by Roxy Harte
“I’m scared,” she says, taking my hands. She pushes up the sleeve to my long-sleeved t-shirt and traces the imprint of my brand. “I marked us, knowing I was pregnant, wanting to hold on to the three of us so tightly, that that was all that mattered.”
“Why are we having this conversation away from Garrett? It seems he’s a fairly big part of what is happening to our relationship—”
She interrupts me, “But it’s my body, my life that will have to change most drastically if I decide to keep this baby, and he cannot be the one to make this decision and do so solely on emotion.”
“I agree that it is your body, but it affects all of our lives, and since I am going on the assumption at this point that you aren’t having an abortion, the rest of this conversation has to involve all three of us.”
She pulls her hands from mine. “I thought you would understand. I thought we could talk about this and figure things out…and—”
“Leave Garrett out of it?” I laugh harshly. “I know how I would have felt if I would have returned from Paris to find that the two of you had hashed out all of the details without any input from me, and that wouldn’t have gone over so well. Especially if you’d had an abortion. So let’s go. Garrett’s waiting.”
She shakes her head. “No. I almost lost you to Eva. I will not lose you because of this baby. We have to talk about this.”
“Not here. Not now. Not without Garrett.” I stalk to the door and open it, beckoning her to come with me.
She pouts, staying stubbornly on the couch. “This isn’t fair!”
“Sweetheart, this is only the beginning of how unfair things are going to feel for a while and you already know I’m not averse to throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you out of here. Babies tend to change everything.”
“I know,” she says, joining me. “That’s what I’m afraid of most.”
“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn’t be. And what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?”
Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Garrett
“My feelings are hurt. Okay?” I lift my gaze to Jackie’s but don’t look at her. I look behind her. Kitten went through the security exit with Thomas half an hour ago and I wait impatiently for her return.
The entire tale has been laid out for Jackie and she doesn’t seem to understand the problem. Obviously. Because she asks, “So you don’t want this baby?”
I sigh, looking into her eyes for the first time. “That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said.”
I shake my head. “I’m thinking about my once ill-timed proposal, promising Kitten the dream…babies, white picket fences. I’m almost certain you remember that trip back to Cincinnati.” Since Jackie was there for that particular meltdown, I wonder why she hasn’t brought it to my attention. “You forced me to face the truth and nothing has changed since then. Kitten is this lifestyle. She eats it, she breathes it, she lives for it…and there’s no room for suburbia in the life we share. There is no room for a child.”
Jackie tsks. “It’s a little late to be saying this now. The bun’s already in the oven, dough-boy.”
“I’m not the father.”
She gives me a sideways glance.
“I had a vasectomy while Kitten spent those three months with Thomas,” I admit. “I couldn’t bear the thought of having sex with her and feeling the way I did, wanting a child so desperately and chancing having her faced with a pregnancy she obviously wasn’t ready to deal with. I was afraid that subconsciously I might make it happen.”
“Well, aren’t you the genius?”
“I thought I was.”
We both sigh and look toward the exit door. Jackie states the obvious, “Thomas is the father.”
I stand. “I can’t stay here. I’m going home. She didn’t want to talk to me about this before I found out…she obviously doesn’t want to talk about this now. Clearly, I’m the odd man out.”
“Sit down, Garrett. You’re making a spectacle.”
I lift a brow. “You live and breathe for spectacle.”
“Not today. Not when it’s something this serious,” she hisses. “They’ll be back any minute and the three of you can hash this out.”
“You said that a half hour ago.” I run my fingertips across the linen tablecloth. Once they were white, now they are a deep rose, a Kitten decision and I have to agree, the effect throughout the room is stunning. So much here and at home is different because of Kitten’s presence in my life and it becomes clear what my real fear is. Not a baby, not whether Kitten will be capable of toning down her interpretation of the lifestyle enough to include a child, not even that when she realizes Thomas is the father her feelings for him will deepen and lessen for me. I don’t want to lose her.
I don’t want to live without her.
Once I loved and lost and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t somehow think of Tony. I can’t live my life thinking about Kitten day after day and not being able to have her.
“Well then, they can’t be that much longer, can they?” she asks.
“I can’t take this.” I turn away and start toward the elevators, saying over my shoulder, “If they come looking, tell them they know where to find me.”
