by Amy Brent
“It's okay, Camille,” he said, stroking my hair. “It's over. You're safe now.”
I took a few deep, shuddering breaths. Then I leaned back and looked Jack in the eye. “Why did he call you Mr. Tremaine?”
He smirked, holstering his pistol. “I've been meaning to find the right time to tell you.” He held out his arms in a humble stance. “My real name is Jack Tremaine. I'm the one who's been funding your expeditions.”
I stared at him for a long moment, dumbfounded. Then I raised my hand and slapped him as hard as I could across the face.
* * *
I stalked across the excavation site, grabbing whatever equipment I could carry and hauling it off towards our rental trucks. The rest of the team was standing around in a daze, staring at the bodies, at the guns, at the blood on the ground. I couldn't stand around and stare. I had to keep moving.
“Camille,” Jack said, following me to the truck.
“Don't talk to me.” I dumped a load of tools in the back of the truck, then turned back to collect some more. Jack stopped me and grabbed my shaking hands. Part of me wanted him to hold me. Part of me wanted to scream at him.
Instead I just shoved away from him and went over to the folding table where we had all of our maps and documents about the site. I rolled everything up in a clump, not caring if some of the pages got rumpled. Jack stood off to the side, watching me.
“We should go,” Tracy said, pulling herself away from the scene of violence. She smacked William on his arm to get him moving. “Come on, Will. This isn't the place to be hanging around.”
“Should we call someone?” William asked. “The...the police? The government?”
“We're not calling anyone,” Jack said. “If any hostiles know we're in the area, our only option is to evacuate. We've saved enough history for this trip.”
“I'm sure Mr. Tremaine doesn't want to risk bad publicity by having his excavation team captured by terrorists,” I snapped. I shoved the maps and papers into a long black tube, twisted the cap on, and tossed it into one of the trucks.
The rest of the team stared at Jack. They were probably as stunned about his identity as I was.
“I just don't want anyone to get hurt,” Jack said.
I didn't even look at him. I couldn't. Not until I calmed down.
Soon we had everything backed into the vehicles and we were on our way. Jack drove at the head of the caravan, his hands keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel. “We'll head straight to the airport,” he said. “I'll call ahead. My jet's been waiting there since it landed, and the crew has instructions to keep it prepped for flight at all times.”
“Your jet,” I said, shaking my head. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. This man, this fool man that I'd let myself fall for, was the infamous head of Tremaine Industries. “Is your name even Jack? Was that a lie too?”
“My given name is Herbert Jacques Tremaine,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road, as well as scanning the horizon for any dangers. “I'm sure you can understand why I prefer 'Jack.'”
“Herbert,” I said, snorting. “Seriously? Herbert?” That was the whitest of rich white boy names I could ever imagine.
He laughed and shook his head. “Named for my grandfather. I never cared for it. Or for him.”
We drove in silence for a time. I had a million questions to ask him, but I couldn't get them all straight in my head. Eventually, when the airport was coming into view ahead of us, I asked the most immediate question on my mind.
“Why did you lie?”
He didn't answer for a long time. We pulled into the airport parking lot. Crew members in the employ of Tremaine Industries came out to meet us and started unloading our excavation gear and the artifacts we had recovered. The rest of the team was already getting on the jet, while Jack and I sat in the car. He finally turned off the engine, rested his hands on the steering wheel, and started to explain.
“I never asked to be rich,” he said. “I was born the heir to the Tremaine fortune, and that's how it was. But when I was a teenager, I started thinking I needed some kind of better focus in my life.”
“So you joined the Navy.”
He nodded. “At first it was a chance to work out my aggression. And man, was I ever an aggressive kid. I got kicked out of two boarding schools for starting fights. The Navy helped me focus that aggression into purpose, and I stopped being so angry all the time.”
He shrugged and turned away, staring out the window. “But when I got done training and started actually doing the job, it turned into something different. I was saving people. Helping keep the country safe. I did more for America than my father and my grandfather ever did with their engineering firms or their overpriced pharmaceuticals.”
The tension started to ease out of my shoulders as I listened to his story. This wasn't the Tremaine I'd imagined. My image of him, of his family name, had been tainted by his father's legacy.
“When I got out,” he said, “it was just after my father died. I had to take over the family business. I almost sold it all, just so I wouldn't have to deal with it. But the companies that made me offers were notorious for doing major takeovers and then 'reorganizing their new assets.' Which is a fancy way of saying they shut down any unprofitable plants and make major layoffs. So I keep things running, and to hell with the shareholders if they complain that profits are down. We keep people employed. And I use my own profits for personal projects.”
“Like preserving little pieces of history,” I said. I reached over and touched his knee.
“Among other things, yeah.” He finally turned to face me. His expression had softened.
“You didn't quite answer my question, though.” I arched an eyebrow. His story had touched me, but I wasn't letting him get off the hook just yet. “Why lie? Why pretend to be someone else?”
