by Cynthia Dane
What a hell to live in! And she couldn’t even blame ovulation! Oh, God, if this was her hell before ovulating next week… at his mother’s house…
“I need a break,” Vincent insisted. He didn’t forbid his girlfriend from cuddling up to him, but he made it clear that nothing was coming near his pelvis until the refractory period was finished. “Seriously. Things are numb down there.”
She glared at his curled fingers. “You’ve got two hands, buddy. Your dick’s not the only thing on you that can penetrate me.”
“Don’t be irate.” Oh, Mr. Fancy-Smart-Tech-Guy could use the word irate after two hard orgasms? Good for him. Didn’t make Nala feel any better. “I said give me a break.” He slapped a weary hand on her sweaty thigh. “I’ll make sure you don’t leave this bed anything but satisfied. Have I ever let you down before?” All he needed was for Nala to recognize his physical limitations! Difficult to achieve when her body was rioting like this!
“Fuck it.” Nala kicked back the tangled bed covers. The plane dipped just as she was getting up and grabbing a towel off the nightstand. “I gotta pee anyway. I know you’re rich, but I don’t want to have to get antibiotics the moment we touch down on the east coast.”
He lazily waved her off and rolled over. Nala disappeared into the small bathroom attached to the bedroom and hoped that vigorously preventing a UTI would help sate some of her otherworldly sexual desires. (It didn’t.)
Her jeans buzzed the moment she stepped out of the bathroom, towel trailing behind her naked body. At first, she was confused as to how such a thing was even possible, until she realized that not only was her phone still in her back pocket, but that her boyfriend was so rich that he could get her cell phone service on his private plane.
Nala snatched up her phone and saw a name she never really expected to see flashing on the screen. “Hello?” she greeted, wondering if it was even worth trying to get her boyfriend hard again by this point. Vincent had his back to her, so probably not. In truth, he also had his legs crossed just in case she got any ideas. It wasn’t that Vincent didn’t want to keep fucking her brains out, but a man had to honor the limits humanity bestowed upon him. Besides, Nala did get some pleasure knowing that she was the one responsible for such a virile young man acting like this. She told her friend Clara that she had a certifiably “bomb-ass pussy” and would keep saying that until the day she died.
It was not Clara on the phone. It was another supposed friend… although Sylvia Rogers was more like a frenemy that kept Nala on her toes. (And she loved those kinds of friends, so it was win-win.)
“Nala, darling, I hope I’m not interrupting you!”
Nala sat on the edge of the bed and glared at her boyfriend. “Not anymore you aren’t.”
“Anyway,” like Sylvia cared to begin with, “I need to keep this brief because I’ve got so much shit to do,” liar, “but hear me out for a few minutes. You’re going to die.”
That meant Nala was going to be completely unimpressed.
And she was.
When Sylvia finished her spiel, Nala shut off her phone and tossed it into the pile with her jeans. She turned around on the bed and jammed her finger into Vincent’s back. “Hey,” she grunted, “what was one thing we promised when we decided to make this relationship a thing?”
Vincent snorted himself out of his post-coital doze and looked at her through sleepy eyes. He stretched both arms above his head, his foot poking out of the blankets. “To have lots of fun?”
“The other thing.” Nala’s tone better have told him that she wasn’t fucking around. “The one where we promised to not keep any secrets from each other.”
His limbs relaxed with a puff from his lips. “I am not keeping any secrets from you, so I don’t know what this is about.”
“Oh, so you were never going to mention that kid of yours out there?”
Okay, Vincent was awake now.
He jerked up, almost smacking his foot right into Nala’s leg even though the comforter would have prevented that from happening. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have any kids.” The only time Vincent had any reason to believe that a child of his was coming into the world was when his ex-girlfriend was pregnant. Unfortunately, that ended with a miscarriage. (And this wasn’t counting her second pregnancy by another man, not that it had mattered to Vincent. He still would have treated the child as his.)
“Oh, so you don’t remember someone named Cassandra?”
“What the fuck?” He was officially up now. “What does she have to do with anything? I haven’t seen her since before you and I met.” The only reason he said it like that was because even his mathematical brain couldn’t function at the moment, let alone count back to when he first met Cassandra.
Nala furrowed her black brows. “Cut the crap, Vincent. She’s an ex-girlfriend of yours.”
“I would hardly call her a girlfriend. I hooked up with someone named Cassandra, yes, but that was a long time ago. She was one of my rebounds after… you know.” He didn’t want to say it. “After my fiancée died.” Vincent had gone through a few women in such an angry furor that some of them he couldn’t even remember anymore. Cassandra, however, was well entrenched in his memory. “What does she have to do with anything? Who was that on the phone? Who is telling you something?”
“Doesn’t matter who told me. However, I was informed that she has a kid with an unknown father, and congrats, Vincent, you might fit the timeline.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Nothing about his reaction was forced. If anything, Vincent’s genuine shock came from his inability to believe that he could possibly have a child he didn’t know about out there in the big world. Shouldn’t a man have a sixth sense for that sort of thing? That if a woman gave birth to his child – without having told him – that he would know something? He wasn’t a religious guy, and he tended to be logically closed-off to a fault, but he was prone to inklings that cosmic interventions were a thing.
