The Baby He Wants: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance

by Etan, Cher

  "Please, wait here a moment Ms. Richards."

  The maid left her standing in the entryway and disappeared in the direction of the Carrington office. She was back less than a minute later with a gorgeous woman in a charcoal-gray suit and a tablet.

  "Ms. Carrington?"

  "That’s me."

  The woman lets out a tiny sigh before donning a professional smile. "Welcome to the Carrington estate. My name is Tamara and I’m Mrs Carrington’s assistant. Follow me please, she’ll see you now."

  Tamara has a polished British accent and short spiky hair. Ava had to give herself a short lecture about the fact that America fought for independence from the British ages ago and there was no need to feel inferior just on the strength of the other woman’s accent. These rich people and their assistants though…

  "I'm sure I'd like to talk to her too. What about, though?"

  Tamara ignored her and simply kept walking down a long corridor until they reached a set of double doors climbing so high Ava thought she couldn’t quite see the top of them. Tamara opened the doors and stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. Ava entered the room with trepidation; for some reason she felt like she was entering Satan’s throne room.

  The woman sitting behind the desk lived up to all of Ava’s expectations. She was poised, well groomed, elegant. Her high cheekbones and glacial blue eyes stared at her impassively, mouth pursed in a straight line. She looked like whatever she was seeing in front of her was not what she’d hoped for. Ava smoothed down her dress; she’d borrowed it from the props department at her college. It was a black cocktail dress, floor length which clung to her breasts and then fell in an A line to the floor. Her hair was twisted in a neat bun and she wore a pair of diamond studs that her mother had left her. She thought she looked respectable enough but Tristan’s mother looked like she’d seen a rat.

  Ava took a deep breath. “Hi. I’m Ava Richards,” she said hesitating for a moment before extending her hand out to be shaken. Cleo Carrington regarded the hand for a moment before reaching out to give it an anemic shake.

  “Cleo Carrington. I’m Tristan’s mother.”

  Ava nodded, “I gathered as much. It's nice to meet you.” Ava looked around in an exaggerated way. “Er, I was supposed to meet him here; has he arrived yet?”

  “No,” Cleo said coldly. “I thought you and I could have a talk first before Tristan joined us.”

  “Oh,” Ava said in a small voice. Here we go.

  “Fire away then,” she told Cleo.

  *****

  Cleo studied the girl who possibly carried her grand child. She was pretty enough in a common type of way but for the life of her, Cleo could not understand what Tristan could possibly have seen in her. He must have been devastated with grief over his potential sterility. She couldn’t see what other reason he would have to choose this…urchin.

  “Sit,” Cleo said to her.

  Ava looked around and sat in the straight backed chair that faced Cleo’s desk. She crossed her legs, black painted toe nails peeping from her sandals as her dress rode up a bit. Arms folded in her lap, she looked up at Cleo expectantly.

  “Would it be too forward of me to ask you directly what it is you want with my son?” she asked.

  Ava shook her head, eyes closed, mouth set in a straight line. “I don’t want anything,” she said.

  “Is that so? How is it then, that you come to be pregnant by him?” Cleo accused.

  Ava smiled and looked at her feet briefly before lifting her eyes to face Cleo. “That’s none of your business,” she said with a tight smile. In spite of herself, Cleo blanched.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  Ava leaned forward, eyes fixed on Cleo. “I get that Tristan is your son, and you’re concerned about him. Doesn’t give you the right to know every single detail of my personal life. If you have a problem with me, take it up with your child.” She said, her heart frantically beating but her face resolute.

  Cleo stared at this woman in shock. It had been too many years since anyone dared to speak to her like this. She was…intrigued. Not so intrigued that she thought this marriage of convenience was in any way a good idea; not so intrigued that she was willing to insult the Leicesters. Still, a grandchild was not to be sneezed at; especially if it might be the only one.

  “I have no ‘problem’ with you. I am just curious as to why you made the decision to have unprotected sex with a man you barely knew regardless of the risks and potential consequences.”

  Ava smirked, “When you put it like that…” she said voice trailing off thoughtfully, “Okay, I’ll tell you. I was a virgin; I didn’t go to the festival expecting to have sex. It just…happened. We both didn’t think.”

  “Clearly,” Cleo said dryly.

  “So. What now?” Ava asked.

  “Now we move to the pertinent business of proving that the baby you’re carrying is actually Tristan’s.”

  Ava’s eyebrow rose, “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “A DNA test of course,” Cleo said.

  “Of course,” Ava agreed dryly.

  “Are you willing to have one done on you?”

  Ava shrugged, “Sure. Why not?”

  “You’re that sure about the results?”

  Ava shrugged again but said nothing. Cleo sighed.

  “Very well then. Shall we retire to the lounge for some aperitifs?”

  “Alright,” Ava said standing up. She followed behind as Cleo walked straight backed to the lounge. Several maids were waiting, behind trays. One came forward to find out what Ava would have to drink. It was all very surreal.

  *****

  Tristan walked in ten minutes later, looking a little flustered.

  “How was the drive up, honey?”

  “Good. It was good. You... really did the whole nine-yards again, huh? Even though I said not to?"

