Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

19. Madison

The valet heldout his hand to assist me in getting out of my car as if I was one of the ancient biddies who routinely lunched at the club. I handed him the keys to my Mercedes and thanked him despite wanting to bite his head off.

Pregnancy hormones were no joke.

It didn’t help that I’d puked up my breakfast this morning either. While that might be a return of the morning sickness I thought I’d bid farewell to a couple weeks ago, it was more than likely due to having to face my luncheon companion, Cecelia Biddle Randolph Enright, my grandmother and the grande dame of the Enright dynasty.

I hadn’t told anyone in my family that I was pregnant. I was a highly competent woman who hadn’t relied on anyone for years. Yet in the presence of my family, I struggled not to revert to the overindulged, seen-but-never-heard child I once was.

I smoothed my hand down the front of the shell-pink Carolina Herrera silk dress I was wearing. The dress not only fit the requirements of this stuffy, conservative club it hid my barely there baby bump quite well. A strappy pair of leather sandals with four-inch heels was my minor act of defiance.

Donning a false sense of confidence, I swanned into the fanciest of the four upscale restaurants at the club, The Brandywine Room. Seeing my grandmother at her usual table, I waved off the hostess and made my way to Philadelphia’s Main Line version of the Queen of England. Always the most fashionable woman in any situation, Cecelia Enright held court in a lime-green Chanel suit, fresh off the Paris runway.

Her face lit up when she saw me. “Madison.”

I bent to kiss the proffered cheek. “Hello, Gibby.” I slipped into the seat across from her and set my bag on the seat next to me. “How are you?”

“I’m well, darling. It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. How was your trip? Did you get to Paris to see Daddy?”

She responded with a soft “hmmph.”

“Uh oh. What did he do now?”

Gold bracelets tinkled as she reached for her gin martini. I sat patiently while I waited to hear whatever it was that my father did to displease her now. It could be anything—from a new mistress to a bad investment. Despite stepping back from the day-to-day operation of Biddle-Randolph-Enright Global, Gibby served as chairman of the board and maintained a full understanding of everything and anything my father did as CEO. She’d exercised the same level of oversight that she had when the multi-billion-dollar conglomerate had been left to her upon the death of her father, while my grandfather operated as CEO. She was also the majority shareholder. She was sharp and shrewd, and it made me sad that she hadn’t exercised the option to run brE Global on a daily basis.

She arched a perfectly manicured brow. “What didn’t he do?”

My fingers itched to reach for a glass of my own, but since I hadn’t ordered yet, that wasn’t possible. Besides, there would be no alcohol to ease hearing about whatever Daddy had done this time.

“I popped in to pay him a surprise visit in Champeaux only to be told by the woman who answered the door that he’d sold the villa and bought an apartment in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”

My heart dropped. “What?” I choked out. I loved our home in Champeaux. Some of my happiest childhood memories had been formed there; back when my parents spent more than a week or two on the same continent and we’d behaved like a typical family.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know how much you loved it there. Had I known he was going to sell it, I would’ve just bought it for you myself.” She finished her martini and flicked her wrist. The waiter appeared out of thin air.

“Madam?”

“Another please.” Her eyes, so much like mine—ice blue with a navy limbal ring around the iris—held my gaze, looking for whatever damage her news of my father might have stirred up. “Darling? What would you like to drink?”

Whiskey, neat.

“Um…” I smiled up at the waiter, who was all but invisible to Gibby. “I’ll have a club soda with a twist of lime, please.”

Before she could ask why I wasn’t having a cocktail, I grabbed my menu off the table and flipped it open.

“Since you’re already here, how about we order?” I studied the menu despite knowing it by heart. “Gibby, you go first.”

I was starving, which was nothing new these days. I wish I could have gorged myself on every macaron at Ladurée, my favorite patisserie in Paris, but I settled for the steak au poivre. My usual order of beet salad with goat cheese, greens, and fennel pollen cream wasn’t going to cut it today.

After Gibby ordered her standard salade Ni?oise—we were such creatures of habit—I jumped in again.

“Oh! I’d also like an order of pommes frites and a bowl of the French onion soup.” I smiled at my grandmother, who was looking at me like I’d just descended down the staircase at my debutante ball with toilet paper stuck to my shoe. “I can’t remember the last time I had French onion soup.”