* * * * *
I’m standing in front of the windows, looking out across the city, or rather, watching the city lights blur one into the other, when I hear the front door open. It only takes a second to realize that it is Kitten and Thomas. I don’t turn around, I don’t greet them. What I do is hold my breath and close my eyes, waiting, holding in all the emotion that has been spewing out of me ever since I left the club. Yelling, screaming, crying, ranting, pacing… I’ve run the gamut and I’m exhausted from it.
Kitten wraps her arms around my middle and lays her head on my back, hugging me from behind, molding into me. I breathe. She is wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I can’t remember the last time I actually saw her in mundane clothing.
“We couldn’t find you at the club. Jackie said you left.”
I hear Thomas moving behind us but he doesn’t come close, he sits on one of the leather sofas, the fabric making a crinkling sound as he sits.
“Did you come to some sort of a decision with Thomas?” I ask.
She hugs me. “There was no decision making. There was barely any talking.”
She moves and I realize it was to turn and look at Thomas. The tone of her voice makes me realize that she isn’t happy with him either. I also realize that she is standing in our living room and talking…a definite violation of house rules. I guess today we’re making an exception. I certainly don’t feel like dragging her down the hallway to punish her.
“You are a part of this, and we came here to talk about what we want to do.”
I snort.
“I didn’t mean to exclude you,” she insists.
“Kitten, don’t.” I turn to face her, leaning my back against the window, arms crossed in front of me. “You meant to completely shut me out of any decision making from the moment you realized you were pregnant and didn’t share the news with me.”
She looks at me, certainly seeing that I’ve been crying, and I don’t care that she sees. She touches my arm and says, “I’m sorry. I haven’t handled things very well.”
I lift my eyebrow but don’t say anything. I especially don’t acknowledge her apology.
“I thought…” She closes her eyes, pausing. “I needed…” She opens her eyes and seeks my gaze. “I’m sorry. I should have told you immediately. I should have been jumping up and down crazy-excited, knowing how much you’ve always wanted a child and knowing that I was going to give you one.” Tears fill her eyes. “That wasn’t my reaction. I was shocked and in disbelief, then I was numb and didn’t know what to think or feel, I just knew I wanted
to talk to Thomas because usually we can talk about anything, usually he knows me better than I know myself…”
Her words make Thomas shift in his seat and I realize that he’s refused to talk to her about this. She’s only here because he’s making her be here. Knowing that hurts more than all of it put together.
“I just didn’t know what to say to you.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. I keep my arms crossed as a barrier between us. “I’m scared to death that a baby is going to ruin everything.”
I glance over her head at Thomas. He’s looking straight ahead at the portrait over the fireplace. It’s new. We commissioned a local artist to paint the three of us months ago and it arrived while he was in Paris. I saw no reason not to hang it and, I admit, I love it. The artist did an amazing job, better than I would have ever believed. In it, we are all nude, Kitten is facing Thomas, cradled into him, her hand on his shoulder, her leg wrapped around his. She is looking into his face, he is looking down into hers and behind her, I stand, spooned against her, my cheek lying against the top of her head, and I too am looking at Thomas.
Isn’t he just the man of the hour? I shake myself like a big wet dog, peeved for having the caustic thought. I love him. I love her. He loves us. He loves us enough to send Eva away, which totally blew my mind, having some idea how deeply he felt for her. So it shouldn’t matter whether he fathered her child or I fathered her child…but for that second it had, and I can’t make the bitterness stop hurting.
“Will you please say something?” she asks.
I look down at her and shake my head. She’s crying but I can’t feel any compassion for her. I’m hurting too much myself. And looking at Thomas, I realize that he is hurting just as badly. We’re a disaster.
I wonder if he hadn’t gone to Paris if things would be this horridly messed up. I imagine so, though perhaps we would have been talking sooner…we’d have at least talked. Right now, I don’t feel like talking. I don’t feel like listening either.
I push off the window and step around her, walking over to the couch. I kneel in front of Thomas and he looks at me. He looks numb, completely numb. I ask, “Are you okay?”
He nods as we make eye contact. He isn’t okay, not nearly.
I lay my head in his lap and he cradles his hands around the back of my head. He says, “Sophia, sit down, and for now, just stop talking.”
