She turns around when I groan, worry lining on her face again, until her eyes land on the hand palming my hardening dick. Her gaze narrows and a smile peeks through the grip her teeth have on her lush lower lip. “Oh...it’s like that?”
I wink and return her smile. “You know, it’s always like that.”
She giggles and closes the fridge. “Then let’s pop this baby and get to the fun part of this celebration, shall we?” She holds up a bottle of Moet and twirls to the cupboard where we keep our champagne flutes.
“Is it okay for you to be drinking that?” It’s like a wet blanket laid atop my ardor when she removes the foil covering the cork.
She waggles her eyebrows and grins as she gives the glasses a quick rinse and wipe down. “Not only is it okay, but I think it should be mandatory for us to drink champagne anytime we’re home alone.”
“Kal, I’m serious.”
Her head pops up from the glass she’s wiping and at the discomfort in my expression, her smile dims. “What’s wrong?”
I frown, exasperated. but wary of being one of those men who thinks he knows more about these things than the woman it’s happening to. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do with your body or anything, and I don’t know if the rules are different now -”
She puts the glasses down and her brows draw together in a bemused furrow. “Remi, what are you talking about?”
“I didn’t think drinking was allowed in your condition.” The words are stilted and clipped.
She narrows her eyes in confusion, rests both hands on the counter, and leans toward me. “What condition?”
I lean toward her, too my “I thought…you’re late. Your period, I mean… your… surprise.” The last word comes out in a croak as the realization of my error - the magnitude and completely unforced nature of it – hits me like a high speed train.
Her annoyance is replaced by a look of stunned surprise.
“You think I’m pregnant?” She shakes her head and laughs in disbelief. Her incredulity is palpable as my own and the compounding weight of it is terrible.
“I take it you’re not.” I say and start pulling food cartons out of the bag in front of me.
“Most certainly, not.” The note of relief in her voice is like a slap in the face.
“Remi…are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I lie because I’m not sure what to say. I wish I was anywhere but, in this kitchen, right now. I’m not entitled to my disappointment – I jumped to an apparently farfetched conclusion. But I can’t help how deeply I feel it.
“Wait…” She reaches over the island; takes the container of food I’m holding out of my hand and links our fingers. “We need to talk about this.”
The worry in her voice makes me feel even worse. I meet her eyes and force a smile. “I’m an idiot. You said you had a surprise, and my imagination ran away from me.”
Her expression only grows more pained and she doesn’t say anything. The loaded silence acts like a counterweight on my forced smile. So, I drop it and let her see my discomfort. “Please, forget I said anything.” I plead and tug my hand free of hers to continue unpacking the food.
She sighs deeply “I can’t forget it, Remi…I’m not late. At least, I don’t think I am.” I watch her through my lashes as she walks over to the counter where her phone is laying and scrolls through it. Suddenly, her eyebrows shoot up and she frowns “Hmmm. Well look at that, You’re right. I’m late.”
The stubborn hope revived, food forgotten, I move to stand beside her and crane my head to peer at her screen. “So…I’m right?”
She worries her bottom lip and then looks up at me. The grimace that tightens her expression answers my question before she shakes her head in the universal sigh for no. “I started a new pill, the one I was on was making me nauseous. and my cycle changed. But I’m not pregnant.”
This second wave of disappointment mingles with the sense of betrayal churning in my gut. I take a huge step away from her and brace myself against the counter. “You’re on the pill?”
Chapter 2
Kal
Take your shot
Remi’s question and the barbed implication of it are like a stab in the heart. He’s so handsome, it takes my breath away every time I look at him. But right now, it’s the Pandora’s box I’ve unwittingly opened that makes my lungs constrict.
His midnight eyes are full of something I haven’t seen there in a very long time – disillusionment.
Disconcerted and fretful, I have to clear my throat before I can answer the question he asked. “I thought you knew that. I’ve always been on the pill.”
“Oh.” He flinches like I slapped him. “Okay. My bad.” He walks away and starts pulling plates and cutlery from the drawers.
Shaken, I run a hasty and frantic search through my memory trying to understand where this dissonance came from. We’ve never talked about having a family, and after the tumult of the last two years, I’ve been too busy basking in the banality of stillness and static. But clearly, I’ve also been blinded by it.
“Remi... I thought you knew. I told you when we first got back together. I’m sorry.”
His expression clears and he attempts a smile while he strokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “No. If anyone should apologize it’s me. You told me and I just…forgot. I’m okay, I promise.”
I lift his hand and press a kiss to the center of his palm and then hold it against my cheek, and even though I’m trying to comfort him, his touch soothes and tethers my skittering nerves. “Are you sure?”
He nods. His smile is sincere and tender, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand slips out of my grasp and I’m immediately bereft of it, but guilt and confusion stop me from reaching for him again.
“I’m new to this whole committed relationship thing, but I know better than to assume.” He rests one lean hip against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “So, tell me the surprise I’ve probably ruined.”
