by Tina Folsom
Quickly and quietly, Holly made her way through the people on the terrace to reach the steps leading down to the pool. “Excuse me,” she whispered, and squeezed past a man who seemed to stagger a little as he took a step aside to let her pass. The smell of alcohol came from him and Holly quickly continued her way toward her friend.
Sabrina waved silently when she spotted her, and smiled.
“Hey, Holly,” Daniel greeted her, his voice low so as not to disturb the speech.
“Hey,” she said then hugged Sabrina and whispered into her ear, “I need to talk to you. Now.”
Sabrina’s forehead wrinkled. “Is something wrong?”
Holly nodded.
“Sorry, baby,” Sabrina said, leaning toward Daniel. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Holly took her friend by the hand and led her away from the crowd. Her gaze fell on the pool house where she had spent the night with Paul, and she headed for it.
“In there,” she instructed and ushered Sabrina inside, then closed the door behind them.
“What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well? Is it the baby?” Sabrina immediately asked.
Had the situation not been so dire, Holly would have laughed. Sabrina was seven months pregnant, yet she was the one being concerned about Holly’s pregnancy.
“Paul knows that I’m pregnant. He guessed it.”
For a moment Sabrina remained silent, as if trying to figure out what this news meant. “So? What’s the problem? It’s not like you’re showing. Nobody’s going to know. It’s none of his business anyway.”
Holly sighed. “He suspects it’s his.”
“Paul? By why would Paul—” Sabrina stopped herself. “But you said it was some guy you barely knew.”
Holly closed her eyes. “It’s true. I barely knew him.”
Sabrina shook her head. “Just because you two are having sex now . . . ”
“How do you—”
“Come on, Holly, I don’t need to be a brain surgeon to figure out that the two of you are sleeping with each other. I noticed how he looks at you. But even Paul must know that it takes a little longer than a week for a pregnancy to . . . ” Sabrina paused, realization suddenly spreading over her face. “You slept with him when you were visiting for my wedding, didn’t you?”
Holly nodded.
“Oh my God! He is the father!”
“You can’t tell him!” Holly immediately shot back. “Please! You have to promise me that.”
“Oh Holly! What are you doing? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sabrina put her arms around her and pulled her in for a hug.
A sob tore from Holly’s chest. “Because you would have tried to convince me to tell him about it.”
“Oh, honey, what are we going to do now?”
“I don’t know. But I have to find a way to make sure he doesn’t find out it’s his. This is my baby. I want to keep it.”
Sabrina stroked Holly’s head. “Of course you’re going to keep it. But you can’t keep this a secret from him. He has a right to know.”
“But he doesn’t even like kids.” That thought pushed tears into her eyes. Not only did Paul not want kids, he didn’t want her either—not for anything but a week of hot sex, anyway.
“How would you know that?”
“He said so himself. We talked about his sister, and how it hadn’t been a good idea that she got pregnant so early in her relationship with Quentin, and that it ruined everything between them. Trust me, Paul doesn’t want kids. Besides, we’re not even having a relationship.”
Sabrina rolled her eyes. “What do you call it then? You’re sleeping with him.”
“Well, that’s just . . . ”
“That’s just what?” her friend probed.
“It happened, okay? A weak moment. Have you never had a weak moment?” Holly thrust her chin up.
“Of course I have. And I married my weak moment.” Sabrina smirked.
“Well, I guess I’m just not that lucky. So, can we get back to the point? How am I going to convince him that he’s not the father?”
“Is that really what you want to do?”
“There is no other solution.” A tear welled from her eye and rolled down her cheek.
“Then you have to make sure he doesn’t figure out how far along you are. Tell him it was some guy you met after him. And hope he’s gullible enough to believe you. Now you’d better fix your face so nobody sees that something is wrong. Okay?”
Holly nodded. “Okay.” She sniffed. “And not a word to Daniel. You didn’t tell him I was pregnant, did you?”
“Not a word.” Sabrina turned the doorknob. “I’ll see you out there. And for the record: I think you should tell Paul the truth. But you’re my friend, so I’ll support you no matter what you decide.”
When the door shut behind Sabrina, Holly heard clapping from outside and realized that Paul’s parents must have finished their speech. Any minute now, Paul would try to find her.
In the small bathroom, she pressed a cold washcloth over her eyes, trying to make sure they wouldn’t puff up. She didn’t want anybody to know that she’d been crying. It took a few minutes to compose herself and practice the answer she would give Paul: She was seven weeks pregnant and the guy was somebody she’d met on a trip. Not entirely untrue—after all, she’d met Paul on a trip. And seven weeks wasn’t so far off from ten. It could practically be a rounding error.
Holly filled her lungs with a deep breath, opened the door to the pool house, and stepped outside.
“Well, hello again,” a male voice said.
Holly looked to the side and recognized the man as the same one she’d passed on the steps earlier. He appeared even more inebriated than before.
“Hi,” she said curtly, then turned in the other direction, wanting to rejoin Sabrina.
She had taken only a few steps toward the pool, when suddenly she felt a hand on her forearm, pulling her back abruptly. Holly spun around, and in the same instant jerked her arm back to free herself and found herself face to face with the drunk man.
