by Lee, Nadia
A musician friend had told him that artists might lie with their words, but not through their art. If he looked at the piece, would he be able to figure out what was in her heart? He’d never seen any of her works before. She’d never offered, and he’d never asked.
He pulled the cloth off.
The work was all pink, yellow and red swirling and mixing in the bottom half of the canvas. But there was no paint on the top half. Gavin gazed at it, trying to put a name to the odd sensation he got from the colors and patterns. If someone had simply described the shades used, he would’ve assumed the painting would be delightful, even coy and playful. But that was completely wrong.
Bleakness. Despair. False cheeriness.
Gavin looked away, then stared at Amandine’s art again. His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. The work truly conveyed darkness.
Damn it. Why was she unhappy? He’d given her everything.
Where and how had he gone wrong?
Most importantly, could he fix it? If so, how?
He returned to the bedroom. As he shrugged out of his jacket, he heard something crinkle and remembered the envelope. He pulled it out and opened it. Then his heart stopped for a moment as a black-and-white print showed a little dot.
On the side it showed the date of the sonogram and weeks and days of…
Gavin’s fingers shook.
Amandine was pregnant.
Gavin picked up the bourbon he’d poured earlier and downed it. His heart hammered, and his gut burned. Amandine had known she was pregnant at least a day before their anniversary. Why hadn’t she said anything about it?
Maybe she wasn’t in the mood after you stood her up.
It didn’t matter. A baby changed everything. It was the most precious thing he could ever create with Amandine, and it gave him hope. He could win her back. Whatever had made her say yes to his proposal couldn’t be completely gone. If he’d somehow messed up so bad he’d lost her love, he’d find a way to get it back.
He called her.
“’Lo?” came her sleep-slurred voice.
“Where are you?”
“Gavin?”
He could hear something shuffle in the background. Where was she?
“You know what time it is?” she said, her voice low but forceful. “It’s one. Most people sleep at this hour.”
“If you didn’t want to talk about our baby at one in the morning, you should’ve said something earlier.”
A pause.
“Hello?” Had she hung up on him?
“It’s not important,” she said finally.
“A baby is definitely important.”
“Gavin—”
“You acted like we were through, like there’s nothing worth fighting for in our marriage. Well, a baby is not nothing.” It was a miracle, something he’d longed for but hadn’t been sure if Amandine had wanted. Which was why he’d never broached the subject.
There was a pause. “Meet me at Wong Lotus tomorrow at eight if you want to talk. Don’t be late. I won’t wait for you, and I won’t reschedule.” She hung up.
* * *
In Brooke’s apartment, Amandine sat up and stared unseeing in the dark. The thin cotton sheet on Brooke’s bed was nothing like the silken ones she’d shared with Gavin, but it was comforting to hold onto as she tried to process what had just happened.
How in the world had Gavin found out she was pregnant?
Brooke stirred next to her. “Who was that?”
“No one,” Amandine said.
Brooke mumbled something unintelligible and turned over, burying her face in her pillow.
Amandine focused on breathing. She could barely remember what had been said. Everything had been a blur once he’d spoken of the baby.
“Our baby.” Those had been Gavin’s words. Was he planning to use her pregnancy as some kind of a bargaining chip?
And Wong Lotus at eight. Why had she picked a restaurant so close by? She didn’t want Gavin to know where she was staying.
But odds were it wouldn’t matter. Given his track record, he’d probably stand her up again. Most likely the complications the baby might pose bothered him, since he wanted her out of his life fast and clean. He would be relieved once he realized that she had no intention of dragging out their marriage due to some false hope.
Sitting in the darkness, she put a hand over her heart, which felt like it was being sledgehammered into pieces.
Chapter Seven
WONG LOTUS WAS only a few blocks from Brooke’s apartment complex. Amandine walked slowly, giving herself some time to think and fortify herself for the battle to come.
Amandine and Brooke had discovered the eatery years ago, but Amandine had never been there with Gavin. Wong Lotus was in a small strip mall with beige walls and an old, tired roof made of dark brown shingles. The owners hadn’t gone for the usual funky Asian font on their sign. Simple red block lettering said “Wong Lotus Authentic Chinese” against a back-lit rectangle of white plastic. It wasn’t the kind of place someone like Gavin would ever think of eating at. If he’d gone from rags to riches she might have taken him, but he had been born into the Lloyds, who were just as blue-blooded as the Fairchilds and quite wealthy to boot.
“Right on time,” came Gavin’s voice.
She started, looking up to find her husband standing in front of the restaurant door. “You’re early.”
“Yes, I’ve been waiting a bit.”
Good. “How’s it feel?”
“Calm.” His gaze swept her from head to toe. She was wearing a sleeveless navy-blue tunic and a pair of matching shorts, both old and frayed around the hems. Her feet were bare inside scuffed brown cogs.
Meanwhile he was in another of his European suits—gray silk and expensive—with wingtips that showed no sign of wear and tear. His burgundy red tie popped, the only slightly flamboyant color on him, but it looked great, drawing her gaze to his solid, muscled chest.
Damn him. Why did he have to look so irresistible?