“If I had a kid… first of all, I would know about it. Second, I would have told you early on. That’s not something I would feel the need to keep a secret about.”
Nala believed him, if only because her boyfriend was total father material and he really had no reason to keep a potential son or daughter away from her. While Nala was far from being ready to talk about having kids of their own (and oh dear Lord was she far away from motherhood) she didn’t have a problem with any predilections her boyfriend had. No, what pissed her off was that this fact was presented to her for the sole purpose of riling her up.
Well, it had worked.
“If I have a child,” Vincent slowly said, “it is brand new information to me. And I haven’t been with Cassandra in a very long time. She wasn’t even the last woman I was with before you.”
Nala didn’t bother covering herself when she sat up, legs criss-cross on the bed. “But she is someone you were with. And according to my verified source, she has a kid who may be old enough to be yours.”
“We’ll deal with that if she brings it up.” Vincent wasn’t sure where the fuck this conversation was going, and honestly, Nala didn’t either. What was she supposed to do? Sylvia was a bitch for dumping that, but she didn’t have a history of being a liar. “But you have my word that I know nothing about that. Even if I did, you would’ve known about it a long time ago. The Welshes can’t be hungry for child support, I imagine, since they’re cumulatively wealthier than I am, but shit.” Vincent laid back down. “Now, come on, what was the real reason for bringing this up? It wouldn’t come out of the blue without a damn good reason.”
Nala sighed. “The gala we’re going to… it’s being thrown by the Welshes, whoever they are. I guess your ex is going to be there and it’s a huge fucking deal. Apparently there are a lot of potential baby-daddies and you’re on the hot list of people she’s going to confront.”
“What the fuck? Come on, Nala, I don’t know who you were talking to, but you’re not the type to talk go
ssip like that.”
“I will if I somehow think it’ll make our day shitty.”
“Great. The best kind.” Vincent rolled his eyes. “So we’re flying three thousand miles to some gala that I might get Maury’d at. Great! Ask me more about how I feel.”
He was mostly being facetious. Mostly.
“Sorry?” Nala covered herself up with the comforter. So much for feeling good so high up in the air.
“Shit.” Vincent rolled away from her again. “I barely even remember her.”
“Who? Cassandra?”
“Yeah. See? I barely remember her name right now. We hooked up once when I was on the east coast for a conference. Once. I was at the convention as a distraction after Desiree died. This woman comes on strong to me and I decide to have some mindless sex as escapist therapy. What did it matter, right? The woman I was beholden to was dead.”
“You don’t have to do this to yourself.” Nala was usually quicker at this when it came to stopping her boyfriend’s destructive trains of thoughts. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Vincent’s unhealthy habit of feeling guilty over “cheating” on his dead ex-fiancee had a tendency to rear its ugly head during these moments. It took him forever to get over moving on with a new serious girlfriend. To feel guilt that he might have a child out there, when his ex died without having given birth to two children she thought she was going to have? It was probably like a house fell on top of him. “I’m sure you were careful.”
“Was I? I was pretty self-destructive during that time. It’s entirely possible that I had unprotected sex with her, and I don’t even remember. For fuck’s sake, I barely remember her at all.” He didn’t, either. Those first few women after his fiancee’s death were a blur of hedonistic guilt and shame plaguing every corner of his body. When the man couldn’t get a hard-on without feeling guilty… “Guess we’ll find out, huh?”
Nala should have anticipated that things would go in this direction. But all she could do was curl up next to him and soothe the sudden rush of insecurities overcoming them both.
Nala didn’t know who this Cassandra was, but she was liable to punch her out when she ran into her. And probably Sylvia too. For good measure.
Another Intrusion From Your Narrator
Dear reader,
By now you are surely puzzling out the mystery that is Cassandra Welsh and whether or not she had the child of one of our wonderful heroes. With so much misinformation and rumor mongering making its way across the country, it is forgivable if you are confused or prefer to remain in disbelief until the truth comes out.
Because it will.
Let us assume (as so many have already) that Cassandra is the mother of a young child that has remained in hiding since it was born. Presented with the men in question, here are the likeliest candidates for surprise fatherhood.
Henry Warren: Had an affair with Cassandra shortly before meeting his future wife. Out of all the men she was with in such a short timeframe, he would be the least scandalous, given his wealth, position in society, and the fact that he was publicly single while they dated. Unfortunately, she would surely be in for a custody battle whether Henry liked it or not. The Warrens are not the type of people to let their progeny run be raised by other families.
Ken Andrews: Once the man got over his shock of being announced the father, he would be secretly relieved; after all, there is the matter of needing an heir to take over his company one day, and he is not the type to be bothered by choosing his bastard child. This is assuming the Welshes would even allow such a thing to happen. Ken, for all his wealth and prestige, has been married for over a decade. Not that he was cheating when he would have impregnated Cassandra, mind. Actually, that makes it worse. What family is going to admit that their beautiful little bastard was conceived in a kinky threesome?
