by Lucy Farago
If she had to, she’d find a doctor herself. She wasn’t a prisoner here. He’d trust her to let her out of the house. No, she wasn’t that kind of girl. He had to know. If she was the unluckiest person in the world, and she was pregnant, she’d tell him. Then deal with it regardless of what he said. But what if he did want it? She groaned and squeezed her head, trying to stop her thoughts from racing. She took another deep breath and saw her reflection on the computer screen. Reaching out, she touched the image of the month of August.
If they’d made a baby, it could’ve been the day of Maggie’s wedding, that amazing night, or the awful morning, in Vegas. She pulled her hand away, clenching her fist and trying like hell not to touch her stomach. She would not get sentimental about this. It didn’t matter that she could be carrying Blake’s child. It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter that it would be the only thing she’d have of him after he left. She didn’t want a baby.
This was her time. She wanted, no, needed to experience freedom. Freedom to make decisions for herself and herself alone. Free to make the wrong choices and not worry how it would affect someone else. Free to get back all the years she’d lost. This was her time, God damn it. Tears stung her eyes.
This was stupid. Her period could just be late. She stood and closed the computer screen. She’d wait a few more days, then find a way to get her hands on a pregnancy test. Calmly, she went into the bathroom. She opened every drawer in the room, disappointed to find anything and everything she could need. Including tampons. Even the shampoo she regularly used was among the supplies.
“Maggie,” she sighed, “I never thought I’d miss your nagging.” Maggie would know what to do. She always did. Rhonda had watched her with other girls. Never judgmental, always supportive, she’d be there to help. It didn’t matter if they wanted to end it, keep it, or put it up for adoption, the girls could count on Maggie. Wouldn’t she just laugh to discover Rhonda needed her help? No, Maggie wouldn’t laugh. She’d hold her hand and tell her she wasn’t alone. They’d do this together. But her friend wasn’t here. And Rhonda never felt more alone. She couldn’t have a baby. She just couldn’t.
*
For the life of him, Blake couldn’t figure out what was up her beautiful, sexy ass. Hell if he’d know, because this morning she wasn’t talking to him. In fact, in the last week, she barely looked at him, and whenever he’d try and ask, she’d change the subject. Something was bothering her. And he didn’t like it, didn’t like seeing her upset.
They shared the same bed, so he couldn’t have done anything to piss her off. She’d just stopped … being Rhonda. At first, he thought maybe it was a female thing, but he hadn’t seen any evidence of that. But what did he know? He wasn’t a woman. He considered asking and thought better of it. The last thing a guy should do is ask a woman if she was PMSing. So he stayed out of her way. Not for his sake, but hers. His mere presence seemed to depress her. Bloody hell, all he wanted to do was hold her. If he couldn’t make it better, he wanted her to know he was there.
It had to be their situation. She was growing tired of hiding, of being cooped up. “How about we go out tonight?”
“Really?” Her green eyes lit up.
Was that it? She wanted to go out? “Sure. It’s the weekend. The place will be crawling with tourists. We can get lost in the crowd.”
“Great. There are a few things I’d like to pick up in town.”
“Did they forget to stock something?” He couldn’t see how. The place was bursting with supplies.
“No, I was thinking more like girly stuff. To make me feel more like myself.” She stretched out her feet under the patio table. “I haven’t painted my toes in like, forever. Maybe some nail polish … from a drugstore? There isn’t anything you need. Like a book? Or something?”
“You want to go shopping?” Was that it? She needed to feel normal?
“I wouldn’t mind browsing through a store or two. I’ve been looking on line. There are some great little shops in town.”
“Okay, shopping it is.” He smiled, hoping this would do the trick, and he’d have his Rhonda back.
He understood how dangerous it was to think of her that way. She wasn’t his, not permanently anyway. If his family life were different, she might be. And maybe just maybe his brother could have another child. Then everyone could be happy.
That evening they walked arm in arm along the palm-lined streets, with their historic Victorian mansions and Conch cottages. Blake realized that if a guy couldn’t be romantic here, he was a lost cause. He missed making love to Rhonda, missed the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair when he kissed her neck. It wasn’t even the sex, which blew his mind every time, but just being near her. This was the first time in a week he’d held her this close.
“Where do you want to go first?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see where our feet take us,” Rhonda suggested.
Blake couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was off. She seemed happier. She even put her arm around his waist. Maybe it was the gun tucked into his waistband? But she had to be used to that by now. She was smiling, pointing things out. And yet this wasn’t the woman he’d come to know. Whatever had made her moody back at the house continued to do so now. She’d just gotten better at hiding it. Why? Why, not tell him what it was?
“My mother would love it here,” he said, trying for small talk.
“Has your mother been to the United States?”
“Only New York. My grandmother doesn’t approve of the colonies.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Wish I were. She’s never gotten over losing the Revolutionary War.”
“Wasn’t that a bit before her time?”
“No,” he said, stone-faced.
She smiled for the first time in a week. “You always make me laugh.”
Then why did she look so sad?
They reached a drugstore. She asked him to stay outside while she browsed for nail polish.