I was debating a side of the pasta Jardinière, but the horrified look on Gibby’s face stopped me. Her bejeweled fingers fiddled with the Hermèsscarf around her neck. Gibby never fiddled. I’d broken my grandmother, and I hadn’t even delivered my news yet.

“Would you like a side order of quiche Lorraine perhaps, or maybe you’re in the mood for some spaghetti Bolognese?”

Despite recognizing her sarcasm, quiche did sound pretty good. My stomach rumbled as I opened my menu, only to have Gibby snatch it from me.

“That will be all.” The way she delivered her statement, it was clear she meant it for both me and the waiter. He practically sprinted across the dining room.

“What in heaven is going on with you? Have you been on a cleanse? Lost in the desert for forty days and forty nights?” She glanced around the dining room before lowering her voice to a whisper. “You ordered enough food to feed a longshoreman.”

I wanted to ask how she knew how much a longshoreman ate, but I hadn’t come here to sass her. I needed her support; especially since I wasn’t sure I’d find it anywhere else in my family.

Her harsh gaze settled on me, and had my upbringing not kept me from squirming in my seat, I wouldn’t have been able to sit still.

“Speak,” she demanded as if I were one of her champion Sable Corgis.

While I couldn’t visibly fidget, my hands were twisting in my lap, away from view.

“Well…” I cleared my throat. “Um…”

“This is very unlike you, Madison. Clearly there’s something you’re afraid to tell me.”

Perception, thy name is Cecelia Biddle Randolph Enright.

The backs of my eyes began to burn, and I swallowed the lump that had materialized in my throat.

Realizing my distress, Gibby’s eyes softened. “Talk to me, darling. There’s nothing I can’t fix. You should know that by now. Are you upset about your father? You know these dalliances of his never last. I shouldn’t have told you about him selling the villa. How about this? I’ll have Patrick find out who bought it, and then we’ll see if I can persuade them to sell it to me.” She squeezed my arm. “Would that make you smile?”

Would that make me smile? Sure. Will I be jetting back and forth to Paris with a small child? Probably not.

I shook my head and swiped angrily at the traitorous tear that had escaped and was tracking down the side of my nose.

“Dearest, whatever is wrong?” She snatched the linen napkin from her lap and leaned in to dab at the tears that followed.

“I’m pregnant.” I said the words so softly, she couldn’t possibly have heard me.

Her hand froze in midair. “Excuse me?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m pregnant, Gibby. And I’m keeping it.”

“What? How?” She ran a finger over her unlined brow. “Of course, I know how, but…but how? I thought you and Connor had parted ways.”

For a moment I considered letting her—and everyone else—believe that Connor was the father. It would be so easy, at least for me. How can I admit to the woman I admire and look up to more than anyone else in my life that I ended up pregnant after a one-night-stand with a stranger? And even though Ian is no longer a stranger, he was a huge disappointment.

“Connor’s not the father.”

Her eyes widened and she stared. She didn’t even blink.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think the father will be involved in our lives. Honestly, I’d prefer it that way.”

That snapped her out of her apoplexy. “Don’t be ridiculous. A child needs a father.”

An unladylike snort escaped. “Even if he lives on another continent?”

“We’re not talking about your father.” She frowned. “Besides, he’s always been financially responsible, at least when it comes to you.”

“Yes, until I wanted to start my own PR firm. Or needed moral support.” I shouldn’t have brought any of that up. These were anxiety-producing sore spots, and I was not in the right headspace for that now.

Gibby sighed deeply. “I should’ve throttled him when I saw him in Paris.”

That made me laugh. “For selling our home there?”

“For lots of things. For selling the villa, for being an absentee father these past fifteen years, for treating your mother like an afterthought—not that she doesn’t do the same with him, but still.” She shook her head and sighed. “There are so many things, my sweet. Perhaps I should just throttle myself—or better yet—pay someone to do it. I spoiled him as a boy and now look at him. He does what he wants without a care or concern for anyone but himself.”

I gnawed on my bottom lip, willing the tears I’ve been struggling with to stay back. Daddy is self-centered and arrogant, but one of these days, I’d prove myself and make him proud. Maybe not today, while I’m nearly four months pregnant with some irresponsible playboy’s baby, but I was already taking Madison Enright PR global, and once we were steadily in the black, he’d see that I’m not just some spoiled little princess waiting for a prince to rescue her and take her off his hands.

