A Million Different Ways (A Horn Novel Book 1)

by Dangelico, P.

  “They arrested some guy on a botched robbery attempt in Paris. In exchange for a lessor sentence, he told them…that he was hired to run a car off the road. To stage a murder and make it look like an accident…my murder.”

  “Your wife––”

  The words left my lips before I could stop them.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know, Vera. That nobody knows.” He swallowed, his throat quivering as the emotion lodged in his throat.

  “Let me in,” I pleaded.

  He placed his head back in his hands––wouldn’t look at me. I continued to stroke his hair. The need to touch him, to connect, trumped everything else.

  His voice was barely audible as he began. “India and I had been dating a year…it wasn’t serious. I met her at the charity concert U2 gave for my foundation. She traveled a lot for work. I was busy, too. I had only taken on managing the bank a year before, so it worked.” He paused and looked up at me. I held his gaze, silently encouraging him to go on. I couldn’t and wouldn’t push him. He would have to tell me willingly.

  “Things were good between us for a while. I wasn’t looking for more…then she got pregnant.” My eyes widened. My heart stopped––at least, it felt that way. A baby. Sebastian’s baby. His gaze returned to the floor. He continued as I sat there reeling from his confession. “We got married…nobody knew she was pregnant, just us. She wasn’t that far along.”

  I was suddenly falling, dropped from an airplane with no parachute.

  “You loved her though?” Real, unadulterated jealousy burned through me. And not the superficial, frivolous type––the ugly, vicious kind. Of a dead woman that had been pregnant with his child.

  He looked up and his distraught eyes turned soft and warm. “Yes, I loved her. But I wasn’t in love with her. You’re the only…” Shaking his head, he plunged back into despair. “If it wasn’t for the pregnancy we…we would’ve broken up.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “India was a good person but…she was so needy. I was always running home to fix something or deal with her is one way or another. It was exhausting. Before the accident, it got worse. A lot worse,” he admitted dejectedly. “I guess I was pulling away. She could sense it.” Anxiety swamped him at the mere recollection of it. His nostrils flared, his breathing turned ragged. “Making scenes in public––embarrassing me.” He rubbed his face, pressed his fingers to his brow. “We were in the middle of a bad fight that day.” His voice broke. I stroked his back in encouragement, fighting my own tears and feeling powerless against the depth of his pain.

  “Lucinda, that woman who lives in my building, told me…told me she saw a man coming out of the apartment, when I was away for business.” His chest rose and sank rapidly as he forced out the words. “I lost it when she didn’t deny it. I started shouting…I…I took my eyes off the road for a second––”

  I couldn’t hold back anymore. I crawled onto his lap and held him, stroking his head, his back. Pushed beyond his ability to cope, he clung to me as if he could absorb my body into his. He buried his face in the curve of my neck and gripped me with a force that could have broken ribs.

  “I’m sorry, darling. I’m so so sorry,” I whispered. I could feel the wetness on my skin, the soft tremble of his muscles as I kissed his throat and murmured words of love and comfort in his ear.

  “This is why you tortured yourself with alcohol and pills? To numb the guilt? Torturing yourself won’t bring her back, or the baby. It could’ve easily been you in her place. You didn’t cause it. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was my job to keep them safe,” he mumbled. I sat back and examined his face. His eyes were wild with anxiety, tears glistening on his thick lashes. “Someone is trying to kill me and…I…I can’t put you at risk. I’ll die if anything happens to you. I won’t survive it. I know I won’t.”

  I needed to draw his attention away from where his thoughts were headed. Cradling his beloved face, I kissed him softly until he kissed me back. The taste of his sadness stayed with me. I held his tortured gaze when I spoke, “Nothing is going to happen to me. That’s what the security is for. I trust you with my life and you know what it takes for me to say that. You’re the most capable man I have ever met. I’ve never felt more loved or more protected. You won’t let anything happen to us.”