  Tristan grimaced a little at the assembled group of the help, but Ava was just taking it all in. The same might be said for Cleo, but she only had one person in her sights.

  There's a lot of Ava to process.

  "Of course. I thought it'd be nice for your…friend to see everyone before the daytime staff leaves for the night." Cleo said.

  The smile on Tristan’s face became a little more strained, and then downright apologetic when he turned to face Ava. "You didn't have to."

  "Sure I did," Cleo declared. "They all wanted to see you, too." Only then did Tristan's mother turn from him to Ava. "So this is...?"

  "Ava. Ava, this is my mother, Cleo. But I’m sure you know that since you got here before me."

  Ava stepped forward, smiling awkwardly. She held her hand out to Cleo, “We’ve met.”

  Tristan threw her a smile of commiseration.

  It was a Mexican stand off; everyone at their own corner. Cleo’s eyes did not leave Ava and Tristan kept looking from one to the other.

  Cleo felt like she needed to analyze the situation and forget about the context, because that’s what would save her son. For his sake, this debacle had to end with Ava and her baby properly handled. She sighed inwardly thinking that she had to leave it to Tristan to take a potentially explosive situation and add some fuel and accelerant. This situation had the potential to make them the laughing stock of the country club as well as affect their actual stock prices. Tristan’s decision making abilities would be called into account.

  What could Cleo use to get them out of this and still ahead?

  At first glance, Ava was what Cleo’s expectations portray her to be: your average social climber playing a damsel in distress on that romantic comedy about the only girl ever to wear glasses in college. On second (or fifth) look, however, the cocktail dress she was wearing was pretty tight around Ava’s chest. Tight enough to make Cleo suspect Ava may not be its original owner. So maybe it was lent to her by a friend and this is just an ill-conceived look to impress her mark’s parent. The straight backed nature of her stance as she attempted to project a lady like demeanor
that played down her blackness was also telling. It’s a posture she adopted pretty naturally, and must resort to often.

  Both things told Cleo that Ava was eager to please and playing the part. The part of acceptable candidate for Tristan Carrington’s hand. Clearly, she thought ‘acceptable candidate’ meant that wearing sandals at cocktail hour was a choice she was allowed to make in life, but there was no reason for Cleo to suspect anything was going on here beyond your average girl wanting to impress a boy’s rich parent.

  "Everyone, this is Ava," Tristan is saying, motioning to the little group and then to Ava in a vague up-and-down gesture. "Ava, these are some of the people who help around the house. I've known Dharshi since I was five, she's our gardener. And Logan's been the butler since before I was born, right?" The man in question nodded as Tristan continued to point out a couple more people.

  Ava smiled at each of them in turn not really paying attention to the names. She didn’t expect that she would need to know them.

  "--looking forward to meeting the rest of you guys, sorry for all the fuss--" Tristan was still talking. Ava was busy trying to control her nerves and not pay attention to the unwavering stare that Tristan’s mother was fixing her with.

  "Ava?"

  "Right."

  The moment ended when Tristan nudged her to indulge his mother in a couple more minutes of excruciatingly awkward small talk. The downstairs maid was starting to shiver out on the steps in her thin black shirt, and she was not the only one, but clearly that's not the kind of thing the Carringtons cared about.

  "He sure knows how to pick 'em," Ava heard someone whisper while they waited.

  "She’s kinda hot though, in a common kind of way," the one called Stella answered faintly.

  "All right, calm down," Tamara muttered, because Ava figures she’d seen that Ava was listening.

  Finally, Tristan pointed out that it was getting dark and the group was allowed to disperse. Most of the staff filed inside to get their things and leave for the night, but the maids and butler were sticking around to serve dinner to the Carringtons and guest.

  *****

  Dinner was as awkward as Ava expected it to be. Cleo mostly talked over her as Tristan tried to include her in the conversation. It was grueling. There were several courses and one of the dishes gave her heart burn early on so she was uncomfortable in addition to being utterly depressed. The dinner seemed interminable but finally it was over and they retired to the ‘den’ for dessert and drinks. Ava got that this was supposed to be a small cozy room for the family to gather after the evening meal…but she couldn’t see the ceiling and the chairs were so huge it felt like they swallowed her up. The grand piano in the corner was intimidating; Ava was just waiting for Cleo to ask her to play it. She’d never touched anything so expensive before in her life but she could recognize a Steinway when she saw one. Tamara served their drinks.

  “Just cucumber water for me thanks,” Ava said.

  “I’ll have my usual thank you Tamara,” Tristan said and Cleo was served some fancy cocktail without saying a word.

  “Now Ava, Tristan let’s talk. What are we to do about this situation?”

  Tristan was staring daggers at his mother.

  “I already told you what I plan to do mother,” he bit out.

  Ava leaned forward to catch his eye. “You did? And what was it you told her?” she asked curiously.

  “I said that we would be getting married,” Tristan said his tone so matter of fact that Ava was confused for a minute. Had they agreed to that at their last meeting? She had no memory of it if so. She thought she'd remember if someone asked her to marry them; if only for the sake of a baby.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, brow wrinkling to indicate that she did not understand at all.

