by Tracy Wolff
He ran a frustrated hand over his face. “I should have known you’d be like this.”
“Me? You’re the one who showed up with a chip on his shoulder the size of Mount Rushmore. Why is that, anyway?”
“I do not have a chip on my shoulder.”
“Really? What would you call it, then?”
“Concern! I’m concerned, that’s all.”
“About what?”
“About everything. About the baby. About you. About—” He paused, took an awkward sip of his beer. “About our relationship and where it’s going.”
She dropped the frigid routine in a heartbeat, reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “And where do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.” As he looked at her, his eyes were miserable, but clear.
“Yes, you do. You just don’t want to say it out loud.”
Silence stretched between them and just when she was sure Matt wasn’t going to answer her, he blurted out, “I don’t think it should go anywhere.”
They were the words she’d been expecting, ever since she’d seen his face when she opened the door of her motel room. But that didn’t make them any easier to hear. “You don’t want to be a part of the baby’s life?”
“What? Of course I do. I wasn’t talking about that.”
“What were you talking about, then?”
“About us. About what’s going to happen between you and me.”
Of course. She sat back in her chair, regarded him with what she hoped were blank eyes. The kiss that had so invigorated her earlier that day, the one that had gotten her thinking about being with Matt, had had the opposite effect on him. He was spooked and running scared, not the least bit interested in being with her.
Because of the delicate Ariane? she wondered, then decided it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t Ariane now it would be some other woman later. Some woman who was nicer than Camille, more settled, more organized. More biddable.
“Is that what this is about?” she finally asked. “You think I’m ready to drag you to the altar or something? Believe me, I’m not.”
“This is you we’re talking about, Camille. Believe me, the altar never even crossed my mind.”
Well, she’d asked for that, hadn’t she? Besides, he wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t thought herself a million times before. Wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t told him multiple times, as well. She wasn’t the marrying sort—she’d always known that. Why, then, was Matt’s rejection hitting her so hard?
Maybe because she had begun to build her very fragile hopes around him—not for marriage, but for a relationship that lasted longer than a couple of weeks? He was the father of her child, after all. Was it so abnormal to want to be close to him?
Obviously, it was.
She cleared her throat, struggling with emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. She took her time, beat them back. Never let them see you cry was more than a cliché—it was a motto she lived by.
When she finally thought she could speak without her voice trembling, she asked, “I should have known that kiss today would freak you out, make you think there was more between us than there is.”
His eyes narrowed. “You mean, you weren’t thinking the same thing?”
“Of course not,” she lied. “Going back to a romantic relationship is just asking for complications, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.” He looked relieved by her logic. “With the baby coming along I think it would be better to keep things strictly platonic between us. For everybody’s sake.”
She nearly laughed out loud, despite the fact that his rejection hurt. Strictly platonic? Who was he kidding? The two of them in a room together were like gasoline and an open flame—they always had been and she sincerely doubted that impending parenthood was going to change that.
But just because they responded to each other physically didn’t mean he actually wanted her—in fact, Matt had made it abundantly clear tonight that she was the last thing he wanted. Artistic, emotional, disorganized, she was probably his worst nightmare, relationship-wise. Sometime between their conversation three months ago and tonight, he must have copped to that fact.
It wasn’t as if she could blame him. His point was logical, well thought-out. And correct—trying to build a relationship between them was just asking for problems later, when it all fell apart.
The misty-eyed woman she’d confronted in the mirror earlier rose up in front of her again, but Camille banished her once and for all.
“I think that’s a good idea, Matt.” Camille held up her water glass, toasted him. “Here’s to a long, platonic friendship.” She took a big sip.
“So, do you want to shake on it?” she asked, offering her palm.
Matt laughed, then enveloped her hand in his large, calloused one. “To friendship,” he echoed.
“Absolutely.” She pulled her hand away, pushed back from the table. “So are you ready to go? I could really use some chocolate.”
“Then by all means, let’s find a bakery.” He dropped some money on the table and she thought briefly about insisting on paying for her share of the meal, but figured it would make her sound less than happy with their current relationship.
The rest of the evening passed in a friendly sort of companionship, with Matt buying her the biggest brownie he could find from a local shop. By the time he’d dropped her off at her motel, chocolate drunk and giggling, she’d almost convinced herself that her earlier folly had been nothing more than a dream.
It wasn’t until she was lying in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling as sleep avoided her, that she had to face the truth. She was disappointed that things were on permanent hold between her and Matt. She had wanted to explore whatever it was that was between them.
But that was over and it was for the best, anyway. In the long run, things wouldn’t have worked out and then the baby would be caught in the middle. No, it was better this way, definitely.
Why was she so bereft at the thought of not being with Matt, anyway? It wasn’t as if she needed him or anything. She could handle whatever life threw at her—she’d been doing it for more years than she could count. Having a baby wouldn’t be any different.
