by Amira Rain
Both of us were seemingly stunned into silence, Desmond and I just looked at each other. Even though I could feel the gazes of everyone at the table on us, I still couldn't say a word, not even after a very long moment or two.
Now Emma skipped a beat, clearing her throat in an awkward, prolonged sort of way.
"So, again...Madison Bennett, meet Commander Desmond Grant. Commander Grant, meet Madison Bennett."
Another long moment went by, and I still couldn't speak. Apparently, neither could Desmond.
Emma cleared her throat a second time. "I guess the two of you can shake hands, or say 'pleased to meet you' to each other now or something."
With my queasiness and dizziness increasing, I was just trying to stay on my feet. However, not being pregnant, Desmond was probably having an easier time of things, and he finally spoke, looking into my eyes while looking distinctly uncomfortable, like he'd rather be looking anywhere else.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. Please, won't you sit down?"
He gestured to the empty chair directly to the left of his own, and I quickly took a seat, relieved to just have the whole agonizingly awkward ordeal of our "introductions" over. However, I knew that much additional awkwardness was probably still to come.
Emma took an empty seat to my left, making all seats at the table but one now filled, as Desmond had taken his seat as well. The only seat still empty was directly opposite him at the other end of the long table, and I assumed that one would remain empty, because his status as commander probably dictated that no person share a position of authority with him at the table. Like I really had any idea about commander seating protocol. I was just guessing, and feebly at that. I was still a bit too shocked and lightheaded to do any real reasoning or thinking.
After Emma had introduced me to everyone else at the table, everyone else being four shifters and three Gifteds, the shifter directly to Desmond's right began talking to him, something about what kind of steak he was going to order; and Emma leaned a bit toward me and spoke in a very low voice.
"Did I just witness some kind of a 'love at first sight' thing or something?"
Far from it.
"No, but...too long to explain. Later."
"Okay. Really curious to hear what that was all about."
Desmond's friend stopped talking to him pretty much at the same time as Emma had stopped talking to me, so other than the sounds of diners talking and laughing around us, the table was pretty quiet when one of the other Gifteds, a young woman named Brianna, asked if I'd like some wine.
Sitting kitty-corner across from me, she held up a bottle of red with a smile. "We just went ahead and ordered several bottles for the whole table to share. You see, more than a few drops of alcohol is usually consumed at these dinners."
Slowly getting over my shock at discovering that "Commander Grant" was none other than Desmond, I managed to give Brianna a smile.
"Thank you, but no thank you. I think I'm just going to stick to ice water."
Brianna frowned, knitting her light blonde brows. "You don't like wine?"
"Oh, I do. It's just that...well...."
It was just that I was pretty sure this wasn't the time or the place for Desmond to hear my news.
Picking up on my struggle, Emma piped right up.
"She's pregnant."
To my right, Desmond instantly became overcome by a coughing fit, and honestly, it almost sounded like he was choking. I looked and saw that he was holding some amber liquid in a glass, probably whiskey if I remembered correctly what he liked. He'd probably been taking a sip when Emma had said what she had.
The shifter directly to his right, an auburn-haired man that Emma had introduced to me as her friend Eric, poured a glass of water from a carafe and offered it to Desmond, frowning.
"You all right?"
Desmond took the glass and just about drained it in a gulp before setting it on the table with a slight bang.
"I'm fine. Thanks."
He wasn't looking fine. In fact, all color had drained from his face.
My attention was soon diverted away from him by the sound of Brianna saying my name and offering me congratulations.
"I'm really happy for you. I'm not sure why pregnancy didn't cross my mind when you said you're sticking to water. With so many of you new Gifteds coming here being latents, I should have guessed that you're pregnant. But, anyway, how far along are you?"
I stole a peek at Desmond, who was again taking a drink of whiskey at a really bad time.
"Exactly one month."
Again, he began coughing-slash-choking, and again, Eric offered him some water, frowning.
"You coming down with something?"
Desmond didn't respond or take the water, just cleared his throat a few times. "I'm fine."
Just then, a waitress in black pants and starched white blouse came by and asked if everyone was ready to order.
Desmond was the first to respond. "I'll have another whiskey, neat, please. And make it a double this time."
I half-seriously wondered if he was going to avoid taking responsibility for the pregnancy by choking himself to death.
The waitress nodded, closing her order pad. "Yes, Commander Grant. I'll be back with that right away."
The waitress dashed off, mercifully, because Desmond still had maybe a quarter-inch of whiskey left to choke on. The conversation at the table turned to Jake, and how he was doing with his slight ear infection.
I kept my focus on Brianna, Emma, and one of the shifters who was in on the discussion, and I didn't glance over at Desmond even once, not wanting to see him again looking so pale-faced, troubled, and unhappy about my news.