  I watched the words sink in, grow roots. The lost look in his eyes slowly dissipated, and was replaced by a steely determination I was relieved to see. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, finding his bearings.

  “I know you won’t. Now come upstairs with me so I can make love to you.”

  Not another word was spoken as I took his hand and led him to our bedroom. I undressed him slowly. His eyes fixed on me the whole time as love, uncertainty, and a million other emotions took turns flashing in those gorgeous pools of liquid fire.

  He seemed uncomfortable letting me lead, taking and not giving. Dear, sweet man, so inexperienced at receiving it was a crime. But I wouldn’t let him touch me. If I did, I would succumb quickly. This was my way of showing him how loved and treasured he was when he needed it most, when he needed reassurance.

  I kissed every square inch of bare, golden flesh on his body, lingered longer over every bump and raised scar on his injured leg. His strangled whimpers made me bold. I gripped him firmly at the base and took him into my mouth, sucked strongly on the crown until he sighed and moaned and gripped the sheet hard enough to tear it. His body bowed off the bed, every muscle tense. He squeezed his eyes shut, swelled even larger in my mouth when I pressed down on the sweet spot under his sac. He was close, his skin slick from the strain. The perfect symmetry of his face twisted as the pleasure broke through the pain still on the surface. His muscles turned to stone. And as I lifted my mouth, his eyes opened wide and his seed shot onto my bare breasts; the room resonating with the primal, guttural cry of his release.

  Breathing harshly, he draped his arm over his eyes while the last tremors left him. I placed a chaste kiss on his open palm and went to the bathroom to clean myself off. When I returned, though, he was staring at me with that broken, conflicted look again. Snuggling up next to him, I pulled the covers around us and created a cocoon where only he and I existed.

  “I need you so much it scares me,” he confessed. It killed me to hear his voice so small, to see this powerful man so broken down.

  “I feel the same way…there’s nothing to be scared of.”

  His eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open, his breathing turned deep and easy. “Let me do something for you,” he mumbled.

  “Not tonight, lover. Go to sleep.”

  I stayed awake for a long time afterwards, contemplating what had gotten lost in all the disclosures. Someone was trying to kill him. The man I loved. The worry lodged near my heart felt like a ticking time bomb. Fighting the anguish that threatened to overwhelm me, I focused on the comforting sound of his gentle snore and prayed for strength.

  * * *

  With all that had transpired, my head was spinning for most of the following day. Sebastian was quiet as he dressed for work, interrupting what he was doing every few minutes to touch me or hold me. I let him, even though I knew he was running late for a business meeting. I needed to touch him as much as he needed it.

  Around four o’clock, I glanced at my phone and realized I had ten new messages. My stomach sank when I recognized the number.

  Dr. Rossetti’s office. No doctor’s office ever left that many messages unless it was bad news.

  Stepping out of the kitchen for privacy, I walked to the vegetable garden and dialed her number, my hands shaking so much that I had to clear the screen twice. Her receptionist told me to hold on. The doctor had been trying to reach me for twenty-four hours and absolutely needed to speak to me, she explained. By the time I heard Dr. Rossetti’s voice, I was already in full-tilt panic.

  “Vera?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry Dr. Rossetti, I wasn’t able to check my phone yesterday.�
�� My voice sounded steadier than I was feeling.

  “Never mind. You didn’t fill that prescription did you?”

  I could feel my heart pounding in my throat. “No, why?”

  “Because you’re pregnant.”

  You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant… it was like a far away echo, followed by a high pitch ringing in my ears.

  “Pregnant?” The word sounded foreign on my lips.

  “Correct.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you most definitely are.”

  “That’s impossible,” I said curtly.

  “Are you having sex?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, I assure you it’s quite possible.”

  I couldn’t breathe, on the verge of hyperventilating.

  “But I never get my period! My mother tried to conceive for years and couldn’t. And she died in child birth!”

  There was a rustle of movement behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and found nothing.

