The Love Child

by Catherine Mann

  She eased away from the two women quietly. She couldn’t wait for another ultrasound. Trystan deserved to know now.

  She searched the fund-raising event for Trystan. Eyes scanning the teeming crowd, looking for the rugged cowboy in a tuxedo. He carried the tux well, clean and sharp lines accenting his broad chest. Trystan gestured with his hands as he spoke with Jack Steele, Delaney and key donors.

  Heart thundering as Isabeau looked at the scene, her racing thoughts anxious for the future.

  As soon as the evening wound down, Isabeau was going to ask Trystan to take a walk.

  They needed to talk.

  * * *

  Of the many uncomfortable moments of Naomi’s life, the ride in the limo with Royce—after that honest conversation with Jeannie—seemed to top the list. She’d finally found him by calling him on the phone. Twice.

  He’d made his way to the limo. Waited inside with a vacant look settling onto his dark features. He’d given a small smile when she’d slid into the leather seats.

  Silence lingered between them, feeling as heavy as a thick Alaskan blanket. The limo lurched forward and still no one spoke.

  Even after Jeannie had given Naomi the impetus she needed to talk to Royce, she couldn’t convince her tongue to form coherent words or thoughts. An ache weighed heavy in her chest as the limo turned the corner, the dim boat lights fading from view.

  She couldn’t go on like this. They couldn’t go on like this.

  Naomi broke first, tension mounting in her jaw. Another ache. Another result of feelings that she didn’t know how to articulate. So she started simple. No flash. Just an honest statement.

  “I missed you during the fund-raiser.”

  Royce tugged his tuxedo tie off and pitched it to the floor, his gaze dropping. “I wanted to have the car ready. You’ve been overdoing it tonight.”

  Indignation zipped through her, making her all the more irritated and uncomfortable. “My doctor okayed my attending this event.”

  “He didn’t say you could go hiking.”

  “I wasn’t hiking.” She pulled her shoes off before he noticed the swelling. “I was sitting on a chaise.”

  “It was quite a haul up there,” he said, head leaning against the glass. Royce tapped his fingers, which grated on Naomi’s nerves.

  “No one has suggested I should use a wheelchair. And if you’re so concerned, maybe you could have stuck around instead of playing the hermit,” she barked tersely, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “The crowds got to be too much for me. I put in an appearance the way anyone would expect a member of the company to do.”

  A deep breath. Then another.

  She looked out the window, eyes taking in the streetlights that illuminated tall pine trees and glinted off street signs. Of course, Naomi barely registered these things. Unease spread through her chest, forming knots in her shoulders and adding to the lump in her throat.

  Jeannie’s advice knocked around inside her brain as it had for the past two hours, coalescing all Naomi’s doubts. She knew Royce would never walk away from her—most certainly he wouldn’t walk away from the babies. But was she pushing him into a life that would make him unhappy? She certainly couldn’t commit to a life in the wilds out of the public eye. So how could she ask him to force himself to “put in appearances” in her world full of people and family?

  She twisted her engagement ring again, checking to make sure her fingers hadn’t swollen too much, something she found herself doing more and more often as if she already knew she might need to remove it for a heartbreaking reason.

  “I think we rushed into things.”

  He sat up straighter, his jaw jutting as the chauffeur drove through the security gates outside the Steele family compound. “I disagree. We simply moved fast because we know our minds.”

  “Do we? We’re almost strangers in many ways.”

  “Then tell me what you want me to know,” he said in a clipped voice as if compatibility could be as basic as filling out a history profile.

  “It’s not that simple and you have to see that. I’ve had complicated relationships because of what I experienced in the past, losing my mother, my twin sister, battling cancer so young.” She stared at her home, a place of such joy and loss. Part of her wanted to run, now that the car had stopped, but she had to see this conversation through. “You’ve had a challenging time with relationships in the past too—and that was with someone you’d known nearly your whole life.”

  He took her hands, irritation fading to concern in his dark eyes. “I think you’re scared of what we feel.”

  “I know that I’m feeling smothered and overwhelmed.”

  “You’re pregnant with twins.” His voice cracked with pain.

  Twins, the babies. Children he wanted. But not the right reason for them to build a future together, especially when he and she already had such differing lifestyles. She feared she was being selfish by hanging on to him when she knew how restless and unhappy he was in her chaotic world.

  “And I’m grateful that you care. That’s sweet and I know I should count myself lucky, but I’m more concerned about our very different natures. You’re a lone wolf and I’m a social butterfly.”

  “A steely butterfly.”

  Right now, she felt anything but steely. That would have to come later. After she’d gotten through the deepest hurt she’d ever felt. And considering all she’d already lost, that was saying a lot. She drew a ragged breath.

  “Okay, but you have to see our lifestyles don’t blend. Even trying to split our time between living your way and mine is already wearing thin. Ultimately, we’ll each just end up miserable half of the year.”

  “I can see you’re worried. Get some rest, and we can talk about this lat—”

  “All I’ve done is sleep. You’re not hearing me, Royce.” Her throat clogged on tears for a moment, but because of how deeply she cared for him, how deeply she cared for her unborn children, she had to let him go. “Royce, I’m breaking things off.”