I managed not to look at him until we all placed our dinner orders, and only then accidentally when I looked at the waitress. Desmond was still looking alarmingly pale, with his skin nearly approaching the same shade as his white dress shirt.
He didn't speak much while we all ate, and neither did I. With my nausea having dissipated, my appetite had returned, gluing my focus to the sirloin steak, baked potato, and vegetable medley on my plate.
Desmond, however, after draining his whiskey in two gulps, mostly just picked at his food with a stony gaze cast downward while everyone else talked and laughed around us. Several times, out of the corner of my eye, I caught him giving me little glances, but I didn't return more than one or two, but not just because I was focused on my food.
His color had begun to return, and damn him, but I couldn't help but think of how incredibly attractive he was. Even the way he was chewing the occasional bite of his medium-rare steak, which was hard and forcefully, as if it were leather, highlighted the attractive muscles in his strong, square jaw.
Toward the end of the meal, Emma and a few others had started to give him a few funny looks, probably wondering why he was being so quiet and why his dark brows seemed fixed in a permanent furrow. The group had just been talking about a new monument that had just been built on Michigan Avenue, and Emma cleared her throat, gaze on Desmond.
"And what do you think about the new monument, Commander Grant? Do you think the designer was right to feature such a sharp geometric design at the top of the monument?"
Desmond continued cutting his steak with what appeared to be unnecessarily forceful knife movements, not seeming to even have heard Emma. His blue-gray eyes had become decidedly stormy and gray, and he kept them cast downward at his plate.
After a long moment, Emma tried again. "Do you think the designer should have went for a less angular design, Commander Grant?"
Suddenly seeming to register that someone was speaking to him, he finally looked up, setting his knife and fork on his plate with a little clang.
"Emma, how many times have I told you to call me Desmond? Most of us at this table have known each other for years. No need to be so damned formal all the time."
All eyes at the table widened, including my own, I was sure. Even a few diners at nearby tables looked over, clearly surprise
d and curious about the tone Desmond had just taken with Emma.
With her expression of surprise turning into one of clear hurt, she opened her mouth to say something, but Desmond beat her to it.
"Emma, I sincerely apologize. That was incredibly rude of me. I know some of you that I consider my friends prefer to still address me as Commander Grant as a sign of respect, which is very kind. Again, I apologize for my rudeness. I'm just a little...a bit on edge this evening, I guess. And in fact, I think I'll call it a night. Enjoy the rest of your meal, everyone."
With that, he stood, placed his napkin on the table, and began striding out of the restaurant before anyone could say anything in return.
Once he was out of hearing distance, Eric looked at Emma.
"I hope you didn't take that personally. I really think he's coming down with something. The way he was coughing earlier...he probably really doesn't feel well, but thinks he can't admit it or take a day off because of how active the Angel dragons have been lately. He's probably a bit agitated just trying to soldier through, like he always does."
Emma picked up her fork and knife, nodding. "You're probably right."
We all quietly resumed eating the last of our steaks. Between bites and long drinks of her wine, Brianna began giving me funny little looks beneath her lashes, looks that made me think she was trying to work out some puzzle, and I was an important clue.
When she'd finished her steak, she finally looked at me directly and spoke.
"Have the two of you met before? You and Desmond, I mean."
I'd just put a large bite of baked potato into my mouth, and I was glad, because I didn't know how to respond to her question. And before I could think of a response or even finish chewing, she asked another.
"Did you say that your baby's father is going to be joining you here in Chicago?"
Emma heaved a sigh, setting her wineglass down.
"She didn't say anything about her baby's father. And you know it."
"Well, I'm just curious as to whether...well, whether or not...." Brianna paused for a quick glug of wine before shifting her focus from Emma to me. "So, Madison, have you and Desmond met before?"
Emma heaved another sigh. "You don't have to answer that, Madison. Brianna's just being nosy...and rude."
Brianna sputtered, reddening. "Well, I'm sorry, but I'm just curious as to whether-"
"Yes." Fighting a feeling of wanting to flee the table like Desmond had done, I set my fork down. "Yes, Desmond and I have met before. A month ago. And I think that's all I'd like to say about it right now."
The table suddenly went silent, a little island of perfect stillness and quiet within the noisy hum and bustling activity of the restaurant. After a long moment of everyone just openly staring at me, they all exchanged glances with each other, glances that I could tell they intended to be covert, but were still pretty obvious to me.
Sitting across from me and a few seats down, a Gifted named Courtney, who was a quiet young woman with short red hair, finally really piped up for the first time all evening.
"Well, I think I might order dessert. It's not even on the menu yet, but I've heard they have something new called caramel lava cake, and I hear a piece of it calling my name.
