by Lizzie Shane
Yaya sighed, her pinched face speaking volumes about her opinions on cell phones at the dinner table, but she didn’t say a word until Rachel had grabbed the phone and shot back a quick reply. “And how is your brother?”
It was a strange sentence. A sentence that never would have been spoken in the house two years ago. But it was their strange now. “He’s good.” Sofie smacked her plastic spoon against her tray and Rachel caught it before she could fling it to the floor. “He and Bree still haven’t set a date, and I think they’re getting more serious about eloping. I keep thinking I’m going to get a text one day telling me they’re in the Caribbean and it’s a done deal.”
“I’m sure they would tell you beforehand. Is that what the text was about? The wedding?”
Rachel tried not to squirm in her chair. She’d never been able to lie to Yaya—even lies of omission. Her grandmother had a way of looking right through her. “No,” she admitted. “He, ah, he invited us out for Christmas.”
“Oh.” A long pause. “That was nice of him.”
The words were carefully bland. Rachel tried not to grimace. It was a nice invitation. Even if all of them knew she could never accept. They were still trying to work out what it was to be family when none of them wanted to put their father’s former mistress and his widow in the same room. Not that Aaron’s mother wouldn’t have been perfectly civil—but no one wanted to rub it in her face and Rachel’s mother wasn’t exactly known for her tact.
Andromeda Persopoulos, Andie to her friends, was a strong personality, to say the least. She had a tendency to perform everything she was feeling—or whatever she felt she ought to be feeling—and Rachel invariably found herself embarrassed by the dramatics. She loved her mother, loved her like crazy, but sometimes she could be exhausting. Rachel had never understood why everything had to be a show. Why nothing could ever be contained or restrained.
Christmas with her mother was dramatic enough without adding her half-brother and her father’s widow to the mix. She wanted a peaceful Christmas this year. A perfectly organized, no drama, no last-minute-disasters Christmas. Her daughter wasn’t going to remember every Christmas by what had gone wrong. She probably wouldn’t remember this one—Sofie was barely old enough to understand what was going on—but Rachel wanted to set a precedent this year.
Last year they’d spent Christmas at a Chinese restaurant after her mother had tried to make dinner and ended up setting off the fire alarm. She’d insisted on cooking—though Yaya and Rachel had always shared those duties—and accidentally set the self-cleaning oven to clean rather than bake. After the smoke from the turkey filled the kitchen, Andie had joked that at least they got to spend their Christmas with hot firefighters—but it hadn’t exactly been the festive holiday Rachel had always dreamed of.
This year would be different.
Especially if Cam was involved.
Rachel’s stomach pitched at the thought and she poked at her moussaka rather than taking a bite.
“Are you all right?” Yaya asked, her all-seeing eyes catching the movement.
“I saw Cam today.”
Yaya froze, her fork in mid-air, her gaze on her plate. After a moment, she slowly lowered the fork before lifting her eyes to study Rachel’s face. “Did you?”
Yaya knew all about Cam. Rachel had told her mother and grandmother about him in gushing terms when they first met—and then in less gushing terms when she’d discovered he had a wife. They knew he was Sofie’s father. And they knew that Rachel had never told him—something her mother had always vocally objected to and Yaya had never spoken of one way or the other.
“He’s one of the bachelors for the Russell House Auction—which Trista put me in charge of today. We might have to tweak the schedule over the next couple weeks. I may be busier than usual until the auction—”
“Hrisa mou.”
Rachel snapped her mouth shut at the endearment, so soft and filled with so much disappointment. She looked away, her eyes landing automatically on Sofie who was chasing a piece of eggplant around her tray with pudgy fingers.
“Bachelor auction?” Yaya asked gently.
Rachel grimaced, still not meeting her eyes. “Apparently he’s divorced now.”
Yaya made a small sound in her throat.
And of course her mother, with her ever impeccable dramatic timing, chose that moment to sweep through the door.
“Hello, darlings!” Andie called, flinging her scarf onto the hooks by the door with a flourish. Andie never merely entered a room. She made an entrance. “The traffic is a nightmare with all this snow. It’s a miracle I made it home in one piece.” She twirled out of her coat—because God forbid she simply remove the damn thing—and hung it over the scarf. Turning toward them, she became aware of the rigid tension gripping the table and slapped a hand over her heart. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Cam is back,” Yaya said when Rachel couldn’t find the words.
“He is?” Andie clasped her hands together, her eyes glowing. “Oh, darling, that’s wonderful!”
“No, it isn’t,” Rachel reminded her—trying to keep the irritation out of her voice for Sofie’s sake. The baby had finished her moussaka and was now watching the conversation with wide eyes.
“He’s doing the Russell House Bachelor Auction,” Yaya provided helpfully.
“Which I’m in charge of now.” Let’s focus on the important things, people. Imminent career advancement was more important than a deadbeat dad. Though, to be fair, she probably couldn’t call him that if he’d never known he had a child.
“Bachelor?” Andie repeated—latching onto the word with a disconcertingly eager gleam in her eyes.