“I like to get involved,” he said, shrugging. “I like to help. And since I've got my SEAL training, it makes sense to work as security. I fund a lot of other things besides your expeditions. Scientific and medical research, wildlife preserves, and so on. I go from one to the next, taking on a simple security role, and I can feel useful. Plus it helps me keep an eye on things, make sure the people I pay don't squander their resources or try to do anything illegal.”
“So you were here to spy on us?” I asked, my hackles rising. “Make sure we didn't try to steal any of these artifacts for ourselves?”
“That's only a small part of it.” He looked at me with a somber expression haunting his eyes. “And I wasn't expecting this to happen, between us. I wasn't expecting to fall in lo—”
“No,” I said, cutting him off. “Don't you say that. Don't you dare. Not now.”
“Camille...”
“I need time to think about this.” I got out of the car and stalked away from him. He followed, but kept his distance, respecting my need for space. We boarded the jet, and I made sure to take a seat far away from Jack. I needed to be alone for a while. I needed to sort this out.
I needed to figure out if I could still love this man, when I had just found out I didn't even know who he was.
* * *
I didn't talk to Jack when we got back to the States. He gave me his personal cell phone number and asked me to call him when I was ready. Though for a little while, I was too busy to consider what I might say to him, for which I was grateful.
My entire team had to be debriefed on what had happened, giving full reports to the people at Tremaine Industries. In order to keep us from getting into trouble with the government for removing the artifacts from Syria, we all agreed to sign Non-Disclosure Agreements. The items we'd recovered would be quietly shipped to places where they could be studied and kept safe, and we were all paid substantial bonuses as compensation for the danger we'd faced. The details of our work were quietly swept under a rug, and we were able to get back to our lives.
The morning sickness started not long after I returned home
, and I decided it was time to see a doctor and confirm what I already knew. The tests came back positive—I was pregnant. With the baby of a man who wasn't at all what I'd thought he was.
I sat at home one afternoon with his number punched into my phone, working up the courage to hit 'send.' I normally wasn't a girl to be shy about calling a man, but this was a call I'd never had to make before. Finally I let out a long sigh and hit the button, then held my breath while I waited for him to answer.
“Camille,” he said as soon as he picked up. “How've you been? I've been waiting to hear from you.”
“I'm...I'm good,” I said, nervously picking at the threads on my shirt. “Listen, baby, you and I need to talk.”
“That's good,” he said. “Talking is good. We've got a lot to talk about.”
“Honey, you don't know the half of it.”
He was quiet at that, and his voice was hesitant when he spoke. “Camille, is everything all right? Listen, I know this was a crazy situation...”
“We'll talk in person,” I said. “This ain't something to discuss over the phone.”
“All right,” he said. “How about dinner? Something quiet. Intimate.”
“That sounds good.” We worked out the details and I hung up the phone, trying to ignore the churning in my gut. I wasn't sure if it was nausea from the pregnancy or from my nervousness, but either way I felt like I was going to throw up.
Jack picked me up later that night. He brought flowers, though I refused to give him any brownie points for that. We went to a restaurant with a private dining hall. There wasn't another soul there besides the staff. I wondered if Jack had bought out every table in the place in order to give us more privacy.
Once we were settled in and we'd decided on what to eat, Jack uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured us each a glass. “I'm glad for the chance to see you again, Camille,” he said, raising his glass. I raised mine and tapped it gently against his, then set it down without taking a sip.
“So, how have you been?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. He still looked like the same old Jack. He was dressed simply, in slacks and a black t-shirt, and to look at him you never would have guessed that he was a billionaire.
Billionaire. I couldn't get my head around how much money a billion dollars really was. I'd grown up poor and worked my way through college to earn my archaeology degree. I was still paying off my student loans.
“I'm fine,” I said, my voice tight. I'd planned out everything I had to say, but it was getting all jumbled now that I was here. “Listen, Jack, we need to sort this out. About us. If there is an us, I mean.”
“I'd like there to be,” he said. “I know you must still be mad at me, but can you at least understand why I did what I did? I mean, it's not like I can travel under my own identity. You saw what happened...those men somehow figured out who I was, and they came after me.”
I hadn't thought about that before. It's likely the terrorists didn't just want to stop us from violating their holy grounds. Jack Tremaine would have been a valuable hostage. Even if they didn't care about money (most extremists didn't), they could have made a public example of him. Killing a rich American industrialist would raise them up in the eyes of those that supported their cause.
“I understand,” I said. I took a sip of my water, wishing I could try the champagne so I could calm my nerves. “But what happens now? It ain't like we can have a normal relationship.”
“Why can't we?” he asked. “I don't live a high society life. I prefer to travel. You can come with me. There's got to be plenty of places around the world you'd like to see. We can scout locations for future expeditions, and see the world while we're at it.”
“That isn't going to work,” I said. I couldn't see hauling a baby around the world, jetting from one country to another. I couldn't set up a crib at the edge of an excavation site while I was on a dig. “I need to settle down for a while. I'm thinking about teaching.”
“Teaching?” He arched an eyebrow. “That works too. I have some contacts at quite a few universities. I can help set you up with something.”