  She tugged free her engagement ring, a ring that had made her heart sing just not so long ago. But even as she accused him of being a hermit, she’d been hiding from the truth.

  She placed the ring into his hand and closed his fingers. “Please, let me go.”

  When she pushed the car door open, Naomi caught sight of Trystan and Isabeau taking a walk on the Steele grounds—why weren’t they at the Mikkelson place? A question that she shoved aside because right now all that mattered was support she so desperately needed. Locking eyes with her new friend, she registered the distress and unease swimming in Isabeau’s eyes. A distress and unsettled feeling that reverberated in Naomi’s own chest.

  Collecting herself, Naomi bolted from the car, moving swift and sure before Royce could intervene.

  Eleven

  Gray clouds speckled the night sky as Trystan reached for Isabeau’s hand. They’d come to the Steele compound to pick up Paige, then he’d impulsively asked Isabeau to walk first along the shoreline She took his hand gingerly, though her slender face stayed fixed on the rocky shoreline in front of them, Paige off-leash enjoying free time to play.

  They began to meander on the shoreline, maneuvering away from the house. He hoped to use this time to persuade Isabeau to see a doctor, to end this limbo state so they could move their relationship forward with direction—either way, baby on the way, or no baby.

  Dropping his hand, she stopped walking. In the distance, he could make out the form of the seaplane.

  Trystan shot her a sidelong glance, watching the moonlight find purchase in the lines of worry set in her cheeks and brow. “You said you wanted to talk. Is everything alright?”

  She drew in a deep breath, stopped, turning to face him. “There’s no simple way to lead into this. I saw the doctor, and she confirmed that I’m pregnant.”<
br />
  Her words hit him right in the gut. He’d been expecting it, thought he’d prepared himself. But possibly pregnant was nowhere near close to really pregnant.

  Thoughts tumbled over one another in fast succession. Where would they live? How could he make her happy? When was the baby due?

  She was carrying his baby.

  His. Baby.

  Isabeau held up her hands and turned away, walking again. “Never mind. No need to say anything. We can talk later once the news has sunk in.”

  She hitched her formal gown up past her elbows and started trekking back toward the house. Damn it. That wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to happen. He was supposed to have some suave words to win her over.

  “No, wait,” he called out, grasping her arm. His bare feet desperate for traction on the muddy shore. “We should talk now. Keep in mind, I’m not good with words—as you know—and I want to make sure I get things right.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder, chewing her bottom lip, but staying silent. The moonlight brought out the gold in her red hair—and illuminated the fear in her eyes. “I’ll be fine. The baby and I will be fine. I just wanted you to know, and now that you do, I’m going.”

  Crickets hummed, adding another layer to the sound of the rhythmic waves. Paige darted by them, splashing. A momentary distraction.

  He needed the right words. “Isabeau, I should have my thoughts together on what to say. I’ve certainly thought about this possibility often enough over the past four weeks. One thing is clear though, I’m here for you and the baby.” He pushed forward with what he knew was the right thing to do. “We’ll get married. I’ll take care of you, there’s no need to be anxious. And my child will never have to feel abandoned or unloved.”

  No child would go through what he had when his parents dumped him, leaving him confused as hell trying to make sense of how a parent could just opt out.

  She exhaled, her forehead furrowing. “I hear that you’re trying to do the honorable thing, and that’s...admirable. But I’m having trouble wrapping my head around how you said, ‘No need for me to feel anxious?’ You want to marry me so I won’t have a panic attack?”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant.” But he could see he’d offended her. He was making things worse the more he spoke.

  She moved over a large rock formation, swaying slightly beneath the slippery surface. Instinctively, Trystan’s hand shot out to steady her. Anger colored her cheeks as she shooed away his help, stabilizing her footing without him.

  From her perch, her frown deepened, her voice becoming as dark as the night sea. “I thought you understood about my anxiety.” The wind plastered her dress to her slim body. “But I’m wondering if you think I’m a needy person incapable of taking care of myself.”

  Hands extended in protest, he tried to steer the conversation back to more even ground. “That’s not what I meant at all. You’re clearly one of the most competent people I’ve ever met.”

  “What did you mean, then, with the anxious comment?” She crossed her arms. The moonlight fell on her, made her appear to be a living flame in that gold dress with her red hair.

  “I just want to make life easier for you and the baby and, yes, I want to be with you. You and I have great chemistry. We enjoy each other’s company. Marriage between us could be good, very good. Just think of all the bucket list items we could explore together.”

  “Bucket list? Bucket list?” Her voice pitched higher with each word. “We should get married to check off bucket list items together?” She shook her head. “Trystan, you can get a pal to do that. Marriage is—should be—about something else. It should be about love, and you don’t love me.”

  Hell. He should have thought to use that word because he did care for her. “We have feelings for each other. I think with time that could—um, will—grow into love.”

  Her mouth thinned, anger radiating from her. “Trystan, you really should stop talking because you’re making a mess of this.”

  “Then tell me what you’re thinking since you’re better with words.”