“As much as shopping for nail varnish pricks my manhood, I don’t want to leave you alone. Come,” he said, taking her by the elbow. “I promise not to look bored.”
They were safe for now. But what if they were wrong and Sorrentino didn’t have the stones? Blake and Christian had screwed with his first known attempt to score big with diamonds, and Maggie, unbeknownst to her, had fucked with his second. With this third incident, Blake hoped the thug wouldn’t be patient about fencing what he had left.
The stones in Dubai came from a private jeweler in London, who turned out to be legit. He bought and sold estate jewelry and, on occasion, as with the Dubai piece, he’d reset the stones. He only dealt with brokers and he’d purchased several pieces from a woman fitting the dead model’s description. But it didn’t make sense. Madison Scott had a famous face. Why would anyone risk her being recognized?
Rhonda didn’t argue about his going in with her, but he’d gotten the distinct impression she’d wanted to.
“Find what you want?” he asked, after ten minutes of staring at the same display shelf.
“Yup.” She grabbed a small bottle of dark polish. “Secret Sin.”
“Interesting name.” Who came up with those?
“It’s either this or ‘Heaven’s Fall.’ But I thought my usual black doesn’t go with my disguise.” She waved her hand over her body.
“What’s the difference?” he asked, pointing to the bottle.
“This is purple.” She held it up for him to see.
He took a closer look. “If you say so.”
She snapped the bottle away and headed to the cash register.
Perhaps shopping for varnish was a personal thing. “I’m adding snotty to your list,” he called out to her.
“Do that,” she said with a hand gesture. He smiled. Now that was his Rhonda.
Outside, Rhonda kept a few steps ahead of Blake, pretending to admire the many dressed windows along the way. She maintained an even pace, trying her best not to c
ome across as agitated. She’d wanted him to remain outside, giving her time to grab a pregnancy test. She’d had time to think about it. No matter how much she didn’t want to be a mother, she couldn’t bring herself to end the pregnancy, if there was a pregnancy to end. And as much as she stuck by her father when he needed her, she couldn’t be there for a baby. Giving of herself that much again wasn’t in her. So, somehow, someway, if she had to, she’d find a fantastic home, one with two devoted parents. People who wanted to make the sacrifices needed to raise a child.
“See anything you like?” Blake asked, stopping to peer into the same window as she.
She blinked, not having realized she was standing in front of a baby store, its window showcasing a beautiful nursery. “I was wondering how long it would take Maggie to squeeze out one of these things.”
“A nursery?”
She swiveled her head in his direction. “Yeah, that’s it. On a good day she could push out a stroller.”
He whistled. “Christian is one lucky guy.”
“Do you want children?” Rhonda inwardly cursed. Why had she asked that? She didn’t care if he did or didn’t.
“Do you?”
“No,” she answered honestly.
“I don’t mean right now,” he explained. “I mean in the future.”
“No,” she repeated. “You?”
“It’s complicated.” He glanced back at the elegant nursery with its cherry wood crib and white frilly bedding.
“What baby isn’t complicated?”
“Oh, it’s not the baby,” he said. “It’s the having.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come.” He took her arm and drew her away from the window. “Would you like to go get a drink?”
“I’d rather have ice cream.” Why wasn’t he giving her a straight answer?
“Ice cream it is.” He motioned to the parlor across the street.
“Let me guess,” he said, when they stood at the counter. “Chocolate.”
“Nope, I prefer lemon sorbet.”
“I’m a soft cone man myself. I didn’t get to buy ice cream cones when I was a kid. My grandmother said licking in public was undignified.”
“Your grandmother sounds very uptight.”
“Uptight? That would be one way to put it.”
He ordered their cones, paid for them, then led the way to an empty booth. “Perhaps now would be a good time to tell you about my family and their … issues.”
“And why having babies is complicated?” She had her own reasons, but she wanted to hear his.
“Sure.” They sat. “Remember my brother got the title?” He licked his cone and waited for her to nod. “Well, what he didn’t get was the money, not all of it. My grandfather’s fortune was independent of the title. Sometimes the two go hand in hand, but in our case, it doesn’t,” he explained. “Colin inherited Oakley Manor. It’s tied to the title, but without the funds to go with it, he won’t be able to afford its upkeep for much longer. He’ll either have to try to turn the house into a tourist attraction, which my grandmother is not in favor of. Or he can continue to eat up his trust fund.”
“I don’t understand. Why would your grandfather do that to him? And why doesn’t your brother just sell it?”
“My grandfather wasn’t born with money, only the title and the manor house. But he was a smart businessman. He saved the family home and believed that, with a little determination, a person could have whatever they wanted, and my grandfather was very specific about what he wanted. And Colin can’t sell it.”
“I still don’t get it. What’s he supposed to do with the house if he can’t afford it?”
“Try harder to earn its upkeep.” He snickered, shaking his head. “The old sod.”
“I am so confused.” Why were his poor brother’s money problems funny?
“Ah, wait. I haven’t even gotten to the good part. My grandfather left a trust fund to take care of my grandmother until she died. And his family jewels and another trust fund went to my mother and one to my brother and me.” He ran his tongue slowly over his dripping cone. “But just over two billion pounds, roughly three point four billion dollars, is up for grabs. Sort of.”