His uncharacteristically artless gear shift tells me just how vulnerable he’s feeling. This isn’t a passing whimsy for him. But, sensing that we both need time to process this, I change lanes with him.
“I got an interview.” Even with our unfinished business diluting it, my unbridled excitement about what I’m about to share brings a huge smile to my face.
He grins and genuine happiness lights his eyes. “You heard back from Channel 2?”
I shake my head. “Even better,” I say with a cryptic waggle of my brows, my smile growing so wide my cheeks hurt.
He chuckles and raises an expectant, impatient brow. “Are you going to make me guess?”
“It’s with CNN.” My words come out in a shriek of excitement.
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his mouth falls open.
“I know!” I squeal my clap my hands together.
His smile is as bright as mine and sweeps me into his strong arms, crushing me to his chest and spinning us in a circle. And elated giggle bubbles from my throat and I’m dizzy with happiness by the time he sets me on the counter.
Grinning, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press my nose to his collar. He smells like mint and vanilla and his flex of his muscles under my roaming hands reminds me where this conversation had been heading before that weird detour. Eager to get us back there, I press a kiss to his neck. “Mmmm, I’m so glad you came home.”
He steps into the space my parted thighs make for him and grins down at me. “Tell me everything. This is amazing. I didn’t even know they had an affiliate here.”
My dogged happiness keeps the smile on my face even as my heart stutters. “They don’t. It’s the show Selma Limón used to host. She’s moving into one of their primetime anchor spots and they’re looking for a replacement. They called my agent today and offered me an audition.”
He blinks like I splashed water in his eyes, but he’s still smiling when he asks, “You mean…the show that films in Atlanta?”
My gaze dart between the smile on his face and the increasingly stark expression in his eyes, trying to decide which one of them to believe. But my heart aches because I know the truth. He’s not only surprised, he’s hurt. Again.
Unable to speak through the knot of consternation in my throat, I nod weakly. He makes a sound that’s half groan, half whimper and his head drops so that his chin nearly touches his chest. He rests his hands on his hips and doesn’t say a word.
I stare at the top of his dark head, my distress growing as I put myself in his shoes. He came home thinking I was going to tell him I was pregnant. Instead, he found out that not only am I not having his baby, I’m taking active measures to prevent it. And then, I tell him that I’m interviewing for a position that’s halfway across the country from the place we decided would be our home.
Oh God.
What have I done? I slide off the counter and, in a desperate attempt to undo the hurt I’ve caused, I lay my sacrificial lamb before him without thinking twice. “I don’t have to take it, Remi. The interview, I mean. It’s a long shot anyway.”
His head shoots up, his dark brows drawn together over eyes that are narrowed in fierce rebuke. “No fucking way.” He closes the space between us again and cups my face in his strong hands. The pride in his gaze brings the sting of grateful tears to my eyes. “Kal, this is what you’ve always wanted. And it’s not a longshot. They’d be damn lucky to have you.”
“Really?” My voice is hushed by hope.
He smirks and genuine amusement lights his eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments, babe.”
Relief loosens the breath trapped in my chest and I laugh.
He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “I’m so proud of you. Tell me everything while we eat. I’m starving.” He lets me go and walks over to the counter where he laid the food out.
I’m confounded by the trajectory of my emotions. When I graduated from journalism school and started my career, a chance like this was my biggest, wildest ambition. And as I contemplated my future in the hours since I got the call from my agent, I was sure that this was the thing I wanted more than anything.
Until Remi came home and planted the seed of a new, even wilder dream.
I approach him tentatively, unsure why I’m pressing this now when I should let it go. But I can’t; Not until I understand exactly what he’s feeling. “Remi… you want to have a baby?”
His considers me with wary eyes, and he’s quiet for so long that I’m afraid he’s not going to answer. But then, his expression grow wistful and he smiles. “Of course, I do. But I’m not in a rush. You’ve got to see this through and when you get it, you can’t get pregnant right away. You wouldn’t qualify for FMLA, and no matter how much of a star you become, you’re going to want that job protection.”
“Always the optimist and the lawyer.” I smile my appreciation.
He winks and then tilts his head as a thought occurs to him. “You could just negotiate maternity leave into your contract.”
I ponder that while he piles steaming cheese drenched ziti onto a plate. “There’s a lot of travel with the job. The studio segments film in Atlanta, but there’s usually a location segment that would mean I’d be somewhere else every week. Would you want to move? Could you?”
He chuckles and hands me the food. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. And no matter what happens, we’ll figure it out together. I’ve got you. Eat.” He presses a fork into my hand and gives me a mockingly stern look.
I’m not convinced by his show of certainty, but I need more time to think about everything, so I do as I’m told.
“So, when’s the interview?” he asks when I swallow my first mouthful.
“There are six rounds of interviews. The first one is a video call, and it’s next week.”
His brows shoot up to his hairline. “Six?”