  “I believe you’re offering marriage because you’re still trying to make the perfect family, and that’s not a reason for us to be a couple. Please be honest with yourself.”

  Her words sparked frustration and, yes, anger in him. He held his voice in check and said tightly, “You want me to be honest? How about this? I’m not sure you could love me even if we were perfect for each other. You hold yourself apart from people. You’re too afraid of losing your family again—whether it is because of your father walking out or your mother dying—to take a risk on what could be a really good thing.”

  She blanched, her face pale in the moonlight, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Then I guess we know where we stand and it’s not together.”

  Turning away, she walked down from the rock, landing in the sand with a slight thud. Without looking at him, she walked past him. Away from him. Leaving him with nothing but the cold truth.

  He’d done what he’d vowed he would never do—alienated his baby’s mother. Anger at himself battled with a sorrow deeper than he could have ever imagined.

  * * *

  The last time Trystan had been up in the middle of the night raiding the kitchen, he’d been a teenager. But here he was, on his way to rummage for food, restless.

  Five days had passed since Isabeau gave him the boot. Five days of tense work exchanges as she spelled out the tightly contained media exposure for Jeannie and Jack’s wedding. Everytime he tried to bring up making plans for the baby, she insisted that could wait until the second trimester.

  Which meant months of the cold shoulder.

  And he didn’t have a clue how to win her back. Desperation gnawed at him. He felt the weight of being orphaned all over again...his whole life and outlook shaped by the abandonment of his parents. He wouldn’t allow his child to feel that. He couldn’t. He wanted to be with Isabeau, to try, but she was right that the stakes were higher with a baby involved and nothing short of love was fair.

  Except how were they going to figure out if that was possible if she’d shut him out?

  Weighed down with regret, he made his way toward the kitchen, his feet slowed by the knowledge of all the ways he’d screwed up. He hadn’t slept in days, and staying in his room staring at the ceiling wasn’t going to help.

  He turned the corner, surprised to see the kitchen aglow. His mother sat on a stool, hair in a messy blond bun. Deli meats and cheeses covered the lava stone countertops. Sliced bread, lettuce, tomato and onions flanked the sandwich supplies. Perhaps most notable in the sleek white kitchen with stainless steel accents was the opened gold-labeled Icecap Brews beer bottle in Jeannie’s left hand.

  “Hi, Mom, trouble sleeping? Wedding jitters?” The rehearsal dinner was tomorrow, the wedding the next day. He would have no date—no Isabeau—the spot beside him vacant.

  “No nerves, dear. I’m sure. I’m just unsettled about other matters. The news about Naomi and Royce splitting up caught us all by surprise. Jack is beside himself worrying for his daughter.” She nudged the sandwich makings toward him so he could make one for himself.

  The breakup gave him pause too, as if he didn’t already have enough reasons to wonder about his own relationship with Isabeau. How did he stand a chance winning her back when a perfect couple like Naomi and Royce couldn’t make it work?

  And there was still the baby to consider. They would be connected through the child forever, and while he wanted the baby, the thought of making polite arrangements with the woman who’d just stomped on his feelings made his head pound—his chest ache.

  Grabbing for the rye bread, he loaded the sandwich with roast beef, turkey, pepperoni and Swiss cheese. Losing himself in routine to keep from thinking about how much he hurt.

  Jeannie finished chewing, scrutinizing him. Reading him, just as
she’d done when he’d been much younger yet every bit as lost. “Is everything alright?”

  “I’m just hungry. Can’t sleep when my stomach’s growling.”

  She picked up her sandwich and leaned against the counter. “You used that excuse as a child to keep from going to bed.”

  “When I visited here.” He chuckled at the memory of those summers spent with his aunt and uncle—now his parents. “I’m surprised you remember.”

  “Visited...what a strange word. When I think back to those times you were here as a child, in my mind they’re not visits anymore. They’re...memories of my son.”

  “I appreciate your saying that.”

  “I mean it.” She reached out to squeeze his hand, intense eyes burning into his. “You’re mine.”

  “But I wouldn’t have been if my biological mother hadn’t been such a loser. You would have stayed Aunt Jeannie.”

  “If, if, if.” She waved her hand as if she cleared the air of smoke. “That doesn’t matter. I think in terms of ‘what is.’ And you were destined to be my boy. So, son of mine, what’s wrong?”

  He weighed whether to tell her. He didn’t want to add more worry to her wedding week. He started to deny any problem, but he saw the determined look in her eyes, an expression he recognized well. She wasn’t going to give up.

  He took a bracing swig of beer, then admitted, “Isabeau’s pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?” She set her sandwich down slowly. “I did not expect that. Although maybe I would have considered the possibility of you two as a couple if I wasn’t so distracted these days. You two have been rather...cozy. So that means...”

  “Yes, the baby is mine.”

  Smiling, she opened her arms. “Congratulations. Becoming a grandma is wonderful news...” She paused, her arms falling to her sides. “But you’re not smiling.”

  Because his plans for the future were in tatters. His hopes for a future with Isabeau, gone.

  “She turned down my proposal. She said I don’t love her and that I’m only trying to create the perfect family my birth mother wrecked.”