She’d been considering not asking him anything else simply to watch him lick his ice cream, but as her jaw was now on the floor, she wouldn’t be able to form a question even if she wanted to. 3.4 billion dollars.
“My grandfather put conditions in his will, and if they’re not met, no one inherits. My father is trying to contest it, but I suspect he’ll have little success.” He grinned.
Ice cream began to trickle over Rhonda’s thumb. She opened her mouth over the cone and lapped a good dollop, still too dumbstruck by all that money to do much else. There was irony somewhere in all of this. She just wasn’t getting it.
“Want to hear more?” he asked, rightfully wondering why she was staying quiet.
She nodded, taking another healthy lick. How did one spend that much money? Hell, how did someone make all that money?
“If my brother or I don’t have children, then the money goes to charity and Historic Scotland.”
Rhonda choked on her ice cream. She coughed, trying to dislodge the sorbet from her lungs.
“Are you all right?” Blake asked, passing her a napkin.
Taking it, she waved him off when he leaned across the table to help. She swallowed hard and then sniffed. She used the back of the hand holding the cone to wipe the tears from her eyes and succeeded in getting ice cream in her hair. Under the table Rhonda pressed her other hand to her flat belly. “That’s quite the condition. How does that work, exactly?”
Blake took another napkin and cleaned up the mess in her hair. “Girl or boy, the child inherits a bundle, but a boy, an heir, inherits more, much more. As the parents, we stand to inherit more as well. Of course, it will fall upon our daughter to produce an heir should a son not be born.”
Rhonda’s jaw went slack. He hadn’t meant their daughter. Of course, he hadn’t. But it took a few seconds for her brain to register that he was referring to his or Colin’s kid. Not hers and Blake’s.
“Should Colin or I die before this great grandchild,” Blake continued “his or mine, has children, it would be upon her to get the title reinstated, should she have a son. Upon our deaths, if no children are conceived, especially to inherit the title, all the money, minus the trust funds, goes to Historic Scotland and the Scottish Historical Society charity. Everything is being held in trust, earning interest, until then. And if Colin doesn’t perform his duty and can’t afford the manor house, then it too goes.”
He offered her a taste of his ice cream, which she declined. “Are you sure? It’s good.”
“No thanks, I’m not a fan of vanilla. Why are you so … calm about this?” That was a lot of money to go to charity. Her father hadn’t had anything to will her but if he’d decided charity was better than her, she’d have been seeing red.
“I’ve had a lot of time to digest it. Even though I don’t want to see Oakley Manor leave family hands, the money isn’t that important to me, but Grandmother …”
“So, is your brother married?”
“Yes.”
“And I take it no kids?”
“No, but not for lack of trying. They miscarried a week before Christian’s wedding.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That can’t be easy,” she said, her heart hurting for a woman she’d never met. And here she was planning on giving his baby away. If there was a baby to give away.
Now Rhonda felt like a real shit. Other women might do something different and that was totally fine. But she could only do what was right for her. She had firsthand knowledge on just how hard it is to raise a child on your own. Her father had failed miserably and he had all the love in the world to give Rhonda. Not once had she felt unloved, but it wasn’t enough.
“They can try again,” she said.
“I understand there are issues with that. I’m not clear on a
ll the details. We went into hiding shortly after I’d gotten the news and didn’t have time for a long conversation. Now, I don’t dare call. As much as they annoy me, I can’t risk their lives. How’s your sorbet?”
“Good. Wanna lick?” She stretched out her arm, offering him a taste, debating whether to ask him her next question. Would he go for the money? Would he try and save his family home?
“Ask me that when we get back to the cottage.”
She withdrew her hand. He must be curious as to why all the monkey sex they’d been having had suddenly stopped. She figured he’d assume she was having her period, but now a week had passed and that excuse would no longer fly.
“We’ll see,” she said as haughtily as she could manage. “So how is it legal, leaving all your money to charity when there are family members? More importantly, forcing them to produce heirs?”
“Normally it wouldn’t be. But it was within his rights to leave his money to charity. And he did it to ensure the title stays alive and in the family. It was the most important thing to him. If he’d made it a race between my brother and me, then the will could be contested. But he didn’t. He technically willed the money to his great grandchildren and more so to a great grandson.”
“Are you tempted to go for it?” Was this why he couldn’t promise forever? He had to have children, but with a blue blood like him?
“No. I’ll leave having the babies to Colin. He’s already married and fulfilled one of the conditions. The baby has to be legitimate. Even if my grandfather wasn’t old fashioned on that, an illegitimate son can’t inherit this title. And that’s the biggest reason for my grandfather going through all this bullshit. Are you done with that?” he asked, pointing to her dripping cone.
“Yes.” She handed it to him to toss in the garbage. She grabbed a paper napkin, wiping her hand as she stood and followed Blake out of the parlor.
“It’s a lot of money not to want.” Blake could easily find a suitable wife and produce that heir. So why didn’t he? Then he could give Colin the money.