by Lia Lee
“I didn’t mean for it to happen but, when I got home from Australia... I found out that...”
I pause for a long breath, and Derric squeezes my hand that he’s still holding, his intense blue gaze fixed on me. “Tell me.”
“I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant, you and me.”
Chapter Ten
Derric
Right Thing, Wrong Time
I knew what she was going to say before she said it. Still, the word hits me like an oncoming car in the wrong lane that I can’t steer clear of. A head-on collision.
Pregnant. Jesus. My first thought is, What girl in this day and age isn’t on some kind of contraception? My second thought is, You’re a brainless dick, Faris. Fuck, the old man called it. You can’t keep your pants zipped.
“Say something,” Mila urges, her eyes watery and pleading, waiting for some magic words from me that will make everything right.
I’ve got nothing.
A thousand thoughts cycle in and out of my brain, none of them helpful. Who’s to say I’m the father? It’s been two months since I’ve been with Mila. I like her, and I’m crazily attracted to her, but that doesn’t mean I know her, or how many other men she might have had since then.
If that had occurred to you earlier, asshole, you’d have worn a condom.
Christ, a fine time for my conscience to show up. Hell, she could have been pregnant before I met her for all I know. But my gut, and everything I learned about her today, tells me Mila’s not that kind of girl. So what kind of man are you? my late-to-the-party conscience asks.
I reach up and stroke my fingertips along her cheek, her jaw, her forehead. Dammit, she looks so sweet and shy and vulnerable lying here in my arms, her mass of curls spread out in a brunette fan across a rickety, unfamiliar bed, trusting me to say the right thing, the decent thing. Right now, I feel like I’ve never done one right or decent thing in my whole damn life. She deserves better than this; a shitty, fleabag hotel and a randy, skirt-chasing bloke like me to get her up the duff. I can’t turn my back on her. I won’t.
“Wow. That’s... brilliant, love, brilliant. You’re certain? I’d have been gentler this time around if I’d known.”
“I wouldn’t tell you so if I wasn’t,” she says, exhaling in a rush like she’d been holding her breath waiting for my reaction. “And I didn’t want you to be gentle.”
I grin at that. She plays a bit rough herself, and I love that about her, but I wonder if that’s going to be safe in the coming months. “You’re alright, yeah? Your doc says everything’s fine? How... far along?”
“She says about six weeks. I’m perfectly fine. I’ll be due sometime in November.”
Six weeks seems about right, but November? Steve will be expecting me back in Sydney well before then. The network will be on the air, and my work here will be done. What am I going to tell the old man then? When I said I wanted an excuse to stay in America, this situation wasn’t what I had in mind. Christ, it would prove him right, the old cocksucker, that I’m a compulsive fuck-up.
Wait a sec. I’m pretty sure getting pregnant isn’t what Mila had in mind either; maybe she’s telling me so that I’ll offer to provide some alternative. It’s a touchy subject, and I don’t want to go there, but we’re not living in medieval times. I certainly have the means to help her out.
“Mila... I don’t want to sound crass or anything but... is this what you want? To go through with it, I mean? If you need money to...”
Mila gives a light shake of her head, the sea of emotions roiling behind her pretty eyes drowning my unfinished sentence. “Derric. Don’t. Don’t you dare flash your money in front of me. It’s not about that, not at all. I’ve had weeks to think things through, and I want this baby—your baby—not your money. If you were the most destitute man on Earth, I’d still want to have this baby. I’d want you. I can understand if you want no part of it...”
“Shh,” I whisper, putting a finger to her lips that are still rosy and plump from kissing. If I didn’t know what kind of man I was before, I’m choosing the one I want to be now. “Stop. I do want to be part of it... I am part of it... and I’ll be here for you, for both of you, whatever you decide. I promise.”
Don’t start promising what you can’t deliver, Faris.