The waiter appeared with a crock of steaming hot soup, and the pit in my stomach was replaced by a rumbling and demand for me to fill it. I picked up my spoon and stabbed the slice of baguette topped with melted cheese floating atop the soup. My mouth watered and my father and his foibles were all but forgotten with my first bite of the cheesy island of deliciousness.

“I assume the gargantuan order you placed is due to your condition.” She chuckled, which was surprising given my news. She toyed with the stem of her glass while I delicately spooned soup into my mouth. “Tell me everything. I want to hear about how you’re feeling, how you’re managing, what your plans are moving forward. And especially why the child’s father won’t be part of its life.”

She waited while I fished caramelized onions from the bottom of the bowl and finished every last drop of my soup.

The waiter appeared and bussed the empty bowl.

“I’m sixteen weeks pregnant. I don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy. At first I wanted to know, but now I’m not so sure.”

“That’s ridiculous. How can we decorate the nursery if we don’t know what the baby’s gender is?” She plucked her phone from her bag. “Siri, set a reminder for me to reach out to Charlotte Adams to discuss the nursery in Madison’s apartment.”

I should’ve known Gibby would jump into action and not cast judgement on her only grandchild. And God help anyone who did.

She continued, not missing a beat. “What do you think of cream, beige, and navy? I’m picturing soft colors, some plaids and patterns. We can avoid florals if you’re worried it might be a boy. We can always pop in a pillow or two later to make the space a bit more feminine if you wish.”

The waiter set down her Ni?oise and my steak. Despite having practically inhaled my soup, I was still hungry. “Thank you,” I gushed as the waiter backed away looking more than a little uncomfortable by my atypical display of gratitude.

“Madison, really. The man gave you a heart attack on a plate. He didn’t cure cancer.”

I blinked away happy tears and wondered how long these hormones would be messing with my head.

After filling my mouth with a combination of perfectly cooked steak and my favorite au poivre sauce, I moaned. “So good.”

Gibby was trying not to look appalled. While I was raised to enjoy a variety of good food from different cultures, we didn’t moan and groan and lift it onto a gastric pedestal. I’d always treated food as fuel and not much more. A little went a long way. Now, I wanted to feast and make up for all the calories I’d missed out on in my twenty-six years. If I had any intention of remaining a size two throughout this pregnancy and after this baby was born, I’d need to get a handle on my appetite. It was like my tastebuds had woken up demanding to be fed and acknowledged.

I dabbed my napkin against my lips. “Sorry,” I spoke quietly. “Seems I’m always hungry these days.” What I wanted to do was dive into my lunch, but my grandmother had asked me specific questions. I wanted and needed her support, so it was only polite that I responded.

“To answer your questions, I feel fine. Now. The first couple months were not fun. I had morning sickness about twenty hours a day.” I smiled and pointed to my pommes frites. “Maybe this is the way I’m making up for it.”

“I have another question to add: If you’re already sixteen weeks pregnant, why am I only hearing about it just now.” She leaned to the right, her eyes falling to my lap and the gathered waist of my dress which hid a multitude of sins. “I assume you’re showing?”

I held my thumb and forefinger up a pinch apart. “A little, but it’s barely noticeable.”

She speared a bit of hardboiled egg and watercress on the tines of her fork and slid it into her mouth. I took the opportunity to dive slice off another piece of steak but squashed the moaning and groaning.

While I chewed, Gibby zeroed in on the part I didn’t want to discuss—not with her, not with anybody—other than Liane, of course.

“Tell me about the father. Who is he? What does he do? Where did you meet him?”

“Gibby—”

“Don’t Gibby me. Even if he’s not interested in being part of the child’s life, he should support it financially.”

“I don’t need the mon?—”

“I don’t care if you don’t need the money, Madison. That’s not the point. Whoever the father is, he needs to take responsibility for his actions. Raising a child isn’t for the faint of heart. If he can’t handle it, that’s his problem. But he will handle it financially if I have anything to say about it. I have a team of bloodthirsty lawyers who will see to that.”

“That won’t be necessary. He has plenty of money. He insisted on a paternity test to prove he’s the father, and once he has the results, I’m sure we’ll be able to come to some type of understanding.”

Her lips parted in shock. “A paternity test? This boyfriend of yours needed a paternity test?”

The bite of steak I’d attempted to swallow turned into gristle on its way down.

I coughed and followed it up with a sip of club soda. Then I cleared my throat again. “He isn’t exactly a boyfriend.”

