Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

28. Madison

I slidonto the butter-soft leather banquette and placed a kiss on my grandmother’s cheek.

“I arrived early hoping to be the first one here.” I smoothed my hand over the ruffles around my waist. I’d chosen this dress, which featured tiers of pleated ruffles from the bodice to my upper thigh, in order to hide my growing belly. If that didn’t work, being already seated when everyone arrived would do the trick. “Why are you early?”

Gibby held up her cocktail. “I figured I’d get a head start. Dealing with your father often requires preparation for me.”

I giggled and reached for the glass. “Manhattan? May I?”

Her fingers tightened around her drink. “You’re not supposed to have alcohol.”

“I know. I promise, just a tiny sip. Facing Daddy is done best with a dose of liquid courage for me as well. Perhaps the aroma will be enough to steel my nerves.”

Frowning, Gibby let go of the glass, but held my gaze with an evil eye that was rare for me to see on her. “I don’t need courage to face your father,” she insisted. “Just patience. And as for you, my dear, you may sniff but you will not taste. Let me worry about him.”

The scent of aged bourbon set my mouth to watering. I held the glass under my nose and took a deep breath.

Gibby moved the glass to the other side of her, out of my reach. “Happy?” she asked.

What a loaded question.

I arched a brow.

She flicked a hand and the diamond engagement ring and wedding band my grandfather had given her sparkled despite the low light of the restaurant. “You know what I mean,” she said, as I wondered if I’d ever get the chance to wear a ring on the fourth finger of my left hand.

“You look lovely, dear. That dress is scrumptious. Coral is certainly your color.”

The strapless, ruffled mini-dress was a bit of a risk, as were the strappy gold Manolos, but I needed something that wouldn’t draw attention to my tummy.

“Thank you. I don’t look pregnant, do I? I don’t want to tip anyone off before I deliver the news.” I pressed a finger to the bridge of my nose. I’d had a mild headache for the past few days and it was starting to throb. Having to tell my parents I was with child and without a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband, wasn’t my idea of a good time.

“The only thing I noticed was how lovely you look. You have nothing to worry about, especially since you’re seated.”

I rested my head on her shoulder. “Thanks, Gibby.”

When the waiter appeared, I ordered a club soda with a twist that would look close enough to a gin and tonic that no one would know that I’d had to forego alcohol.

“Wise choice,” Gibby said, patting my hand. “Ready to put your game face on?”

The tightening in my sternum and roll of my stomach was my body’s way of alerting me that Daddy had arrived. A deep breath settled my nerves, until I realized that my father had brought a guest.

My hand settled over my belly as I watched my father strolling toward us with his arm cupping the elbow of a woman who looked to be about my age, if that. I felt nauseous. Why would he interpret me wanting to meet him for a family dinner meant he should bring a date?

Because he wasn’t thinking about me at all. Why was I surprised?

A low grumble emanated from my grandmother.

“Charles,” she said, her voice icy, as he drew up in front of us. “How good of you to come. I see you’ve brought a friend.” My grandmother gave Daddy’s “friend” an aloof smile. “And who might you be?”

The girl opened her mouth, but Daddy answered for her. “This is Mallory. She’s our new VP of international affairs.”

Good one, Dad. I nearly gagged.

Gibby’s smile widened. “We’ll see about that.” Before Daddy or his companion could respond, Gibby slipped from CEO to benevolent hostess and bid them to sit, but as Mallory went to slide into the booth, Gibby stopped her.

“Not there, dear. We have one more person joining us.”

“Good,” Daddy said, addressing me. “I was hoping you’d come to your senses about Connor. “I have some things to discuss with him.” He winked at me. “That’s the man I told you about. He’s brilliant,” he told Mallory as he pulled out a chairs for her. He took the second seat for himself. “And as my new son-in-law, I’d like to bring him into the business. Let him get his feet wet. Learn the ropes.”

I gaped at him. “You want to bring Connor into brE Global? Wh-why?”

My grandmother gently squeezed my arm. She could’ve said something; stopped the progression of this inane conversation, but she didn’t. Instead, she allowed my father more rope to hang himself.

“You know very well, princess. It’s not like I have any sons to leave the business to.”

A rock the size of Gibby’s ten-carat diamond formed in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow. Or speak.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Charles. I’m not dead yet,” Gibby warned. “You forget, the company is mine. My father and my husband built it from the ground up. I’m the majority shareholder, and as chairman of the board, I’m still influential in the running of brE Global. And as such, I can hire or fire anyone I choose. Especially executives. Her eyes snapped to Mallory, and at first I was surprised that the woman appeared so clueless about the possibility of having her title yanked out from under her, but then I realized Daddy most likely pulled that title out of the air. She was as much a vice president at brE as I was a Grammy-award winning bass player in a world-renown country music band.

And why the hell did my head go there?

“This is neither the time nor the place, Mother,” Daddy said, dismissing her as if he had the power to do exactly that. Gibby kept her tongue, but I was certain she’d be sharpening it for later and would wield it as exacting as always.

As for me, he’d been here less than five minutes, and I already felt superfluous.

Daddy checked his watch and looked at me. “What time is Connor getting here?”

The waiter arrived before I could tell him that Connor wouldn’t be joining us tonight. Or ever.