Gavin opened the glass door to the restaurant, and the aroma of fat, rich sauces and meat hit Amandine hard. She waited for nausea to follow, but it didn’t. Hmm. No morning sickness just yet.
A tall, bony Asian kid about eighteen or so bustled toward them. His black T-shirt said “I Believe in Chinese Food” against a bright orange fireball. Black jeans and beat-up tennis shoes completed his ensemble.
“Hi guys. Table or booth?”
“Booth,” Gavin said, giving the kid a once-over.
The waiter took them to a booth in the back corner. A vinyl sheet covered the table, and they slid onto brown vinyl seats. The waiter set two copies of the laminated menu down. Gavin glanced over his, his face expressionless. Amandine didn’t need to look to know what she wanted. “Egg drop soup with wonton, lobster Cantonese and shrimp, beef and pork fried rice.”
Gavin gave her a veiled look over the menu and said, “I’ll have the same.”
She rarely ordered lobster Cantonese since it was the most expensive item from the restaurant, easily over eighteen bucks a pound, but Gavin was paying, so why not? Her baby would enjoy the crustacean. The booklet from Dr. Silverman’s office said fetuses could taste what their mothers were eating.
The waiter placed a big pot of oolong tea and two small white teacups in the center of the table and disappeared.
“I hope it’s good,” Gavin said, looking around the cheap interior dubiously.
“Just because the waiter isn’t tuxedoed doesn’t mean the food is terrible. We unwashed masses want to splurge and eat out once in a while without going broke.”
His mouth flattened.
She ignored his disapproval and started serving tea. The cup was surprisingly light; then she remembered: the place didn’t have real china. They used melamine, which showed years of hard use in the scratches and the original white fading to a gray-tinged beige.
“Okay. Who told you I was pregnant?” she said, pushing a full teacup his way.
&nb
sp; “No one. Luna found this in the bedroom.” He waved the envelope with Dr. Silverman’s clinic logo.
Crap. She hadn’t meant to leave that behind. “Give it back.”
“No. I plan to make a scrap-book.”
“You?”
“I’m sure Hilary can find somebody who’s skilled.”
Amandine shook her head. “The point is that you take the time to do it. Otherwise it has no meaning.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t have to do everything ourselves. We have to spend our time wisely.”
“The way you spent it wisely on our anniversary?”
“Amandine, I already explained—”
“For a guy who never claimed to be nice, you sure are nice.” To Catherine.
Hating herself for feeling jealous, Amandine crossed her arms. Gavin had told her point-blank he wasn’t a good guy before they’d fallen into bed together after Catherine’s wedding reception. At the time she hadn’t particularly cared, mindless with desire. But since then she’d seen glimpses of his sweet and generous nature, and it went beyond the standard annual donations to worthy causes. Sure, the local fire department and police adored him for the hundreds of thousands of dollars he’d routinely donated like clockwork every year. And he visited the Art4Kids classrooms when he could because it was a cause dear to his heart.
But what she remembered the most was what he’d done for their gardener, Aggie Smith, when her husband had lost his job and then been diagnosed with lung cancer. Unbeknownst to Gavin, Aggie and her husband had also lost their health insurance, and they couldn’t afford the costly treatment necessary to save his life. When Gavin found out, he paid for the procedure himself. Said a lack of money was a piss-poor reason to make a widow out of her.
Then without telling anybody, he took the money that he would’ve spent on Aggie’s insurance premiums since she’d started working for him—she’d declined coverage as her husband’s company had provided it—and in a few months with a series of calculated moves turned that into two million dollars and given them the entire sum.
Amandine had been present when Aggie had received the money and would never forget the expression on her face, or the way her work-roughened hands had trembled around the check.
“Just so you know, your taxes are going to suck next year,” Gavin had said. “If you want, I’ll have my CPA give you some advice. But you deserve this.” He put a hand on hers. “Your husband deserves this.”
The woman had broken down and cried, with protestations that the amount was too much, that both she and her husband would work for free in order to pay it back. But in the end she’d taken the money, and with it, they had been able to get through the rough patch in their lives. Paid off the mortgage on their modest home, retired and taken a vacation for the first time in years.
Why Gavin couldn’t show this kind of consideration and sweetness to her, Amandine didn’t know. Maybe he was incapable unless the gesture involved at least six zeros on a check. Just look at the jet.
Except Amandine didn’t want all the millions.
She wanted him.
The sexy him, the generous him, the wonderful him.
But she had a feeling she was losing him. He was drifting away to a better-bred, more beautiful, more sophisticated upgrade: Catherine.
The waiter brought their soup, then the lobsters, everything appearing with an almost magical speed. Maybe the chef was working faster than usual to impress the man in a suit.
Gavin picked up the thin, light fork. Amandine watched him study his utensil, feeling a bit of satisfaction. She knew he wasn’t used to anything that didn’t contain at least three ounces of silver.
Something about it struck her then, made her truly see what her subconscious had been saying for years now. Gavin and she were just too different.
He looked completely out of place in a cheap Chinese restaurant with old vinyl seats and melamine plates. He belonged in a glittering restaurant that had heavy, perfectly balanced silverware that sparkled from regular polishing, real china, and discreet and unobtrusive waiters in crisp tuxes.