So, from here on out, Matt was the father of her baby, nothing more. And she’d do well to remember that. Expecting this to be a new beginning for them had obviously been a mistake, and one she wouldn’t be making again.
CHAPTER SIX
SHE COULDN’T BREATHE. Camille pressed a hand to her suddenly aching chest and struggled to suck enough air into her lungs to keep her head from spinning. But no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to breathe. The dizziness got worse, until suddenly the bright, sunny apartment she was standing in looked dark and shady. Almost sinister.
“So, do you like it?” asked the property manager in her chirpy voice. It matched her bright yellow suit and shiny blond hair and did absolutely nothing to put Camille at ease.In fact, it—along with the woman’s too-perky attitude—only made Camille more uncomfortable. “I need to go outside,” she gasped, the fist in her chest getting tighter with each second she spent in the apartment from hell.
She made her way shakily toward the door.
Belatedly, the woman noticed that the apartment’s “cozy charm” was not working its magic on her prospective client. “Are you okay?” she asked, following Camille out of the apartment like a stray dog. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. I just need some air.”
“Are you sure? Because you look a little pale. Do you want to sit—”
“I’m fine!” Camille barked out the words, then felt bad for being so abrupt. It wasn’t the woman’s fault she was having a panic attack at the idea of renting an apartment. After all, she’d been perfectly fine until she’d heard the words twelve-month lease.
That’s when her head had started to spin. Twelve months? She’d never stayed anywhere twelve months—at least not since she’d graduated high
school and set out on her own. Hell, she’d never stayed anywhere even half that long. In college, she’d managed to stick around the same art school for a semester, finishing up classes, before her itchy feet took over. But since she’d gotten her degree—from the seventh college she’d attended—she’d never stayed in one place longer than five or six weeks. The two months she’d spent with Matt in Austin had been the longest she’d stayed anywhere—and look how that had turned out.
And now this woman wanted her to sign a twelve-month lease? That so wasn’t going to happen—at least not if she wanted to avoid passing out in a trembling, nonsensical heap at the woman’s feet.
Struggling to be polite, she held out a hand to the apartment manager. “Thanks so much for your time. I have a couple more properties to see and then I’ll get back in touch.”
“You know, we’re running a special—today only. If you sign a lease before six tonight, we’ll throw in a free month’s rent. I’m sure, with a baby on the way—”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Camille turned away before the woman could say anything else and made her way unsteadily to her bright red rental car, where she collapsed into the driver’s seat.
Twelve months? How could she possibly consider staying here—in Austin, Texas—for twelve months? Sure, she’d psyched herself up to stay around until the baby was born. Had figured she’d take a few small trips before then, to make up for the semipermanent home base.
But twelve months? That was a year! The baby would be nearly six months by then and she’d figured they’d be long gone. She’d planned on going to the Dominican Republic this coming winter, then on to Jamaica—but neither was a place for a little baby; bad water, not enough food, less than stellar medical care.
Her breath started coming in short pants. Laying her head on the steering wheel, Camille struggled to get control of herself. But it was hard—especially when she thought about what life would be like after the baby came. She wouldn’t be able to just pick up at a moment’s notice, would she? Babies required attention and regular checkups with their pediatricians and stability and routine—just like Matt had tried telling her. They needed familiar things around them and—
Forget it. She gave up on the battle to stay strong and just let the panic come. It rolled over her in waves, sent shivers down her spine and made it even more difficult to catch her breath.
Maybe she was stupid to think it was a good idea to keep the baby. Maybe she should just have an abortion and get it over with—no! She couldn’t do that. Not now, when she’d seen it on the ultrasound. Not now, when she and Matt had heard its little heart beat….
Matt. She hadn’t seen him since he’d taken her out to dinner four nights before—and dropped the bombshell about keeping their friendship strictly platonic. He called every day to check up on her, to see how she was feeling and if she needed anything, but he hadn’t stopped by again. Hadn’t badgered her to eat, hadn’t brought her decaf coffee or offered to take her to the art store for supplies.
At first, she hadn’t noticed his absence—after all, she was used to being on her own and she hadn’t come across a situation where she needed his input. But now, after four days, the fact that he hadn’t come around had taken on shades of deliberation, no matter how busy he claimed to be with a new project.
Was this what she could expect from him, then? Spurts of intense attention followed by long, dry periods with a quick phone call their only contact? Was that what her baby could count on? The same thing she’d always gotten from her father? Was her baby going to end up like her?
Worse, was she somehow going to end up like her mother?
No! Of course not—she would never allow that to happen, never allow herself to sink so low that she would be any man’s doormat.
Would never live in fear, waiting for her husband to come home, wondering if he would come home and what woman’s perfume he’d be wearing when he did.
Would never put her own dreams and desires on hold because some man convinced her that taking care of him was more important than living her life.
Besides, it was crazy to get this worked up when she was still months and months away from delivering. There was no use in borrowing trouble, and certainly no use in dredging up a past that was long over.