Seth Christens: The former doctor had an ongoing affair with a woman who was a tenuous friend before she was a lover. Unattached at the time of said affair, and carrying the prestige of the title of doctor, Seth is one of the safer candidates for Cassandra to approach. However, there is the matter of him openly being in a ménage relationship with a sex worker and a man hardly anyone has ever heard of. But not everyone is perfect, now are they?
Vincent Lane: Vincent may not recall much about his encounter with Cassandra, but the fact that it happened is undisputed. The other fact that it may have been unprotected is regrettable, but also undisputed. Vincent has proven to be more than capable at fathering children, whether he likes it or not. He may be new money, but Cassandra could do worse for the father of her child when it comes to social standing. But would Vincent be able to handle it? Probably not.
Damon Monroe: A longshot on the surface, Damon has admitted that he doesn’t take birth control much into consideration. In truth, the Welshes would be thrilled to have him as the father of their youngest heir, as he is a public figure with power, prestige, and incredible wealth. The new wife and baby on the way, however, throws more than a few wrenches into the void.
Deducing who is truly the father would include consulting the poor woman’s fertility charts and cross-referencing them with one of the most promiscuous months of her life. We have chosen to not invade that far into her personal life for, as we have seen and heard, Cassandra does not handle such criticism well. Can it be unexpected? As the primary heiress to a vast and old fortune, Cassandra was raised to be nothing less than a perfect lady. Unfortunately for Cassandra Welsh, being a “perfect lady” is not her forte when it comes to matters of the heart and loins. Her search for a boyfriend was often thwarted by hormones and youthful vigor – for as much as we love our heroes, few of them had truly romantic intentions with any women until they met the perfect ones for them.
Don’t worry, dear readers. Drama will occur at the gala. Drama concerning Cassandra and the fate of her child will certainly commence. Everyone who shows up hoping to see such drama will have their fill of more than the delightful desserts offered.
This means great entertainment for everyone… save one. The man who has to face what has happened now that Cassandra is willing to go against her family’s wishes and publicly come out, dragging the man behind her.
It could very well be one of the five named men above. It could also be some other man. A man most of you have met alongside with our favorite heroes. A man many of you wish to know better. A man who is in absolutely no position to have such a thing come out.
But the author wouldn’t do that…
…Right?
Scene 11
The Gala
Managing a dozen characters is a lot like herding cats. Since we do not have the hundreds of thousands of words to spare as if this were an epic fantasy novel, we will instead take a birds-eye approach to following the more interesting events of the Christmas Gala everyone is attending. This will mostly be accomplished by finally meeting the woman of the year.
In fact, let us assume that we are there right now, with a simple tense shift.
***
The Welshes have retained most of their fortune thanks to their wonderful habit of hanging on to every penny they can keep in their wallets. Lest it be said that they are Scrooges, however, know that they always splurged on their annual holiday gala. After all, they had to keep their favorite friends and business associates happy enough to return every year.
Thanks to the rumor mill set in motion, 2016 is the highest turnout in recent years. People who debated coming cleared their calendars once they heard the rumblings of Cassandra’s reappearance. Some people were still in love with her – or at least the idea of her – or appreciated a damn good enigma.
Cassandra Welsh usually loves Christmas, if only because people tend to mind their tempers and set aside their quarrels for a few weeks. Families are reunited after so long apart. Children make their grand debuts as young adults. Charities rake in the most money of the year. Christmas photos are exchanged, champagne consumed, and jokes told with holiday vigor.
Yet this is h
er first Christmas filled with hardly any spirit.
She sits in front of her mirror, minding her golden makeup in the hopes it properly matches her Dolce & Gabbana gown specifically purchased for this gala. Black lace as tragic as her soul hugs her slender frame, covers her arms, and plunges down her neckline – not that she has a lot of cleavage to show off. A large, elegant keyhole in the back puts to rest any ideas that she’s dressed for a funeral. No, Cassandra is still the devilishly beautiful enchantress that so many men have fallen for. There’s no sense in being jealous of her when she has all the proper breeding and know-how to make men of her standing fall to their knees and beg to bed her for a night. Or many nights.
Her dark hair is pulled back into a bun, a display of gold and ebony entwined within. Her shoes are flat, but sophisticated. The only jewelry she wears is a ring with her family crest, a gold bracelet, and a gold locket containing a photo of her child.
She gets up once she is satisfied with her appearance. In the other room of her family’s city manor, a nanny plays with a small child who can barely do anything on its own. But Cassandra’s son is full of personality.
Personality that reminds her so much of his father.
Only Cassandra was able to narrow down the father to two or three candidates by the time her son was born. Within days of the event, she looked into the child’s pinkened face and knew, without the aid of a paternity test, who had the terrible honor of being this boy’s father.
“Everything is in order, ma’am,” the nanny says. Cassandra nods, kisses her son on his head, and leaves the house with her head held high. She is taking a private car to the gala, the driver the same man who has been driving her since her schooldays. Her parents have already gone ahead. Both of them discouraged their daughter from attending, but could not stop her once she let slip to the papers that she was making her grand return to the east coast. She has been hiding in the Pacific Northwest for much too long.