I shudder in agreement. “I know. But they want to be sure. My agent said to expect to wrap it all up late December. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to go through three months of that kind of scrutiny.”
He scoffs, but his smile is as bright as it was when he first walked in the door. “This is your shot. You’ve been ready, Kal. It’s yours for the taking.”
I lower my eyes and watch his face through my lashes. “So…you’re happy?”
He kisses me. “So damn happy, baby,” he whispers against my mouth and I taste that lie on my lips for the rest of the day.
THREE MONTHS LATER
Chapter 3
Confidence
Pride and Pies
I’m no quitter.
There’s not mountain on earth high enough to keep me away from something that I want. So, I’ll be damned before I let Eliza Rivers and her pettiness ruin my family’s Christmas Eve.
“Confidence, you don’t have to do everything yourself.” The softness in my mother’s scold only irritates the anxiety I’ve been battling all morning.
“Mama,” I snap turn to give her a stern glare. “I’m not trying to do everything myself. These pies are the one thing Hayes asked for. I couldn’t find anyone to make them at such short notice. So, I have to.”
She leans back against the counter and folds her arms over her chest, never breaking eye contact with me. “I see you’ve got your tablet open to a pie crust recipe.” She points at the tablet I have propped on the counter of my center island next to the index cards of notes I’ve prepared for each of the recipes I’m attempting.
“Well, I’ve never made it before.” I explain, the effort to keep my patience tightens my voice tight and slows my speech.
My mother leans forward, her hand on her heart. “But I have.” Her big blue eyes are full of pleading. “I can show you. Or even do it for you so that you’re not too tuckered out to enjoy it all.” The grooves of worry that have lined her forehead since she walked into the kitchen, deepen.
I grit my teeth and turn back to the cutting board “I need to do it the right way.”
I feel her flinch and I’m instantly ashamed. I’m turning to apologize, a stab of pain in my hand sends the knife I was holding clattering to the counter.
“Shit!” I shove the bloody tip of my index finger between my lips and suck at the cut. I close my eyes, curse Eliza and my distracted mind, when tears spill down my cheeks.
“Crying won’t do you any good, Coco,” my mother admonishes from behind me.
I stiffen and wipe my cheeks with the backs of my hands. “I’m not crying.” I walk yank a drawer open and pull out a band aid out of my first aid kit.
“Let me do that for you.”
I shake my head and turn away from her, “I’m fine.” But the quaver in my voice betrays the words for the lie they are.
She takes the bandage from my hand and wordlessly dresses my injured finger. Then she lifts it to her mouth and kisses it. Her eyes close and she smiles, as if to herself as she shakes her head. “When you were little, you’d always hide your hurts from me.”
I grimace. “You knew?”
She nods, her eyes still closed, her lips drawn into a pained frown. “Of course. But, most days, I was fighting for my life and I was grateful you could take care of yourself. But now, I’m ashamed I let you.”
“I was fine, Mama.”
Her eyes fly open and they’re alight with the same fierce determination I’ve watched her show in the face of every challenge life has thrown her way.
“I’m your mother.” Those three words carry a myriad of meaning - meaning that I didn’t fully understand until I had the privilege of saying them myself. I can’t undo the past, but I’ve been working on untangling the knots that my less than ideal upbringing bound around parts of my soul. Starting with my tendency to turn into myself instead of reaching out when I need help.
“I didn’t mean what I said just now – about doing it the right way.” Unable to maintain eye contact with her, I scan my kitchen. The sparkling white quartz countertops that run the length of the room wall and the huge isl
and in the center of the room are laden with mountains of pie ingredients, prep bowls, cutting boards and every cooking utensil ever known to man. Instead of the giddy anticipation I thought I’d be feeling today, I’m sick with nerves. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Hush now, baby.” She drapes an arm across my shoulders and pulls me into her side.
I nestle into the embrace and close my eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you asked me to come. And I understand. It’s your first time hosting and you want it all just right.”
I nod and swallow down the slew of emotions are thickening my voice. “Christmas Eve was his family’s special day. I want it to be the way he remembers.”
She smiles patiently and tugs me back into her side. “I know that. And Hayes coulda’ married someone who knew how to set the table just like his mama used to. But he didn’t.”
“Don’t remind me,” I whine.
She huffs a laugh and jostles me. “You’re a silly goose.”
I pout and shake my head. “I’m serious. I want him to be happy and proud.”
“Honey, you could serve a pile of cow dung ashes and that man of yours would be proud. He would.” She adds when I open my mouth to protest. “You want tomorrow to be special? The only thing that could ruin it is if you’re too tired to enjoy it. I’ve been here for a week and you’ve got an army of people doing everything. This is the first time you actually need my help, please let me.”
I nod, gratefully.
“Good girl.” She gives me a final squeeze and lets me go. “I’m gonna get started on the dough for the crust. You finish chopping those apples and come join me so we can make it just the way you want, okay?”
The Rivals Page 104