“I have to give Sofie her bath.” Rachel stood, unbuckling her daughter—and yes, using her as a human shield against the conversation.
“Apparently he’s divorced now,” Yaya explained—and Rachel retreated to the bathroom to get Sofie cleaned up and ready for bed with the sound of her mother’s glee chasing her down the hall.
Her mother had always been foolishly optimistic when it came to men. She’d believed every lie Rachel’s father had ever spun for her—and she seemed well on the way to believing anything Cam wanted to tell her too, without even having met the guy.
Now that he wasn’t married anymore, Andie was undoubtedly conjuring up fantasies of him sweeping Rachel off her feet and straight into a fairy tale happily-ever-after of two-parent family bliss. As if he hadn’t lied to her about being married. As if everything was automatically forgiven and the past wouldn’t continue to bleed into the future. As if patterns of behavior didn’t even exist.
Her mother had never seemed to see the bad things coming—even when they were just natural extensions of everything that had come before. And if Rachel had learned to be extra guarded because her mother had no defenses…well, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes caution was merited—especially when it came to protecting Sofie.
She took her time with the bath time and bed time routines, focusing all her attention on Sofie and trying to push everything else from her mind. These were the moments that mattered—counting and splashing with her daughter in the bath, reading her bedtime stories and singing lullabies. Everything else was secondary—or at least that’s what she told herself until Sofie nodded off and she turned on the baby monitor.
She was tempted to simply go to bed early—she was certainly tired enough—but she wouldn’t put it past her mother to come wake her up so she could get all the details about Cam.
Dragging her feet, she stepped out of the bedroom to find her mother and Yaya seated around the table, waiting for her. They’d cleaned up the remains of dinner and wiped down the high chair. They sat side-by-side with matching glasses of wine, watching her. Her grandmother’s face was expressionless, her eyes calm. Andie’s face, on the other hand, was so eager she reminded Rachel of Sofie’s jack-in-the-box, coiled and ready to spring. Sofie was terrified of
that toy—and looking at her mother, Rachel could definitely empathize.
“Well?” Andie burst as Rachel walked past them to the kitchen to get her own glass.
“The auction is a big event—I’ll be working a lot now that it’s my responsibility.” She poured herself half a glass and screwed the cap back on the bottle. She’d never had much tolerance for alcohol, and nine months without and another year of breastfeeding had turned her into a bona fide lightweight.
Her mother made an impatient noise. Yaya was more direct, her words soft. “Have you decided how you’re going to tell him?”
Rachel looked down at the red wine, swirling it in the glass with her back to her mother and grandmother. “What makes you so sure I’m going to tell him?”
“Rachel.”
Rachel sighed at the soft, disappointed scold and turned to face them. “Nothing has changed.”
“Exactly. You should have told him before,” Andie insisted. “Though something has changed if he’s divorced. I told you that you should have told him. His marriage was obviously already ending. You could have been together all this time.”
Rachel took a long drink of wine to stop herself from commenting on exactly how reliable her mother was as a source of advice when it came to men.
“Are you really considering not telling him?” Yaya asked, and the quiet disappointment in the words was like a knife to the stomach.
Yaya had never said what she thought about it one way or the other, but Rachel had always assumed her grandmother was on her side. Yaya’d had a front row seat to the debacle that was Rachel’s parents’ relationship. She’d picked up the pieces every time Aaron had disappointed Andie and run back home to his wife. Not that Cam was like her father, but Yaya didn’t know that. For her to take his side…
It drove home the guilt that had been whispering in the back of Rachel’s mind all afternoon. She should have told him. She should have given him the chance to either step up or prove himself as unworthy as her father had been. She’d told herself she was protecting Sofie—before she even knew who Sofie would be—but she’d really been protecting herself. Trying to spare herself the disillusionment.
“He’s family,” Yaya murmured, the words so soft it was amazing how loudly they echoed in her heart.
Yaya had always wanted a big family. She’d never been shy about admitting that. Her only sister had died when she was a little girl and she’d never wanted her children to go through the loss of their only sibling. But after Andie was born, Rachel’s grandfather had gotten cancer for the first time and gone sterile as a result of the treatment. No more children. No big family.
Stavros Persopoulos had lost his third battle with cancer when Andie was fourteen. It seemed to have become a pattern in their family. Little girls without fathers. Women who longed for big families and found themselves raising daughters alone.
Rachel had reached out to her brother when she was pregnant because she wanted her daughter to have family—but she’d denied Sofie the chance to know her father. All because she was scared. Scared because she’d trusted him so much—when she knew better than to trust men. Scared because she’d wanted him so much—when she knew better than to let herself need someone like that. Scared because she knew she would believe him again if he lied—just like her mother had always believed her father. Just like she’d told herself she would never, ever do for any man.
But he was family. Sofie’s family. And he needed to know the truth.
She sank down at the table, reaching blindly for her mother’s and grandmother’s hands. “How do I do this?”
Chapter Seven
Cam straightened the silverware on the white tablecloth for the third time, smiling coolly at the couple at the table next to his and trying to pretend he wasn’t as nervous as he’d been when he took Tiffany Williams to the movies when he was fifteen.