Gibby waved for the waiter and when he appeared, handed him her empty glass. “Another please. And keep them coming.”

“Do not keep them coming,” I insisted. Having learned to narrow my eyes and glare from the best of them, I shot Gibby a look. “One more and then she’s done.”

Her nostrils flared, but she didn’t argue.

The waiter retreated, so she instructed me to proceed.

“He is certainly not my boyfriend. I met Ian the night Connor broke up with me. I was hurt and upset, and I’d probably had too much to drink.” Yes, I was embellishing a bit, but this was my grandmother. I’d rather she not think I was in complete control of my faculties.

“Are you saying this man took advantage of you?” she asked, her hackles fully raised.

Oops. “No, absolutely not. I never felt as if I wasn’t in control.” That wasn’t exactly true. I’d been out of control all right, but in the best way possible. For as much as the memory had me squeezing my legs together, it also ticked me off now that I knew what an idiot Ian could be.

“I met him at the Four Seasons. He was flirting with me. One thing led to another, and boom, you’re going to be a great-grandmother.”

Gibby practically hissed at me. “Lower your voice.” She scanned the tables nearest to us, pausing to smile and wave at a woman seated near the French doors that opened onto the golf course. “That’s all we need. Gwendolyn Coopersmith running her mouth before we have a chance to fabricate a suitable story.”

I pressed my fingers into the bridge of my nose. For as stylish and young-at-heart as my grandmother was, she still lived according to societal standards as dictated by the denizens of the Main Line, of whom Cecelia Biddle Randolph Enright was the de facto ruler.

“There’s no story to fabricate. It’s no one’s business how I became pregnant. Besides, we both know that regardless of what story we ‘fabricate’ or if we tell the truth, the gossips will say what they want about me. I have more important things to worry about.”

I couldn’t help but notice the fire in her eyes, and I girded myself against it. Color me surprised when she clutched my hand and squeezed.

“You’re absolutely right. I’ve always been proud of you, my darling, and that hasn’t changed. I’m certain you will handle this with grace and dignity, and if anyone has a problem with it or, God help them, has something to say about you or your condition, you let me deal with them.”

Tears gushed from my eyes so fast I didn’t even feel them coming. Not even a warning prickle. Those were the words I’d needed desperately to hear.

Gibby patted my hand. “Dry those tears this instant.” The fire in her eyes morphed into the warmth I recognized so well. “Who loves you more than anyone?”

“You do,” I answered, the words thick with emotion.

I dabbed at the corners of my eyes, not caring that I was leaving black spots on my linen napkin.

Gibby picked up her fork and took another bite of her salad. “I take it you haven’t shared your news with your parents?”

“No, I wanted to tell you first. Daddy’s going to be a beast about this, as you well know. And Tatty, who knows? Besides, I’m not even sure where she is. Last I heard from her she was on her way to Coachella, and then heading to a retreat with her yoga instructor.”

Gibby rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Now that I know you haven’t developed a tape worm, I want you to eat up.” She waved her fork toward my plate .“You’re eating for two, my darling. And then, I want you to let me know what you need from me.”

It felt as if a weight had been lifted from my chest, but it was short-lived.

“But there’s also something that I need you to do.”

With renewed vigor, I stabbed my fork into another bite of steak. “Of course,” I said before shoveling it into my mouth. “Anything.”

Although she smiled, I didn’t miss the angry flash behind her eyes.

“I’m going to insist that you reach out to the father again and have a long, deep conversation about your situation and his involvement with the child moving forward. And I strongly suggest that you convince him to take an active part in his child’s life for the betterment of the child, himself, and for you.”

“Gibby, I told you. I don’t need him. I don’t think I even want him involved. He’s kind of an idiot.” According to Liane, he was also a fuckboy, but there was no way I was sharing that little nugget with my grandmother.

Despite what I’m sure was a Botox-filled forehead, her eyebrows inched up to her hairline.

“Let me point out, darling, that you obviously had sex with the man you’re claiming is an idiot. That doesn’t say much about your decision-making skills.”

“Yes, but Connor had just broke?—”

“That’s hardly an excuse,” she insisted in her chairman of the board voice, the one I’d only heard her use when she locked horns with my father. “You’re a smart woman, Madison. I find it hard to believe you’d choose an idiot to be the father of your child.”

“But I didn’t choo?—”

She gave me the infamous, imperious look.

“Yes, ma’am.”