And she…didn’t. She was more at home in a humble kitchen than the places he frequented, where she knew she didn’t quite fit.
Was it any wonder that she’d always felt like an outsider whenever she’d gone to Gavin’s family gatherings? Everyone was nice and polite enough to her, although that was to be expected. The Lloyds were too well-bred to be anything but gracious. But that didn’t mean she belonged with them anymore than the catering staff at some of their more extravagant parties did. Like the staff, she just occasionally occupied some of the same rooms.
Amandine and Gavin couldn’t possibly understand each other. They were fundamentally too different, never mind her Fairchild connection.
“I’m going to get to the point.” He pulled soft lobster meat out of the shell and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “This is actually good.” Then he rested his fork wrist against the edge of the table. “The baby represents an irrevocable tie between us.”
She choked as some soup went down the wrong passage. Her nose stung, and her eyes watered instantly.
He handed her a full teacup. She downed it like a shot of whiskey, wiped her eyes, and spent a few moments getting herself back together. “Don’t do that again.”
“What?”
“Exaggerate what the pregnancy means. What’s changed since the anniversary?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Explain it to me anyway.”
“We created a life together. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“It means everything to me. But I don’t think it’s the same for you.”
He raised an imperial eyebrow.
“You don’t want this baby,” Amandine said.
“How can you say that? You know I love children.”
“The way you love—never mind.”
His jaw tightened. “Amandine, my child isn’t going to grow up without a father.”
“We don’t have to stay married for him to grow up with a father.” Then she couldn’t resist adding, “Of a sort.”
“Pete won’t make a great father figure, if that’s what you’re implying.”
She blinked. Her younger brother was the last person she’d nominate for the father figure for her baby. “I don’t want to raise my child—”
“Our child,” he corrected, his voice without inflection.
“—in a cold, loveless household. You’re emotionally unavailable. Ditto for time. You’re too busy for everyone.” Except Catherine.
“I am busy, and the markets require attention. Profitable trades don’t happen by accident. I didn’t make my twenty billion by lying around daydreaming.”
She ground her teeth. He was deliberately being obtuse. “Gavin, marriages with stronger foundations than ours fail all the time. A baby isn’t enough.”
“Nonsense.”
He dug back into his lobster and fried rice. She barely touched hers. Several minutes passed while her stomach twisted.
“A baby is easily a strong enough reason to give us another chance,” he finally said. “Besides, we have an incredible foundation. We’re comfortable, have a good life.” He spread his hands. “We like each other.”
Like.
What a convenient word.
Tell me you love me. If he’d reassure her, she’d change her mind. But she couldn’t bring herself to make that demand. She didn’t want him to say it only to salvage their marriage. She wanted him to mean it. “My mind’s made up. This is the twenty-first century. We don’t need to stay married for the baby. Believe it or not, I had a comfortable life before I met you, and I’m sure I’ll be at least as comfortable as a divorcée.”
The muscles around his jaw ticked. “If you insist, you can go. But you cannot have the baby.”
She had to fight to keep from bursting out laughing at how dramatic he was being. “And how do you plan to ensure that?”
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�By demanding custody, how else?”
“Courts generally favor the mother.”
“Generally.” He gave her a slight smile that made her heart stop.
Amandine gaped at him because she knew what the smile meant. His arrogant confidence was galling, but what if he was right? He was a Lloyd, moneyed and well-connected. For heaven’s sake, he played golf with local judges. Would they side with her—a nobody—over their golf buddy?
“Take your time and think carefully about the odds. It’s a big gamble,” Gavin said, placing his fork next to his now empty plate. “Now finish your dinner, and I’ll take you home.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re eating for two. I insist.”
“You can’t expect me to eat after that declaration of war.”
He tilted his head. His gorgeous dark eyes cut into her like a scalpel. “You’re the only woman I know who could equate an attempt at reconciliation with a declaration of war. It’s love, not war.”
Her heart froze for a moment at the mention of “love”…except he didn’t really mean it the way she did. “Does your attempt really have anything to do with love?”
He took his time, crossing his legs and smoothing out the crease in his trousers. “Well it certainly isn’t war. I’ve never offered reconciliation to my enemies.”
“Stop evading my question.” She crossed her arms. “Convince me.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
Her mouth dried. This was important. It might be the only way to salvage their relationship, even compel Gavin to realize he loved her. “Convince me our marriage’s going to work. I’m not going to stay just for the baby because I’m certain it’ll give you an even bigger claim on the child in case things don’t work out.”
“Fine.”
“And I want all the rules written out.”
“That’s unusual.” His mouth crooked into a semi-cynical smile. “Want a lawyer to go over them?”
“Why not? I want them to be fair. I don’t want you hanging around, taking forever to convince me.” It’d hurt too much to have him close, all the while knowing that he didn’t love her, but simply wanted to play at being married for the sake of their child. She wished she had the confidence to demand more from him, somehow just…commandeer the love she deserved, but every time she started to open her mouth, she froze. Just thinking about what he might say if she asked him point-blank made her break out in a cold sweat.