Mila smiles, and at least I know I’ve said the right things; whether I can do the right things remains to be seen. But I’m going to try. She tilts her head and kisses me, a kiss filled with passion, the kind of passion that makes my privates twitch to inconvenient life again. Damn, I could fuck this beautiful goddess all day long, but is it safe to go again? Do we have time? We’ve only got the room for two hours, and we both have work to return to.
“So, who knows about this besides you and me?” I ask as she unlocks me from her kiss.
“Claire,” she answers. “And my doctor, of course.”
“What about your parents? Brothers or sisters?”
I feel her chest expand and contract against me as she takes a deep breath in and out before answering. “No. I’m an only child. And both my parents are gone now. I miss them. I wish they could have lived to see their grandchild.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. But that means we have some things in common. My mum died of cancer a long time ago. I have no siblings either. Yeah, she’d have been right chuffed to have a grandchild, too.”
“I wish there were no such things as cancers or tumors.” She sighs. “But you have your dad, right? I saw him on TV—you were sitting next to him at a press conference. You must be glad to still have him, at least. I would be. And it must be great to work together.”
“Huh.” I snort. I’m not about to spew forth all the nasty baggage my father and I carry around. Mila doesn’t need to hear all that, she’s got enough on her plate, and I’ve already put a huge helping on it as it is.
“Yeah, I suppose I should consider myself lucky,” I concede.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t very lucky for you, was I?”
“Hey.” I slip an arm around her neck to reassure her. “We’re in this together. No apologies, remember? We’re both responsible, and we’ll deal with it together. No worries.”
“Derric, does this change your decision to hire Church & Strait? I wouldn’t blame you if it did. And Claire doesn’t know about it yet, so if you want to reconsider...”
“Absolutely not,” I reply firmly. “In fact, I’d better get you back to your office so you can clear the decks for all the work ROO-TV is going to be sending you.” I glance around at the dingy, decrepit room. “Let’s get out of here before the carpet leaves a stain on our clothes.”
Mila laughs, and we get dressed, leaving the disreputable premises behind with sheepish grins on our faces.
After escorting her to her office, I take a walk before heading back to my rental; the never-ending chaos of cars and people forming the perfect backdrop for my equally chaotic thoughts.
For all my pragmatic words, I haven’t quite wrapped my head around the idea of becoming a father. I’m not even close to ready. I harbor no desire to start a family—especially given the kind of “family” I’d been born into, if you could even call it that. A domineering, emotionally crippled patriarch who treated his wife and son like machinery parts; human cogs in his wheel of capitalist ambition.
I truly think my mother died of a broken heart. Her cancer was simply incidental, and deep down, I blame him for it. He robbed us both of the happy family experience we’re all led to believe we deserve. In all my years, did I ever hear an “I love you” or “I’m proud of you, son”? Never. Not once.
Family. It’s a bogus institution, responsible for just as many wars as politics and religion. Yet here I am, perpetuating the cycle, scattering my seed to the wind like so many dandelions, impregnating an innocent woman I hardly know in my thoughtless wake. I do like her. But to start a family with almost a complete stranger? That’s got to be an eleven on the Derric Faris reckless scale of one to ten.
The timin
g couldn’t be worse—in the middle of the biggest career turning point of my life, with Steve watching my neck from afar like a human vulture, waiting for me to fail. Maybe my biggest fear is that I’ll turn out just like him; incapable of nurturing or expressing a single loving emotion. On the other hand, I could hardly do worse. And something in me wants to prove it; be the father he never was, to best him at this one thing, the most important thing.
I’ve been given a chance, which is more than some blokes ever get. I haven’t made it this far in life without good instincts, and my instincts draw me to Mila. She’s beautiful and strong and determined. She’s someone I can count on, and I want to be the same for her. For the first time, I have someone counting on me that doesn’t think they’re the bloody King, the Pope and the Sheriff all rolled into one and pass judgment on me at every opportunity.
And it feels damn good.
Chapter Eleven
Mila
True Colors
“So, you’re seeing him again tonight,” Claire says, not exactly as a question. “What’s on the agenda this time, sex before dinner, or after?”