  “You obviously do not take after your mother because you’re quite pregnant. I won’t know how far along until you come in for an ultrasound. I recommend you come soon. Otherwise, you’re perfectly healthy. No anemia, it’s the pregnancy making you tired…I see this is unexpected. Let’s talk about it when you come in.” I nodded, at a loss for words. “Vera?”

  “Yes, doctor, of course. I can come in tomorrow, late afternoon?”

  “Perfect, see you then.”

  You’re pregnant…I’m pregnant? Yes, you’re pregnant. But I can’t be pregnant. I assure you that you are.

  Reason and madness took turns screaming at each other in my head. This was an absolute nightmare. A baby. Sebastian’s baby. Oh, dear God. Sebastian would freak out. He hadn’t even recovered from the last woman he knocked up, and now he had to deal with me.

  I looked down at my belly, felt beneath the apron of my uniform where the intruder was hiding. Flat as always. My hands cupped my breasts. Definitely larger, fuller. And then the puzzle came together slowly, the irrational moodiness, the weight gain, the constant crying. Some doctor I would make––I couldn’t even figure out what was going on with my own body.

  I thought I heard a noise, looked behind me again, and discovered a small bird perched on the net wrapped around the tomato plants. I suddenly felt drained, tired beyond anything. My entire body sagged, collapsing under the weight of my troubles. I walked back to the kitchen dragging my toes.

  Mrs. Arnaud took one look at me and her carefree smile melted into a frown. “Chérie, you look tired. Would you like to go lie down?”

  “Yes, madame,” I said dejectedly, “just for a little while.”

  I could feel her scrutiny as I dragged myself through the kitchen, towards my old room. I lay in bed staring at the dust motes dancing in a shaft of sunlight with my hands resting on the complication. It was so hard to imagine that life was growing there. I didn’t feel that different, except for a protective streak starting to build within me. Strange how that happens automatically.

  I never considered children. A baby never crossed my mind. I had so many plans, so many things I wanted to accomplish. I was never like other women whose sole purpose in life was to raise a family. Thank God they were out there, but I wasn’t one of them. A baby was always some faraway, abstract concept for me.

  Unbidden, an image of a dark haired little boy with amber eyes flirted through my mind. Oh, no. This is how it starts, how one throws away a lifetime of work…for…for love. Tears welled up, annoying and perfectly normal, considering. How in the world was I going to tell Sebastian? It seemed like every time we stepped over one insurmountable load of crap, a larger one presented itself.

  I sat up at the soft knock at the door. Before I could respond, he entered, looking more settled than he had that morning. I was relieved. I wouldn’t be much help to him in the present state. He threw his suit jacket on the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. The shaft of early evening sunlight illuminated his eyes, accentuating the gold and green flecks.

  “Why aren’t you in our room?” he asked as he stroked my face with aching gentleness. I turned my face into his palm and let the heat of his hand settle my nerves. I melted under his touch, my senses heightened by all the hormones pumping through my blood. Closing my eyes, I planted a kiss there.

  “What’s wrong, baby? Marianne said you weren’t feeling well.”

  Baby…that endearment more pertinent than ever.

  “Did you get any more information from Interpol?”

  “Gideon is handling it. I don’t want you to worry about it. Do you have a temperature?”

  He placed his large palm on my forehead.

  “No, just tired. Dr. Rossetti’s office called. I have to go back for more tests tomorrow afternoon. The blood tests were…inconclusive.”

  Frowning, a new sense of focus entered his eyes. “Anything we need to worry about?”

  “No, darling. Nothing to worry about.”

  He narrowed his eyes skeptically. “I don’t like this. Maybe you should see my doctor.” The lack of energy made me irritable. I was in no state to debate him.

  “Sebastian, I beg you, please, let’s not argue. What time is it?”

  “Six-thirty.”

  “I’d like to have dinner, take a bath, and go to bed early.”

  “Anything you want,” he said as he raked his fingers through my hair. “Just promise me something.”

  “What?” I asked guardedly.

