A Material Gift (D'Arth Series Book 2)

by Camille Oster

  “Do you like to cook?” he asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Then my kitchen will be pleased to meet you. It’s been feeling neglected.”

  He forked a large portion of bacon and eggs into his mouth and let the flavours suffuse his taste buds. The eggs were slightly runny, melting in his mouth. This was pure pleasure, he decided. His thoughts travelled to a man in his firm, an accountant that he didn’t know well, but Sebastian had noted how the man had met a woman, got married and started putting on weight. Fat and happy; likely being fed pleasure at every meal.

  He finished his plate quickly and was almost a bit disappointed that there wasn’t more. Sitting back, he watched Sam eat. Was that going to be her? Finding some guy to marry, then growing old together, living in some suburb with their children, growing content and fat. No, she was still young and on the backpacker circuit, out to party and experience things before going back to embrace her future.

  His own future was a little more blurry. Life in the suburbs wasn’t for him; it never had been. But equally, he didn’t quite see his future right now. The one he’d envisioned with Shanna had just disintegrated and another vision hadn’t quite formed yet.

  He felt a moment of awkwardness because he couldn’t really think of anything to say to her. “Did you like Dubai?”

  “It was alright. Hot. Sailing was good.”

  “You like sailing?”

  “My uncle does.” She folded over her napkin absently with her fingers.

  “I have a boat if you want to go sailing.”

  “Of course you do,” she said with a smile, looking out over the view.

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No, you just seem like a guy with all the toys.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Or are you one of these types who feel that no-one should be allowed to have fun because there is inequality in the world?”

  “You said it, not I.”

  “Are you a bit of a leftie, Miss D’Arth?” He smiled teasingly.

  “I’m not into politics.”

  “Are you sure? Because I am hearing that accusation, the ‘How dare you have money—feel ashamed!’ accusation that lefties seem to cling to.” He noted she was turning slightly red. “You are a leftie,” he accused.

  “My mother might be.”

  “And what does your mother do?”

  “She’s a school principal.”

  “Of course she is,” he said with a smile.

  “Don’t make fun of my mother; we could, after all, talk about your mother.”

  “I’d rather not.” Point scored on her side.

  “At least my leftie mother doesn’t charge in like the cavalry to clean up my messes.”

  “Ouch.”

  “What exactly is it your mother does? Isn’t she royalty of something?”

  “She is a countess, and her generation tend not to ‘do’ anything.”

  “Except interfere in her son’s life.”

  “Not normally.” The spectre of his mother seemed to appear, highlighting the awkwardness between them. Sam grew serious as he watched. The conversation had taken an awkward turn, going from light teasing banter, which he’d actually quite enjoyed, to drawing attention to the debacle they were embroiled in.

  “Have you spoken to your mother? I would like to go home.”

  A deep frown drew his eyebrows together into a frown, as he often did when discussing his mother’s actions and intentions. He had spoken to her, like he had many times before, as when she’d been downright rude to Shanna and he’d had to tell her off, forbidding her from visiting unless she would be cordial and civil to his girlfriend. That time, she dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand, just like she had this time. His mother was absolutely impossible, especially when he tried to admonish her for her behaviour. Countess Edmonda St. Julien did believe she had certain privileges over the general population, particularly when she felt someone was acting above their station, as she had believed Shanna was. And his mother was stubborn as a mule and he’d actually had to forbid her from visiting Monte Carlo when Shanna was living here. She had stayed away, claiming she knew when she wasn’t appreciated. “She will not withdraw the injunction.”

  Sam shook her head. “I regret ever getting involved with this.” Getting up abruptly from the chair, she started clearing the plates away. Sebastian felt the sting of the remark. He couldn’t blame her; it had turned into a complete cock-up.

  She returned sharply. “You can’t just play with people, like this, you know. I’m not a slave and I’m not your servant, and you keeping me here is despicable.” He let her vent what had obviously been brewing for quite a while. “And for the record, I’m not entirely sure I trust your judgement.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You chose to enter into this thing with a woman who’s as constant as a traffic light, leaving me stranded. Then your mother comes along and places an injunction on me—for trying to be kind to you. Don’t you realise how fucked up that is? Do you even want this baby?”

  Sebastian opened his mouth to address the accusation, but nothing came out. He normally never lied and lies didn’t flow smoothly out of his mouth. She’d hit the nail on the head. He wasn’t sure he wanted this baby—not like this. This had been Shanna’s baby when they’d started this process. “I take care of my responsibilities.”

  “Responsibilities?” she questioned. “This is a baby—a child. It isn’t some burden that you have to suffer through and deal with. How are you going to take care of a child? How are you going to fit a child into your sports car and your dating schedule? How about your constant travel?”

  “There are nannies. I was raised by one.” He had to admit that it sounded pompous as it came out, although he didn’t mean it that way. He was raised by a woman he cared deeply about and she him. It had been a very important relationship in his life. But Sam looked absolutely abhorred.

