maria singsonged. She walked carefully toward them, carrying a tall glass of water filled to the top in one hand, and a bowl of her favorite bite-sized wafer cookies with flower-shaped frosting in the other. Her eyes were focused on the glass’s rim, as if she could will the liquid not to spill.
Love for her niece swelled i
n Rosa. What a blessing the little girl was to their family. Her youthful spunk and excitement over having a new stepmom and two new tías had eased them all during the dark months since Papi’s passing. Rosa could only hope her sisters would feel the same about her unexpected little one.
“Tía Lilí and Mamá were busy with hot food, so I broughted your drink.” Maria carefully handed Rosa the water. “And some of my Florecitas. Cookies always make me feel better.”
“Gracias.” Rosa nearly corrected the child’s grammar, but Maria’s pleased smile was too bright to risk dimming.
* * *
Jeremy listened to Rosa chat with her niece, frustration simmering beneath the surface of the cool façade he was struggling to maintain in front of her family. After a few minutes, Maria thankfully skipped back to the kitchen, leaving him and Rosa alone.
He reached for the television remote on the wooden coffee table, increasing the volume on the Chicago Bears football game. It wasn’t the ideal solution, but the noise would offer them a measure of privacy.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, pitching his voice low.
Rosa’s full lips twisted with a grimace. She sat up slowly and swung her feet off his lap, dislodging one of her black slippers in the process. It landed on the couch beside them. He picked it up, marveling at the tiny size stamped on the cushioned insole. Six. Another new fact he filed away in the ever-growing corner of his mind reserved for Rosa Fernandez.
“You’ve asked a lot of questions today. Which one do you mean?”
“Have you seen a doctor yet?”
She shook her head, her gaze trained on the television despite the fact he knew she didn’t care a fig about sports. Stubbornness was a Fernandez trait the girls and their dad used to joke about. Jeremy had seen it in Yazmine during the years they’d lived in the same apartment building in New York when she was working as a dancer on and off Broadway, but he’d rarely witnessed that Fernandez stubbornness in Rosa. Until recently.
In fact, Rosa’s calm, genuine personality had appealed to him from the get-go. With Rosa, he normally felt at ease. She was different from the socialites he’d dated in the past. Women like Cecile who lived for the fancy dinners and charity balls where they’d see and be seen. The types of events that a Taylor was expected to attend and support.
Her Perfect Affair Page 5