“That’s not very friendly,” he claimed, his face red.
“I’d suggest you leave and sleep it off.” Holly’s eyes darted to the side, where she saw several people talking a short distance away.
“Yeah, how about you and I leave and have us a private party?”
Annoyance quickly turned to anger. She hated guys who couldn’t take no for an answer. Intent on letting Paul know he should have this man removed from the party before he caused any more trouble, she turned away.
“I’ll pay your going rate, of course,” she heard him say, his voice louder than before.
Shock shot through her and made her heart stop for a moment.
When she glanced back at him, she saw something flicker in his eyes. The satisfaction of having found her out? She couldn’t tell. “How dare you insult me like this? I’ll have you tossed out on your ass!”
“Is that a way to talk to a former client?”
Former client? Holly’s stomach lurched and this time she knew it wasn’t due to the pregnancy. This man was a former client? She made a quick assessment, when realization settled in: He did look vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t place him. But he clearly recognized her.
“You have me mistaken for somebody else,” she insisted, and tried to sidestep him.
He surprised her by blocking her. Despite his drunken state, he was still alert enough to be a danger to her. Holly stepped back to try to escape, but he pushed her toward the pool house.
“Oh, no, there’s no mistake.” He reached for her hair. “I wouldn’t forget somebody like you. Not after paying such an exorbitant amount for you.”
“I want you to leave now. Quietly. Or I’m going to call for help.”
He chuckled maliciously and came closer, making her take another step back toward the pool house. “Are you? I doubt that very much. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re here incognito, and I doubt you’d like al
l these nice people at this party to know that you’re a hooker.”
The word sliced into her and sent a wave of adrenaline through her veins. His hand came up again, and she glimpsed a wedding ring on his finger. “What would your wife say if she found out what you were doing in San Francisco?”
He halted in his movement in an instant. “My wife? She doesn’t care who I fuck. And right now, I’d like to fuck you.”
“Never!” she ground out, and prepared to defend herself.
He pushed her against the wall of the pool house. Holly lifted her knee and aimed for his groin. Her kick hit air when the drunkard was jerked back.
“Leave her alone!” came Paul’s angry voice. “Fucking drunk!”
“Stay out of this!” the drunk growled, and jabbed his elbow back, thrusting it into Paul’s chest.
Behind them, people had started to turn their heads to watch the exchange.
Paul gripped the guy by the collar and jerked him around. “I said, leave my girlfriend alone!”
“Girlfriend? She’s a fucking hooker!” the man yelled.
Paul’s face distorted from stunned surprise to rage, while his fist swung at the guy as if on autopilot. But despite his inebriated state, the man sidestepped him and stumbled closer to where more guests had gathered. Everybody seemed to be looking in their direction now, the conversations suddenly silenced.
“Yeah, a fucking hooker!” he yelled again, pointing at Holly.
Holly wanted to sink into the ground.
“Shut your fucking mouth, or I’ll shut it for you!” Paul yelled, and swung again.
This time his fist connected with the guy’s face and whipped his head sideways. The drunkard stumbled and fell against a passing waiter carrying a tray of drinks. Holly watched as the waiter lost his balance. Two hands reached for the tray and took it from the falling waiter’s hands so the drinks wouldn’t crash to the floor. Holly stared at the man with the quick reflexes: Jay.
Then her eyes went back to Paul and the man who had accosted her.
The man wiped blood off his mouth and glared at Paul. “Yeah, a two-bit hooker. That’s all she is! What are you paying her, huh?”
Paul looked as if he were seeing red and pounded his fists into the man in such quick succession that his opponent couldn’t even lift his arms in defense. All the drunkard could do was step backward to try to escape Paul’s unrelenting fists. But there was no escape.
With Paul’s next punch, the man stumbled over the ledge of the pool and fell in. Water sloshed over the edges, splashing onto some of the guests who stood close. A collective gasp went through the crowd.
“Paul!” His mother screamed.
Paul’s head jerked up to see his mother, who glared at him and then turned her gaze on Holly. “Is this true? Is it true what he said?”
“He attacked Holly!” Paul ground out.
Holly stared at the party guests, who all stared at her now. They had all heard the drunkard’s words, accusing her of being a hooker.
It was dead silent now. The only thing that could be heard was the sloshing of the water in the pool, as the drunk tried to keep his head above water.
Paul’s mother pointed at Holly. “Somebody remove that woman from my property!”
Holly didn’t wait for anybody to approach her, but turned on her heel and ran down the path that led to the beach.
“Holly!” she heard Paul call after her, but she didn’t slow her pace.
The jig was up. Everybody knew what she was. She couldn’t stay here. Not now, not when everybody was pointing fingers at her and looking at her with disgust.
When the breeze from the ocean hit her face, she realized that she was crying. But no amount of crying could undo what had just happened.
27
Tara stared at the shocked crowd, then her eyes drifted back to the man struggling to keep himself from going under. She couldn’t believe what she’d just witnessed. Had the man in the pool really accused Holly of being a hooker? Well, it didn’t matter right now, because from what she noticed, it looked like the man either couldn’t swim or was too drunk to remember how.