“I don't need your help.” I shook my head. “I can get by on my own merits.”
“Of course.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I didn't mean to imply otherwise.”
We were quiet for a while as we ate. I couldn't figure out how to say the things that needed to be said, or ask the things that needed to be asked. I couldn't just come right out and tell him I was pregnant. He'd want to get married and take care of the baby, just because it was the right thing to do. But then I'd spend the rest of my life not knowing whether he actually wanted me, whether he loved me, or whether he was just saddled with me because he'd knocked me up.
Damn, I wished I hadn't gone and gotten myself into this mess.
“So what about the future?” I asked him.
“Our future?” he asked. “I hope it will be a bright one.”
“But have you actually thought about it?” I put down my fork and peered at him from across the table. “We had a fun few weeks out there, sure. But did you ever stop to think about whether it was going anywhere?”
“Actually,” he said, “I haven't been able to think about much of anything else.” He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, then set it on the table. “Listen, Camille. I'm not going to make any promises. This is just the beginning, right? We've got time to figure things out. I just want to get to know you more, to become a part of your life. And we can figure out the rest as we go along, can't we?”
“No,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “We can't.”
“Why not?” He looked so distraught, half rising from his chair as if he thought I was about to run out the door and he'd need to catch me.
“Because I'm pregnant.”
He stared at me for a long moment. He settled back into his chair. He cleared his throat, then took a sip of his champagne.
“Oh,” he said.
“Oh?” I stared at him, leaning forward with my palms on the table. “Oh? Is that all you have to say? God damn it, Jack, I'm having a baby. Your baby. Don'tcha have anything more to say about that?”
“Have you been to a doctor yet?” he asked. “I can find you the best OBGYN in the state. And don't worry about the cost, I'll take care of everything.”
I sat there and stared at him. “That...that's it?” I grabbed my napkin and threw it at him. “You want to know about the damn doctor?”
He caught the napkin and set it aside. “I'm not sure what else to say. I'm a practical person, Camille. Your health, the baby's health, that's the most important thing. The first thing I thought of.”
I let the tension release from my shoulders. It was actually sweet, when I thought about it. He heard that I was pregnant, and his first instinct was to take care of me.
“What else do we need to talk about?” he asked. “Living arrangements? We've got time until the baby is born, so maybe we—”
“I want to talk about us, Jack.” I clenched the edge of the tablecloth in my fists. “I wasn't ready for this. I don't know what's going to happen. And before you even think it, don't go popping the question on me now. I want to focus on doing what's right for this baby, first, before we consider whether we want to get married or something. But we need to figure 'us' out. Figure out where this is going, how we're going to manage things.”
He smiled and rose from his chair, then circled around the table and knelt beside me. He took my hands in his and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “Don't you worry at all, Camille. We're going to take this one day at a time. We've got months before the baby is due, and we can spend that time getting to know each other more. Growing closer to each other. I'll make sure the baby is provided for, you have my word on that. And we'll figure 'us' out. The important thing is moving forward, right? We'll make a great future together. And when the time is right, when we have all the pieces in place and we know we're doing it for us, and
not for the wrong reasons, then we'll talk about marriage, and the future, and all of that. Okay?”
Tears welled in my eyes. All I could do was nod. I leaned over and kissed his lips, glad that he was here for me, that he wasn't going to try to push me into something before I was ready. It was going to be a strange life, raising a baby with a daddy who was a billionaire and an ex-Navy SEAL. And a white boy, on top of that. My mama wouldn't bat an eyelash at the rest of it, but when I brought a white boy home to meet her, she was going to blow her top.
I put my arms around him and cradled his head against my chest. I hadn't expected any of this to happen, and I knew I wasn't ready for it. But was anyone ever really ready for a baby? The important thing was that our child would have two loving parents who would do anything to support and care for them. And I knew Jack would do whatever it took to provide for his child. Our baby wouldn't have to live through the kind of struggles my family had gone through while I was growing up. It wouldn't ever have to worry about whether there would be dinner on the table, or whether we could afford to take it to the doctor. It would grow up and go to college without ever having to worry about debt.
I cupped Jack's cheeks in my hands and raised his face towards mine. We kissed as tears of relief fell down my cheeks. After a few moments, our kiss became more urgent, filled with need. Jack stood up and took my hands, then led me out of the restaurant and to his car. We kissed more sitting in the parking lot, his hands roaming my body like we were a couple of teenagers. Then we went back to my apartment.
We headed back to the bedroom almost immediately. I worried about what Jack would think of my simple place, with my IKEA furniture and my dirty clothes strewn all over the floor. But he didn't show any signs of judgment for my middle-class lifestyle. He just focused on my needs, on my touch.
He lowered me onto the bed, gentle as can be. There was none of the urgent, athletic movement from our prior encounters. He was slow. He was tender. We savored every moment. He slowly pulled my clothes off, one piece at a time, his lips trailing kisses over the bare skin he exposed. Shivers ran up and down my body, and while part of me wanted to tell him to hurry and give me what I desperately needed, a bigger part of me wanted to cherish this experience.