“Does anyone want to order something along with me, so that I don't feel like the only complete glutton at the table? I know right now they also have that delicious new strawberries-and-cream pie, too. I had a piece last week, and it really is to die for."
Everyone but me grabbed small, laminated dessert menus and began scanning them with great interest, murmuring about how dessert sounded wonderful and what they might get. Brianna, who was a slender wisp of a woman, said she was feeling like she might even get two desserts.
Glad that the subject had been firmly changed from Desmond and me to pie, and grateful to Courtney for making that happen, I told her that dessert sounded great, but that rest sounded even better.
"I think I may make it an early night and head up to my apartment now."
She and a few others protested a bit, but then kind of collectively murmured things about how they understood. I told everyone it had been great meeting them and wished them all a good night, then went to make my exit.
While I rose from my seat, Emma did as well, kind of pulled me aside a bit, and spoke in a low voice near my ear. "I'll give you a call tomorrow. I have a feeling you might need a listening ear."
I agreed and told her I'd speak to her the next day. "But off to bed for me right now. This pregnancy really has me running on low all the time."
It was certainly true, and I did really intend to head up to bed. But once I got in the elevator and began ascending to my floor, I started thinking about the way Desmond had looked so absolutely devastated after learning I was pregnant. And after a few moments, I hit the button for the ninetieth floor. I was going to pay him a visit.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I knew Desmond lived in the penthouse on the ninetieth floor, which was the only apartment up there, and I knew that because Emma had said so earlier that day while telling me various details about the building when we'd been shopping. Now I was really glad she had, because I was suddenly angry and determined to talk to Desmond.
I wasn't exactly sure why I was angry; it was just kind of a jumble of different things, some of them rational, and some of them maybe not. I was angry at Desmond for just taking off the night we'd made love.
I was angry at him for not later contacting me with an explanation. I was angry at him for seeming as if hearing that I was pregnant was the last possible thing on earth he'd ever wanted to hear. I was even angry at him for being so damned good-looking, even though I knew that didn't make a whole lot of sense.
But for all my anger at him, I was angry at myself for finding him so irresistible the night we'd first met, which had made me act completely out of character. I was also angry at myself for not really even thinking twice about hopping into bed with him so quickly before we'd gotten to really know each other.
However, on the flip side of my anger, I couldn't deny that deep down, in some way far back area of my brain, I had a tiny bit of understanding for the way Desmond had acted at dinner. I knew that news of my pregnancy had been an incredible shock, one he surely wished he hadn't received in public, over dinner with friends. If the shoe were on the other foot, and I received similar shocking news in a similar situation, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to act any differently.
Though at the same time, part of me felt like he almost deserved the unpleasantness of being shocked in such a way. If he'd just left me his full name or phone number before he'd fled the scene of our night together, I would have been able to contact him and tell him the news about my pregnancy in a much gentler, private way.
My brain was really a mixed-up jumble of thoughts and emotions now. All I knew was that my anger was making me feel compelled to find Desmond. What I was going to say, I had no idea. If I could manage to keep my uncharacteristically hot head cool, maybe I'd just listen to see what he had to say first. Maybe I'd just wait to see if he'd apologize for anything, or say anything to the effect that he wasn't as devastated by the news about the baby as he'd seemed.
When I reached the ninetieth floor and exited the elevator, a short marble-floored hallway led me to a white door with gleaming brass knocker as well as a doorbell to the side; but I decided to bypass them both and just knock with my fist, although maybe the sound I made was a little more like banging.
"Desmond, it's Madison! I'd like to talk to you!" When I got no response after several seconds, I tried again, giving the door a few hard thumps. "Please answer the door!"
Again, several seconds went by, and I was only greeted with silence. Now wondering if maybe he'd went to one of the bars in the tower to continue his whiskey drinking, I leaned against the wall. I knew I wouldn't go on a search to find him, because for one thing, I wasn't even sure exactly where all the different bars were located, and for another thing, I at least had the court
esy of not wanting to embarrass him in public by possibly making some sort of scene, or even embarrass him by simply being seen seeking him out in a bar.
Considering how much wine Brianna had drank, and considering that she seemed the gossipy type, I was sure it was all over the tower by now that I was pregnant with Desmond's child.
Realizing that it might be possible that Desmond was indeed inside his penthouse but just not answering the door, I tried one more time, knocking hard enough to hurt my knuckles a bit.
"Desmond, please open up if you're in there! I'd really like to talk to you!"
I waited for a response, but again, heard nothing. Not sure if I should just give up and leave or what, I just leaned against the wall, thinking, and after several moments, my phone dinged with a text alert. I pulled it from the tiny, beaded red clutch I'd bought to go with my dress, and I saw that the text was from Emma, simply asking if I was okay.