“Maybe both,” I say, knowing my attitude will just get on her nerves. I face the mirror and place the sparkling necklace Derric gave me around my neck. It’s gorgeous, the setting made of white gold and three teardrop-shaped sapphire pendants in the front. It’s the most exquisite and expensive thing I’ve ever worn, and I still feel undeserving of it, but I know he’ll want to see me in it.
“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?”
“What, the necklace?”
“No, I mean you hanging out with golden boy, and screwing 24/7,” she says, perching her slim rump on the bathroom counter next to the mirror. “You’re with him all day ‘working’.” She air quotes. “And then going out at night, too. Has he made any kind of commitment? Is he taking responsibility for the baby? Making plans for the future?”
I straighten and admire the necklace in the mirror, swiveling left and right. Brilliant sparks flash as the light reflects off the stones and the gleaming metal. “He needs time, Claire. He’s under a lot of pressure at work, trying to get ROO-TV off the ground in time for the launch. He has priorities.”
‘Priorities?” She gapes. “I should think legitimizing his offspring would be a priority.”
I turn to face her. “He’s a very high-profile businessman. I can’t ask him to drop everything and focus on me. We didn’t plan this, you know. It just happened.”
“That’s no excuse,” Claire says, shaking her head. “I just worry about you, Mils, and the toll it’s taking on you and our studio.”
“What do you mean? Derric’s given us a fifty-k contract. The studio’s never been in better financial shape.”
“I know that, and it’s great but, what about you? From what you say you’ve been going at it like rabbits. Are you sure it’s good for the baby? And what happens when the network launches? Will he go back to Australia? Leave you holding the bag... in this case, a diaper bag?”
“We haven’t discussed it yet.”
“Well, you’d better discuss it, and soon. I say this not just because you’re my business partner, Mils, but because you’re my best friend, too; we’re practically sisters. This isn’t what I want for you—to end up a single mom, taken in by false promises and left high and dry.”
“That won’t happen, Claire. Everything will be fine. We just need time to get to know each other first before jumping into anything permanent.”
Claire harrumphs and folds her arms across her ample chest. “Those sound like his words, coming out of your mouth. He’s either into you, or he’s not. It’s not a complicated choice, Mila.”
I look at my friend, not knowing what I can say to her that will put her at ease. We’ve always looked out for each other, had each other’s backs, and now is no different. I know she doesn’t want to see me hurt, but I can’t help wondering if there’s something else at play here. “You’re not... jealous... are you? Of Derric and me?”
Claire looks aghast and drops her arms to her sides. “Oh, Mils, how could you think that? No, no... jealous? No! I just want you to be happy. Does he make you happy? Honestly?”
I reach over and take her hands in mine. “Yes, Claire. Deliriously happy. Honest.”
Claire holds my gaze for a moment, then smiles and gives a satisfied nod. “Okay then. Where are you going tonight?”
“We’re going to see The Lion King, finally! I’ve wanted to see it for so long, and it’s been sold out almost every night, but I managed to get tickets. They were expensive, but they’ll be worth it.”
“C’mon, you’re dating a billionaire. Who cares what they cost?” She laughs. “I better let you finish getting ready.” With that, she slips off the countertop and exits the bathroom, leaving me in peace, more or less. What she doesn’t know is that I paid for the tickets with our company money. Derric was so busy at the station, I just decided to take care of it myself. I didn’t want to bother him about it, and he’d just bought me this fabulous piece of jewelry. I wanted an occasion to show it off.
I hadn’t lied to Claire, but I hadn’t exactly told the truth, either. Was I dating a billionaire? Sort of. Since the day we rented that cheesy room a month ago, where I told him the news, we’d been out together a lot—to movies, to dinner, and some sports matches. Other times we just stayed in at his place because he often worked late. I didn’t mind—since his place is a gargantuan 2500 square foot penthouse that I’m certain visiting royalty would envy. But everything revolves around his schedule, not mine.