  Tristan turned to face her, “We’re getting married Ava.”

  “Over my dead body,” his mother replied.

  Ava opened her mouth and closed it again.

  Chapter 9

  There was a whole lot of shouting going on for such a genteel household. Ava wanted to tell both Tristan and his mother to shut the hell up but it seemed in this arena, her dreams weren’t valid.

  “People, please,” she tried anyway trying to get them to stop talking over each other and listen to her. Nothing changed though, the crescendo of their conversation rose a little bit in fact.

  “Shut up!” she found herself shouting, startling both herself as well as Tristan and his mother. They did hear her that time, and clicked their mouths closed as they stared at her.

  “This is not helping,” she declared. “Now, we’re going to have an orderly meeting and if anyone wants to speak, they should raise their hand. You cannot interrupt someone else when they are speaking and if anyone breaks the rules they will be asked to leave. Are we clear?”

  Tristan and his mother just stared.

  “Good. Sit,” Ava said matching words to actions and motioning for the other two to do the same. They sat slowly on armchairs facing her sofa. There was a table in between them where Ava put down her glass of cucumber water.

  “Right. So. Tristan, you were saying something about marriage. Kindly explain yourself,” Ava said.

  Tristan opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it again and then raised his hand. Ava almost smiled but just nodded for him to proceed.

  “Due to mainly political reasons, it would be best if the only child I might ever have is born legitimate. Also, I looked into your finances and most of your cash is tied up in mutual funds. You’re basically living from hand to mouth. I can help with that if we’re married,” he held up his hand and hastened to continue as he saw the protest forming on her face. “I’m just saying until you’re able to stand on your own feet, I am offering to shoulder some of that responsibility. It's my duty and you know it. We can sign a contract, limit the duration of the marriage to three years or something. Just until you’re stable. It’s a win-win.”

  “May I remind you that you’re engaged to another woman?” Cleo cut in without raising her hand. Ava narrowed her eyes at her but let it go. She looked at Tristan for his reply.

  “I am not formerly engaged. It was just an understanding. I intend to speak to Savannah tomorrow and inform her that plans have changed. She’ll just have to deal with it.”

  Cleo was nodding throughout this explanation.

  “And what about our business dealings? What about the embarrassment she must suffer for having her engagement broken after you announced it in such a public way?” she asked, daggers in each word.

  Tristan sighed sadly and shook his head. He regarded Ava wryly before saying, “That was your fault you know?”

  “How would that be my fault. I wasn’t even there.”

  “Yes. You were,” he replied, an intent look in his eyes. Ava frowned not understanding for a minute; then she did. It must have been the night of the dinner she’d crashed.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Tristan replied still kind of glaring.

  Ava shrugged, “I didn’t tell you to do nothin.”

  “No. you just had me all discombobulated with your appearance/disappearance and shouting ‘I’ll text you!’…it was…confusing. I needed some certainty.”

  Cleo cut into their love fest, “Can we at least wait and see if the child survives the first trimester before making any permanent decisions?”

  Tristan shook his head. He wanted to shout ‘no’ but he knew his mother was right. The prospect of maybe losing this baby wasn’t one he wanted to contemplate.

  “Fine, but Ava moves in with me,” he said or rather demanded.

  “I have school!” Ava protested.

  “I have a driver,” Tristan countered. “I remember how weak you are in the morning,” he said before biting his lip as he remembered that his mother was in the room. He cut her a glance and then back at Ava, apologizing with his eyes but still not giving an inch.

  “You can’t live with this woman without Savannah getting wi
nd of it,” Cleo protested.

  Tristan shrugged his indifference and Cleo gave him a look of utter betrayal, “You don’t care do you? You would throw it all away for this…” she flung a contemptuous finger at Ava.

  Tristan stood up at that. “Don’t mother,” he warned. Ava could see this escalating again.

  “I could move in as a chef or something. Nobody needs to know-“ she tried to say but Tristan cut her off.

  “Let’s go Ava. I believe we’ve said all we can for tonight.”

  He grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the room. Ava looked back at his mother.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she called as Tristan led her out of the door.

  *****

  He didn’t take her home. His car glided silently into his garage and Ava sat there, regarding him in some annoyance.

  “You could ask before you kidnap me you know,” she said.

  “I could, but I think they invented the term kidnapping for when you don’t ask permission first.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you Tristan,” she said firmly. He looked over at her, up and down her body and back to her face. She found that she was quite hot and had to curb the impulse to fan herself frantically.

  “That’s too bad,” he said. “However I have a guest room.”

  He alighted from the vehicle, came around to open her door and lifted her out and into his arms.

  “Tristan!” she cried.

  “Oh, you want to walk?”

  Ava thought about it..did she? She decided to let him carry her; just to see how far he could get before he was huffing like a cardiac patient. She was no light weight. He got in the elevator and asked her to press the button for the penthouse. Ava was surprised it wasn’t biometric or something but she went ahead and obliged. They rose silently upward and as they reached the zenith the doors opened onto a short corridor ending in a front door. Tristan asked her to dig in his pockets and extract the key card. He still wasn’t huffing much to Ava’s chagrin.