  “You can’t be serious. Are you planning to fob this baby off on some nanny—hidden from sight so it doesn’t impact on your life?”

  It sounded horrible and callous when put that way, but it was, in essence, the way his thoughts had accommodated this baby into his life. He would do his bit—be a father, but the day-to-day child management would be done by the nanny, or several if needed. He would be the generous father, who indulged the child, while the nannies taught good behaviour, took her to school and whatever activities she had.

  Although to someone who’d never been raised with a nanny that sounded likely something worse than it was. “Being raised by nannies is fine. I was.”

  “And you don’t wonder that there is something wrong with you?”

  He actually had no response to the accusation. Truth was that he was a much better person for having been raised by his nanny than he would be being raised by his mother—which would never have happened.

  “What? Just because I am ambitious, not looking to grow fat and content in some little hovel?” Thoughts of the guy in accounting returned, with his sheepish happiness with his simple life, growing prematurely into old age.

  She looked at him with complete confusion and contempt. “You’re a total snob, you know that?”

  “I am not a snob,” he said, while knowing that there were a few things about him that was a bit snobbish. “Just because I am ambitious and successful, doesn’t mean I am a snob. I just think they are qualities worth nurturing.” That was at the root of his snobbishness. He couldn’t stand that people admonished him for his wealth when he worked damned hard for it. Anyone could work hard, but most accepted doing the minimum, not pushing for anything or taking risks. People shouldn’t complain about his success when they never tried to achieve their own.

  How had they gotten into this conversation, exactly?

  “This baby is mine, you know—legally,” she said coldly. “And I am going to act in the best interest of this baby. And if that’s not you, then it’s not you.”

 
; “What?” he said, getting up and following as she turned to leave.

  “I’m saying: if you don’t step up and be a proper father, I’m keeping the baby.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said, marching after her as she continued through the living room.

  “Yes, I can,” she said and turned around facing him down at the door to her room. “Turns out I can. And I’m not going to let this baby be hidden and forgotten so you can live your bachelor life without the imposition of a child—you can forget it. Stay out of my room.” She shut the door with force.

  Fury gripped his insides. He wanted to hit something. How dare she threaten him or even to think it was her right to judge him. Truthfully, he did kind of see her as a servant, fulfilling a task he had contracted her to do. There might be some sanctimony in that, but he was too angry to feel embarrassed about it. “This is my house,” he called back. “I’ll go into any room I want.” That was completely childish, he admitted. He just wasn’t used to having his authority challenged, by anyone. People did what he told them to, with maybe the exception of his mother, who did what she wanted. They did not challenge him on his behaviour and they certainly didn’t hold him to ransom, or try to take what was his. Like hell, he thought.

  Chapter 17

  Sebastian stepped onto the court, turning his racquet in his hand. Jean-Rene Rossier was waiting patiently. They’d played before and they were equally matched. Sebastian hadn’t planned on playing racquet ball that day, but after his blow-up with the girl, he needed to burn some energy. Anger coursed through his veins and he was going to give Jean-Rene hell.

  The ball was served and it sped across the small room, bouncing off the walls, almost too fast to be seen. He ran for the ball like his life depended on it, hitting it as hard as he could. The game unfolded and Jean-Rene gave as good as he got. Sebastian was drenched in sweat before long. He couldn’t even keep track of the score—he didn’t care. He was here for hitting something hard and to feel the singular focus of the game, until it was called quits.

  “You’re in a mood today,” Jean-Rene said. “Are there devils after you?”

  “No, just a woman.”

  “Ah,” his racquet ball acquaintance said and gave him a slap on the shoulder. “Then you are in trouble.”

  That wasn’t exactly what he meant. He wasn’t in trouble; he was just being deeply annoyed, by a deluded girl. After the game’s conclusion, Sebastian made his way into the shower and let the warm water run over his heated body. He was still breathing heavily from the game, letting himself be soothed by the water pelting on his head and shoulders.

  His discussion with the girl returned and he felt his anger flaring again. He didn’t abide people trying to steal from him, and right under his nose, too. But then he didn’t approve of being angry either; anger achieved nothing—he succeeded because his cool analysis of a situation tended to win over his opponent’s angry reactions, and this was no different. She wasn’t the first to try to get one over on him, but attempts were never successful, because he saw them coming and he dealt with them—just like he’d deal with her.

  She had no right to his child; as much as she hated it, she was the hired help in this case, and they didn’t have the right to the silver. He would fight her and his means were formidable. For certain she had absolutely no idea what she was in for, having likely fought nothing but school grades and some lecher boss before. Unfortunately, she had no clue how out of her depth she was.

  Stepping out of the shower, he felt calmer. He’d managed to burn his energy and his anger, and now he was ready to deal with the situation. When he’d come to the gym this morning, he’d been ready to throw her out of the house, let her fend for herself on the streets, which looking back was an embarrassing knee-jerk reaction. Now, he was calmer, ready to take on the task ahead.