She was being ridiculous, indulging in a snit—over Matt and having to get an apartment and the fact that her whole life was changing so quickly she could barely keep up. Besides, she and Matt hadn’t discussed anything yet. Not her expectations of him, or his of her. Not his role in the baby’s life. Nothing but the boundaries of their own relationship. It was ridiculous to be upset just because he wasn’t hovering over her every second of the day.
It wasn’t like that was what she wanted.
Determined to be a grown-up, she turned the car on and slowly backed out of her parking spot. It would be better to go see Matt, to talk with him, than to sit here attributing all kinds of nefarious, or at least murky, intentions to him.
But by the time Camille had made the fifteen-minute drive to his house, she’d all but lost her nerve. What was she going to say to him, anyway? You’ve been ignoring me and I don’t like it? Geez, could she be a little more high maintenance?
Besides, what if the beautiful Ariane was in there again? How could she possibly explain her presence at his door a second time?
Stupid apartment hunting.
Stupid panic attack.
Stupid irrational thoughts.
She should just go back to the motel, maybe pick up a newspaper on the way. Surely she could find a decent apartment advertised in the Statesman— something that rented by the week or the month, instead of the year.
Yet the idea of going back to an empty room didn’t excite her—especially not when her brain was in this much turmoil. No, better to see Matt now and find out what—if anything—was going on. She’d never been very good at shoving things under the rug, anyway.
As she climbed out of the car and headed up the walkway to Matt’s house, she felt more like herself than she had since the stupid little wand had turned blue.
WHEN THE DOORBELL RANG, Matt growled at the interruption, then promptly ignored it. He’d had a killer day at work—they’d found out yesterday that they’d landed the Makati project, but that the executives wanted a number of fairly extensive changes to the internal design. And they wanted them two weeks ago. A construction crew had already been lined up and initial permits needed to be obtained—as soon as humanly possible.
Which meant that he and Reece had busted their asses for nearly twelve hours today—and yesterday—to try to give the clients what they wanted, but parts of the building just weren’t coming together. Giving the Makati Corporation what they wanted inside meant altering parts of the outside design, and that changed the aesthetics significantly. So significantly that he was having a hard time getting the balance back.But he didn’t want to think about work now, didn’t want to think about anything. All he wanted was to veg out in front of his fifty-six-inch flat-screen TV and watch as UT kicked the hell out of University of Oklahoma in baseball. At some point, he’d have to call Camille and check in on her, but not right now. Not yet.
The doorbell rang a second time, and his sense of responsibility wouldn’t let him ignore it any longer—what if one of his neighbors had a problem? Muttering a curse, he pushed to his feet and found himself hoping it was one of the solicitors that went door to door in the neighborhood—just so he could kick the intruder off his front porch.
Pulling the door open with a snarl, he stopped dead when he realized Camille was on the other side—looking paler and more distraught than he’d ever seen her.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, as an unfamiliar fear gripped him. “The baby—”
“The baby’s fine.” She sounded unimpressed with his concern.
“Oh.” He stepped aside to let her in. “Okay.”
In the other room, he heard the crowd go crazy as the announcer ju
bilantly screamed about a home run for UT. He clenched his jaw and looked at Camille expectantly.
When she didn’t do—or say—anything, he prompted, “Did we have plans?” Then inched his way toward the large great room where his sofa and state-of-the-art entertainment center resided.
“No, I just—” She paused, blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
With those six words, the game he’d been anticipating all week became just so much background noise. Wrapping an arm around Camille’s shoulders, he pulled her against him. “Hey, what’s going on? You’re not alone.”
She gave him a watery smile and alarms went off in his brain. He’d never seen Camille cry, hadn’t even been sure she knew how to. Whenever she was around him, she always looked invincible and this sudden change in demeanor had his palms sweating.
“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” He pulled away just far enough to look her over from head to toe, hoping to find something, anything, that might give him a clue to her unusual mood.
“I don’t know. I’m just—” A soft, shuddering sob cut off the rest of her words. “Stupid hormones. I’ve cried more in the past two weeks than I have in the past two years.”
He could believe it—one time seemed like more to him. “Come on in, sit down. Do you want some water or apple juice? Maybe some milk?” He’d stocked up with pregnancy-friendly food at the grocery store the other day—before the Makati project had gone to hell in a handbasket.
She laughed as she perched on the edge of the couch, but the sound was tinged with bitterness. “The last time I was in your house and you offered me a drink, I think it was a pomegranate martini. Amazing how a few months change everything.”
“Uh, yeah.” Matt shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and watched her warily. He was suddenly uncomfortably aware of what it must be like to try to find a path through a minefield. As he searched for something to say that wouldn’t set Camille off, more than his palms were damp.
Why the hell didn’t pregnant women come with instruction manuals? He’d bet a month’s salary that if some poor bastard was brave enough to write one—after surviving an actual pregnancy unscathed—he’d be rich beyond his wildest dreams.