What Claire did nail on the head was sex. We do have a lot of sex. A lot. Some might say an obscene amount, but it is fantastic every time. We can’t seem to get enough of each other. And she is right about something else. His words are coming out of my mouth.
There is no plan for the future. He never seems to have time to talk about it.
“Everything’s fine, I’ll support you no matter what,” he always says. “We’re still almost strangers to each other. I just want us to get to know each other better first. Rushing into things can backfire.”
Funny he didn’t seem to have the same reservations when we were in Sydney.
I take a last appraisal of my appearance in the mirror. Derric said he’d be working late again tonight, so I’m going to meet him at his place and leave for the theater from there. My deep blue, scoop-necked cocktail dress sets off the sapphires perfectly, and for this occasion, my explosion of curls is tamed with jeweled barrettes. I chuckle at the thought that if I wore it loose, my mane would look just like Simba’s.
I turn a three-sixty to check for stray hairs and lint on my dress and find none, but compulsively stroke my hands across my abdomen. I’m not showing yet, and I wonder how much longer I will be able to wear stylish, slim-fitting clothes and be seen on the town with my dashing billionaire. Will he still want me on his arm when I’m big as a house? Will he even still be here? He says he’ll support me; I have to believe he means more than just financially.
I take a taxi to Derric’s apartment tower. Because the doors open directly into his suite, I have to swipe a card key in the elevator panel in order to access the top floor. The cab zooms upward then slows as we reach the penthouse level. I’m excited about this evening, and I can’t help but smile as I get ready to step out of the elevator.
I’m already moving forward as the polished steel doors begin to part, and I can’t stop myself from stumbling over something that’s fallen crosswise right in front of the doors. A frightened shriek leaves my throat as I go down, arms outstretched to break my fall, and land awkwardly on the cold marble tiles. I’m not hurt, but a fall is never a good thing, especially for a pregnant woman.
I look around, confused by the mess all around me. What the hell happened here? Was it a break-in? How does that happen thirty floors in the air? The item I’ve just tripped over is a metal floor lamp lying on its side, its glass globes smashed on the tiles. The dining chairs are
overturned, and the wall-mounted flat screen has a nasty, spider-web crack across its dark surface. I rise carefully to my feet and hear Derric’s voice from the other room, uttering a string of curses so profane I think my hair might go straight. I’ve never heard him say such things.
I move toward the open doorway to peer inside, and narrowly miss getting struck by an object flying past. It smashes into the corner in pieces. At my gasp of surprise, Derric whirls around and sees me. He’s breathing hard from exertion, and a look of rage darkens his handsome features.
“What are you doing here?” he half-shouts.
I recoil from his harsh tone. “It’s just me, Derric,” I say, my voice reduced to a timid squeak. I glance nervously around the bedroom, which is also in disarray; the bedsheets in knots and clothing and papers scattered everywhere. “What on earth is going on here?”
“You should call before coming over,” he snaps, snatching a couple of shirts from the floor and tossing them on the bed. “I’m in the middle of something.”
I can see that. “But... you said to meet you here... We’re going to the theater tonight, remember?”
He looks at me curiously, still scowling. “Theater?”
“Yes, theater... The Lion King,” I say, growing worried at his foul mood and trashed surroundings. “Are we still going?”
“Shit,” he swears, raking both hands through his hair and taking a few paces back and forth. He stops and faces me, his expression softer but still owly. “I’m sorry. I forgot. We’ll have to go another time.”
“Another time? But... I’ve been trying to get these tickets forever,” I start to say. This isn’t like him to just blow off something we’ve planned. Clearly, something is very wrong. “Are you alright?” I ask warily. “This isn’t like you, Derric. What’s happened? Why is everything in such a state?”
“It doesn’t concern you,” he grumbles out, scooping up some loose file folders from the floor and pitching them onto a desk next to his open laptop. “You’d better go. I’m up to my arsehole in alligators.”