  He needed to have the contract reviewed and then they would square off. He’d done this a hundred times before. Admittedly the stakes were a little different, but the process was exactly the same—a contractor who refused to honour the agreement.

  *

  Sam lay back on her bed, her feet up on the headboard. Her eyes closed and shook her head. She’d exploded; she always did when she got angry. Looking back, that discussion could have been conducted differently. Her sentiments were completely true, but she could perhaps have delivered them in a more constructive manner, but when confrontation came along, she jumped in feet first.

  She was surprised she hadn’t been kicked out yet, but Sebastian had left the house—probably to have the police come to arrest her. Who knew what trouble she had just signed up for? She didn’t quite regret it though; she’d been serious when she’d committed to being this baby’s champion, and nothing she’d said was untrue.

  Lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, she felt an unmistakable undulation in her stomach. She stopped breathing and there was another. That was a kick, she was sure of it. The baby just kicked. She’d felt movement before, but not something discernible. Her hands travelled along her belly until she found a spot where small kicks protruded. There was a real baby in her stomach. No longer was it some abstract concept; there was a real baby in her stomach—a little girl.

  All her problems melted away as she marvelled at this new development. She was growing a new life; it was almost too much to absorb. This was utterly amazing.

  She heard Sebastian’s car pull into the driveway and listened as he got out and walked into the house. Then rummaged around for a bit, before it went quiet.

  Sam smiled as she felt another kick. This was a milestone. Sebastian should know, she thought, then wondered if she should tell him. This was his baby; he should share in these moments, aside from the discussion they’d had and how they felt about each other. She just felt extremely awkward broaching the subject with him. Up until now, the baby had been something pertaining to her. Sure, he’d seen the scan, but the baby and its growth was something between her and the baby. It felt strange bringing him into that relationship, but he did deserve to know. Even if he was a complete fuckwit.

  Rolling onto her side, she got up from the bed. That was going to get more awkward as the bump got bigger. She moved to the door and silently walked into the hall. Sebastian was standing by the kitchen island in a blue grey suit with a dark blue shirt underneath, drinking from a bottle of beer. He looked angry, which actually only made him more gorgeous. Sam huffed.

  He noticed her and turned, leaning back on the kitchen island and crossed his arms. She stood there for a moment, considering him as he considered her.

  “What do you want?” he asked coldly.

  “The baby is kicking.”

  A frown and a look of surprise followed across his face. For a moment, he looked uncertain, undoing his crossed arms and putting him palms down at his sides on the kitchen island.

  “Do you want to feel?” Again he looked uncertain, his eyes on her belly. He took a tentative step towards her until they were close; closer than they’d ever been before. He really was tall and broad, she noticed. His hand extended to her belly and she felt an impulse to draw away, but she stood her ground, unsure why she would feel like drawing away from him. His palm was warm as he touched her taut belly—a look of concentration in his eyes.

  “Here,” she said and moved his hand over to where the baby was kicking. The baby didn’t co-operate for a while and they stood there awkwardly with his hand on her stomach. Then the baby gave a strong kick and he smiled broadly, a look of wonder on his face for a moment, before it clouded over again.

  “The baby is growing fast,” he said. “When is your next appointment?”

  “Next week.”

  “You know you can’t keep this baby,” he said quietly, watching her intently.

  “As I said, I’m going to act in this baby’s best interest. You might say that I have no right, but I’m as involved in this as you are. I enabled this; I made this happen. I take full responsibility for this baby and I don’t really care if you
like it or not.” She said it calmly and he still had his palm on her belly.

  Stepping back, he returned to the island and grabbed his bottle, taking a swig. “You know I have a whole legal department. It’s probably the biggest department in the company. They can bury you.”

  Sam shrugged. “I’ve never let a lawyer stand in my way. I have one myself, you know.”

  Sebastian chuckled dismissively. “Yes, I know—some French woman close to retirement. How are you even paying for her?”

  “My uncle is paying.”

  “I hope your uncle had deep pockets. This could tie up in court for years.”

  “This is a baby. It doesn’t comply with your litigation schedule.”

  “But how would you afford to live here for years, going through a bitter litigation.”

  “You forget. I don’t need to go through the whole litigation palaver; I just need to get the injunction overturned,” she said tartly, crossing her arms and feeling her temper rise. That might not have been the best thing to say, but again, her anger had ruled her head.

  Sebastian took another swig of his beer, watching her. “Obviously, that’s not going to happen now that you’ve indicated your intentions. I am supporting you. How are you going to survive if I withdraw my support?”

  “Are you kicking me out?” she challenged. He looked away for a moment and Sam held her breath. The truth was that she was dependent on him, otherwise she would have to beg her family to support her, and she would have to get a job. The prospect of the Yacht Club flitted through her mind distastefully, but they would never hire a pregnant girl; she would have to find something else. “I would manage, you know. I don’t need to live in a space like this. I’d live in a hovel if I had to.”