Inhale, exhale. I close my eyes, seeking the peace Lord Fyre has taught me to find…in the worst of times, in the worst of pain…inside myself. Kitten obeys him, taking the sofa opposite us. Without looking, I know she is sitting with her knees drawn up under her chin, her arms wrapped around herself, with her cheek resting on her knees. It’s a classic I’m-obeying-but-I’m-not-happy-about-it pose.
Thomas takes my hand and pulls me to sit beside him.
For an uncomfortable second we all sit looking at each other in silence, then Thomas breaks the silence. “Much will have to change, some things will stay the same, but if you choose to keep this baby, I believe we will all find enough joy in its life to make the experience worth it.” He looks at Kitten. “I know you are terrified, but believe me when I tell you that that is a normal feeling.” He looks at me. “All I need to know is do you want me to walk away or can we try to do this together?”
“Walk away?” I ask numbly. “You’re the father, you aren’t going anywhere. If anyone walks away, it should be me.”
Kitten gasps.
Thomas narrows his gaze. “You are certain?”
“Quite,” I answer, not doing a very good job of hiding my bitterness.
“Neither of you are listening to me,” Kitten cries out. “I don’t want to lose either of you!”
I look at Thomas, saying softly, “Many children have two fathers.”
He smiles, asking, “Many?”
“Well, you know what I mean, but I can be Uncle Gar if it suits better.”
“I think you will make a wonderful father, Garrett.”
“You are a wonderful father already, so your expertise will make us quite a team,” I tell him, and the emotion that crosses his face breaks my heart. I’ve been so wrapped in my own insecurities I haven’t considered how Kitten’s pregnancy has affected Thomas. He never talks about his own children, but I know how much he loves them.
I turn to face Kitten. “Are we having this baby?”
“Yes,” she says, and it comes out as a sob. I stretch my hand out to her and, standing, she comes toward us. She is looking at me, not Thomas, when she says, “I’m scared. I never thought I’d want this, but then I never thought I could have this. I always thought God would punish me for not being good enough and it would be no baby for me.”
“God doesn’t do that,” I reassure her.
She climbs onto my lap and I hug her.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she tells me. “I know I did and I’m sorry.”
I kiss the top of her head and hold out my hand to Thomas. When he takes it, I pull him closer. He wraps his arms around both of us. Holding his gaze, I ask, “So we can do this? The three of us…committed. No more surprises?” I don’t want to say it any more plainly than that, but I must. Following Eva’s arrival, I’ve thought of nothing else. “And what happens when Lattie and the children come back from their…trip?”
I feel his muscles tense.
“Garrett!” Kitten cries out in shock that I would actually ask.
“No,” he answers, looking at Kitten. “I deserve that.” He leans back, taking each of our hands, turning his gaze to me. “You’re right to be. I can only assure you that I know her and she isn’t coming back to the United States. She isn’t coming back to me.” His gaze softens and he leans his forehead against mine, saying softly, “I’m not hers anymore. I’m yours.” He kisses me quickly, then bends to kiss Kitten on the nose playfully. “And yours.”
Kitten smiles up at him and it is a brilliant smile, a telling smile. She loves him. Then she turns that same look on me, and I know she loves me just as much.
About Roxy Harte
Multi-published author Roxy Harte has loved erotic romance novels since she stumbled across her first at the tender age of thirteen. Since she especially loves books that offer strong insight into the characters’ psyches, as a writer she wants to provide readers with characters who are not only charismatic and engaging, but also intellectually, spiritually and sexually complex. When she started writing in earnest twelve years ago, it provided an evening respite from the full-time care of her invalid mother and Alzheimer-diagnosed father, and although both of her parents died a decade ago, she now writes so that her readers may find a small escape of their own at the end of a tedious day.
Roxy lives in southwestern Ohio in a small town bordered by fields and railroad tracks, with her husband and collegiate daughter, two boisterous dogs, Petey and Jazzi, and five cats, Miss Kitty, Sadie, Dharma, Karma and Tilak.
The Roxy welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Roxy Harte
Chronicles of Surrender 1: Sacred Secrets
Chronicles of Surrender 2: Sacred Revelations
Debonair Dyke
Prodigal Slave
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Unholy Promises
ISBN 9781419939501
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Unholy Promises Copyright © 2013 Roxy Harte
Edited by Jillian Bell
Cover design by Kendra Egert
Cover photography by Jeff Thrower/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication April 2013
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