  “I want everything out of here and moved into our bedroom. And I want to come with you tomorrow and meet this doctor you seem to think so highly of.”

  Anxiety came rushing back. I still hadn’t worked out how I was going to tell him.

  “Yes to the room. No to the doctor’s appointment.” I swung my legs off the bed and tried to put some distance between us, but he caught me in his arms before I could escape.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m a grown woman, and you have to begin trusting that I know how to take care of myself. We need boundaries,” I said curtly. The wounded look on his face made me hate myself for a minute. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like such a bitch, please don’t argue. If it’s anything serious, you’ll be the first to know.”

  His eyes turned suspicious, his voice stern when he spoke, “Now I know there’s something wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never heard you curse before.”

  Desperately trying to distract him, I stroked his chest and said in a provocative voice, “I’m going to show you how sorry I am.”

  His expression softened. He smiled and placed a soft kiss on my nose and taking my hand, led me out of the room.

  * * *

  There it was, on a small monitor, blinking in black and white. Life. A baby. My baby. It was official. I felt really pregnant. What the hell was I going to do? I started crying of course, for the millionth time in the past two weeks, trying to make up for the last six years during which not a single tear was shed. Dr. Rossetti squinted at the monitor.

  “You’re further along than I thought…around six weeks.” Six weeks. When Sebastian was shot. The meadow. You play Russian roulette often enough and someone always ends up getting hurt…or pregnant. “Have you considered terminating the pregnancy?” Her tone was super gentle.

  I looked at her sharply and covered my belly in reflex. “I’m Catholic.” Dr. Rossetti drew her gaze away from the monitor and met mine, then nodded. “But even if I wasn’t, I couldn’t do it.” My eyes returned to the fuzzy image on the screen. “Not after seeing this,” I explained, a small smile threatening to grow.

  A tiny flutter, barely visible to the naked eye, yet there it undeniably was. For someone as calloused to the basic functions of the human body as I am––cutting open human cadavers tends to do that––I still couldn’t help staring in wonder.

  “Is the father involved? Do you have a good support system?”

&nb
sp; “He doesn’t know yet. I’m not sure how he’ll take the news. He’s been rather stressed lately.”

  Our eyes connected in unspoken understanding. A child was a huge responsibility. A child to an unwed mother, on her own, spelled the end of any aspirations I had of becoming a doctor. I pressed my thumb and index finger to my brow, trying to stave off the dull ache growing there.

  She removed the wand from my abdomen and printed out the ultrasound. I pushed down the paper gown. Suddenly the sound of the buzzing air conditioner seemed louder, an annoying distraction in my ear. I locked my muscles as goose bumps crawled all over my body. I never understood why examination rooms had to be kept at sub-zero temperatures. I felt cold, exposed, and very much alone at the moment.

  “Get dressed and we can talk in my office.”

  I nodded and she stepped out of the room. Dressing slowly, I put on the white, cotton blouse and pleated, navy skirt we bought at Akris, slipped on my nude Lanvin flats, and grabbed my Chanel purse, hooking the chain across my body. The word fraud kept booming in my head like the distant sound of canon fire. I looked down at the sonogram hanging limply between my fingers. What the hell did I know about babies…absolutely nothing, except for their biology.

  I dragged myself to Dr. Rossetti’s office, knocked, and entered. She sat behind a contemporary, pale wood desk with a wall of books behind her and a picture window to her left. She took off her wire rimmed reading glasses and motioned for me to sit in the armchair opposite her.

  “From the look on your face, I can assume you’re less than thrilled about this turn of events?”

  “I’m still in a state of shock. I’ll let you know if I ever come out of it. My menstrual cycle has always been irregular, sporadic at best. There were years when I didn’t get it at all. And with my family history, I just assumed…”

  “You’ll learn this quickly when you start practicing medicine. Never make assumptions.” I looked up and met her sympathetic gaze.

  “Practice medicine? It looks like my life long ambition disintegrated with a simple blood test.” I held up the sonogram.