“Isn’t anybody going to help him?” she asked, looking at the party guests.
When she received only blank stares in response, she slipped off her high heels and dove into the pool. She didn’t mind the cold water as she swam to the man who needed her help. When she reached him seconds later, she put her arms underneath his armpits and started treading water.
“I’ve got you. Don’t move.”
But the man kept kicking and moving his arms. She struggled to keep hold of him and quickly kicked her legs, maneuvering herself and the guy toward the shallow end of the pool where steps led up to the deck. By the time she reached it, other guests came to her aid and helped her pull the man out.
Tara breathed heavily and plopped down on the closest lounge chair. She was instantly aware of the fabric of her thin chiffon cocktail dress clinging to her body and looked for a towel, but there was none. All the towels that were usually strewn about the pool area had been removed before the party. Great! Now everybody would be gawking at her. She sighed and her eyes fell on a tray of drinks a waiter was holding. That was what she needed now.
She motioned to him. “A drink, please.”
The handsome thirtysomething waiter who wore his tuxedo like a second skin looked to both sides, then back at her as if he didn’t know she was talking to him.
“Me?” he asked, a confused tone in his voice.
“Yes, a drink, please.” She pointed to the tray in his hands, on which she’d spotted what looked like a whiskey.
He looked down at the tray in his hands as if he only now realized that he was holding it. Finally his legs moved and he crossed the distance between them, bending down to her with his tray. She snatched a glass of amber liquid off it and took a sip. Yes, whiskey. The alcohol burned pleasantly when it ran down her throat. Instantly it warmed her.
He set the tray on the table next to her.
“It was very nice of you to pull him out,” the waiter said, the pleasant southern note in his voice soothing her.
And she needed some major soothing. Not only had Quentin made a pass at her earlier in the day, only minutes ago her parents had read her the Riot Act, accusing her of not doing enough to make Paul interested in her. She’d had it with them and with rich men who thought they only needed to snap their fingers to get everything they wanted.
“Better that than having to listen to my mother’s complaints any longer.” She didn’t know why she even confessed this to this very handsome stranger.
He smiled down at her, while he took off his tuxedo jacket. “Ah, yes, mothers have a way of annoying their children.” He tossed a knowing look at Mrs. Gilbert, who now stood face to face with her son. Then he took his jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Here.”
“Thank you.” His thoughtfulness touched her.
Tara took another sip and ran her eyes over the waiter’s body. Maybe it was time she rebelled against her parents, just like Paul had suggested. Perhaps shocking her mother by having an affair with somebody who didn’t fit into her perfect world would do the trick. “What are you doing after your shift?”
His gaze shot to her and his forehead furrowed. “My shift?”
She sighed. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he sure looked yummy, and his southern accent did something to her.
“Yes, when you’re done working here. I can’t wait to get away from all these arrogant rich people.”
A slow smile spread on his lips. “No plans. But I’m open to suggestions.” His eyes dipped to her body, slowly running a long look over her. When he lifted his gaze again, he added, “Or if you prefer, I could come up with some suggestions.”
Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “That works too.” She set the empty glass back on the tray. “I’m Tara.”
“I’m Jay.” Then he leaned closer and dropped his voice. “And I�
�ll be your server tonight.”
Tara’s mouth went dry as his words traveled from her ears through her entire body and set it on fire.
Yes, a rebellion was definitely in order.
28
Paul gave Consuela a grateful nod when she poured him a cup of coffee and placed it in front of him on the dining table. “Thank you, Consuela.”
She shuffled out of the room, and Paul knew that the moment of truth had arrived. Everybody was assembled at the breakfast table in the dining room, looking at him as though his family were the Spanish Inquisition and he the sinner.
After the awful scene at the party, his parents had been unable to prevent a scandal. There was no way to stop wagging tongues in the Hamptons, and this was the juiciest story in Montauk and beyond since Sabrina had been falsely accused of being a call girl.
After the incident at the pool, his mother had fled and taken to her bed with a migraine, though Paul suspected it was simple embarrassment that had made her flee the curious crowd.
His father, with the help of some of Paul’s friends, had managed to send the guests home. Tara had disappeared, most likely whisked away by her parents in order not to be implicated in the scandal, after she’d pulled Geoffrey Tillamer, the jerk who’d exposed Holly, from the pool.
After that the phone had started ringing off the hook and Consuela had been instructed to take messages and relay that the family was not available to talk.
“How could you bring that woman into our home?” Paul’s mother now said in a tight voice.
Everybody at the table was silent. Not even Jonathan piped up. He probably sensed that something was wrong and that it was in his own best interest to behave.
“It’s nobody’s business but mine.” Paul stabbed a fork into his bacon, but had no intention of eating it.
He’d lost his appetite the moment Tillamer had put his dirty paws on Holly. At that moment he’d seen red. And instead of pulling the jerk behind the pool house and tossing him off the property, where he wouldn’t have had a chance to expose Holly in front of all the guests, Paul had provoked a public fight.