Rachel had texted him that morning, asking him to meet her for lunch. Which had to be a positive sign. The last time he’d seen her she’d been spitting fire and telling him to leave the past in the past, but if she wanted to see him now without even the pretext of something to do with the fundraiser, she must have changed her mind—or at least softened toward him a little.
He glanced around the restaurant she’d picked. Classy. Elegant. Not the kind of place you took someone to have a fight. She must be ready to talk. And hopefully ready to listen. They needed to clear the air if they were going to have any hope of moving forward. And he really wanted to move forward.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her last night after he left his sister’s place. He’d rationalized that maybe it was just pride. Maybe this obsession was born out of the fact that she’d walked away, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt like a second chance at something he never should have let slip through his fingers.
He’d been more upset to lose Rachel—a woman he’d known only three weeks—than he had by the combustion of his marriage. He’d told himself at the time that it was only because it took him so off-guard, whereas his divorce had been something they’d been building toward for years, so by the time they agreed to call it quits it was more relief than trauma. But now he wasn’t so sure. He seemed to have an unexplored romantic streak because he couldn’t stop thinking that running into her again like this was fate.
A throat cleared. “Cam.”
She looked stunning, her hair smoothed back into a sleek knot, a blue and green print dress hugging her curves. As composed as always—as long as he didn’t notice the strained eyes, tight mouth, and her hands clenched on the purse she held at her waist. Terrified. That’s how she looked. Gorgeous and scared out of her friggin’ mind. Was the idea of lunch with him really so horrifying?
Cam stood, shoving back his chair. “I was glad to hear from you.”
“Well. There are some things we need to discuss.”
“Absolutely.” Thank God. He started to come around the table to hold her chair, but she was already sliding onto the cushion so he returned to his seat. She reached for her water glass, downing half of it—and his spidey-senses twitched. These were not normal nerves. “Is everything all right?”
He started to reach across the table for her hand, but she quickly tucked hers in her lap, her gaze everywhere but on him. Okay, something’s up. “Rachel?”
“I should have told you before.” Her gaze flicked to the table next to them where the couple was completely ignoring them, but her face flamed as if they were eavesdropping. “I didn’t think it would be this crowded.”
Cam’s eyebrows bounced up. The restaurant was half empty, the table on their other side unoccupied, but Rachel clearly wanted privacy. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? “We can go someplace else.”
“No, this is good. It’s close to…” Her voice trailed off, and for the first time since she’d arrived at the table she met his eyes. “I almost told you by text, but my grandmother said she would disown me if I did.”
Told you by text. Echoes of two years ago played in his brain. She’d dumped him by text. Was that what this was? She didn’t want him on the Bachelor Auction anymore? She was taking herself off of it because she couldn’t stand to be around him? Here he’d been thinking they were clearing the air so they could move forward—was she getting ready to pull the plug?
Cam’s hand curled into a fist, but he kept his face devoid of expression.
“I have a daughter.”
The words fell in between them and Cam’s fist uncurled as surprise made his jaw slack. “What?”
That was the last thing he’d been expecting, but it explained a lot. Why she’d never taken him to her place. Why she’d broken up with him so suddenly.
If she’d been a single mom, worried about introducing him to her daughter, worried about bringing a strange man into her daughter’s life and then she’d found out he was married of course she would run without a backward glance.
Relief washed through his chest. Why
hadn’t she told him before? Had she thought he wouldn’t want her when he found out she had a kid? He loved kids. He wanted kids. He actually liked the idea of a woman who already had one, but he wasn’t sure they’d ever talked about that kind of thing during their whirlwind three weeks together. It all made sense. Cam felt his lips start to curl. This was good—
“Her name is Sofie and she’s eighteen months old.”
He blinked. That was younger than he’d thought. She must have been—
His mind went blank as the significance of the math thundered through him. Eighteen months, plus nine months…
September.
He knew before she said the words.
“She’s yours.”
* * * * *
Cam didn’t look like he was taking it well.
Though she wasn’t sure how she’d expected him to take it. Pure, glazed, unvarnished shock wasn’t the best response, but it wasn’t the worst either.
“We have a child,” he said finally, his deep voice deceptively calm.
“A daughter. Sofia.”
“Where is she?” His gaze flicked around the restaurant as if Sofie might jump out from beneath a table and yell surprise.
“I didn’t bring her.”
Cam’s eyes locked on hers, his gaze darkening as his jaw clenched. “You didn’t trust me.”
It was a statement, not a question, but she explained anyway. “I didn’t know how you would react. I have pictures.” She scrambled for her phone, fumbling it out of her purse.
“What did you think I would do?” He shook his head sharply. “Don’t answer that.”
“I have to think of her first.” She could see his anger building and the situation slipping farther and farther from her grasp. As a peace offering, she pulled up her lock screen—an image of Sofie at the playground—and turned her phone toward him. His eyes locked on the image, something in his expression going still as she whispered, “I thought you might be upset—”
“Because you kept her from me for two years?”