“I’d like to see the wine list, but for now, we’ll have a round of your signature Manhattans.”

“Not for me, please,” I interjected to no avail.

Daddy waved me off. “Nonsense. She’ll have the Manhattan as well.” No please. No thank you. That was a server’s job. To serve. No thanks necessary as far as he was concerned. The waiter hovered for a second, waiting for my response, I assumed.

“Thank you,” Daddy said sharply. It was not an expression of gratitude. It was a dismissal. If I wasn’t already certain that Gibby would be footing the bill, I’d be adding money to the man’s tip as I’m sure the amount Daddy would leave had just decreased due to the waiter’s perceived “insubordination.”

I gave the man a quick nod. It wasn’t his fault I couldn’t drink.

Daddy turned to the woman—girl—beside him. “Mallory,” he said. “This is Madison, my pride and joy. Isn’t she lovely?” He smiled benevolently. “You’re looking as pretty as a peach, my dear.”

I opened my mouth to thank him, but before I could, he asked if I’d gained weight. “Your cheeks are a little puffy. You don’t want to be getting fat now. I hope you’re planning to come to Paris to choose your wedding dress. It’s been too long since we’ve had any father-daughter time.”

It certainly had been a long time. Six years in fact. Not since the summer after my first year of college. I wanted to ask if it would be father-daughter-mistress time, but a familiar flash of blonde hair caught the corner of my eye.

I hadn’t seen her in months, and while she could be a complete and total flake and one of the most self-absorbed people I’d ever known, Tatiana Peillard was still my mother, and I believed she loved me as best she could.

Pausing for effect, I was sure, Tatty, as she insisted those closest to her call her—including me—propped a hand near her waist and swiveled her hips toward my father and his…whatever…giving us all a chance to admire her beauty and showroom couture. Wearing a black Balmain off-the-shoulder dress that laced up the front and featured tiny cutouts from under her breasts all the way to the floor, my mother was still beautiful enough to grace the covers of Vogue all over the world. She put the super in supermodel, and as a result, put poor Mallory to shame.

“Tatty,” my father said, looking surprised. He shot Gibby a glare before rising to greet his wife. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I thought you were in Morrocco or Nepal. Burning Man perhaps?”

“Hello, Charles,” Tatty essentially breathed out the heavily accented words. My mother never raised her voice. She spoke so softly, most people, men especially, had to lean toward her in order not to miss a word. She offered Daddy her cheek. “Comment vas-tu, mon doux mari ?”

Before he could respond to her asking how he was and reminding all of us that he was her husband—legally—she slid onto the leather banquette beside me and reached across me to grasp Gibby’s hand. “Cecelia, it’s so good to see you. Thank you for inviting me.” Then it was my turn. My mother wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled me in for a tight hug. “Bonjour, douceur. Tu m’as manqué.” Tatty spoke perfect English but would resort to her native tongue when she was intent on creating an aura, which I assumed was the case when she called me her sweetness and told me she missed me in French. The display was likely intended for Daddy’s companion.

She fingered the top tier of ruffles that covered my chest. “This is lovely. Who is it?”

After thirty-some years in the business, that was a typical question when it came to my mother. And normally, I had an answer. But tonight, between all the surprises and what I assumed was pregnancy brain, I couldn’t remember who I was wearing.

“I can’t recall off the top of my head but thank you.”

Tatty grasped my hand and folded it into hers, then set our clasped hands on her lap. Weeks would go by without me seeing or hearing from my mother, but when she was present, she was affectionate and loving. Unlike my father, who had been more excited over the prospect of seeing Connor and had yet to even peck my cheek. I’m sure he expected me to stand and greet him when he arrived, but I got here early for a reason; the reason being the noticeable bump I was hiding under all those ruffles.

Glued to my side, with my hand still in her lap, my mother addressed the elegant-way-too-young elephant in the room. “Bonne soirée,” she said to Mallory. “I am Tatiana Peillard, Charles’s wife. And you are?”

Mallory, who hadn’t really said a word, blinked repeatedly while my father shifted uncomfortably.

I hadn’t believed for a second she was affiliated with brE, but it was looking like my mother’s declaration had stunned her to say the least.

“You’re married?” Her voice was far too loud for 57 Locust. Heads swiveled in our direction. The waiter, who’d just arrived with the round of Manhattans nearly bobbled his tray but recovered quickly. He set the drinks before each place setting. When he got to me, I gestured for him to set the glass near my mother.

Entranced by what was happening across from her, Tatty picked up the drink and took an innocent sip. She was used to having her needs anticipated before she even expressed them, so she hadn’t even questioned it. When you were Tatiana Peillard, food and drink, not to mention designer apparel and accessories, would appear and you just accepted it.

In truth, it was the same for all of us. I tried to distance myself somewhat, but I grew up not wanting for anything but my parents’ attention and affection. It wasn’t until I got to college that I realized very few people lived like us.

“Charles.” Gibby’s voice held a warning note, letting my father know he needed to get his “vice president” under control before she caused a scene. Daddy stood again and firmly put his hand around Mallory’s upper arm, encouraging her to stand along with him.

“Please excuse us,” he said with a strained smile and cool eyes on Tatty. “I’ll be right back.”

He bustled Mallory toward the exit all the while her mouth was moving and her arms gesticulating. Gibby, me, and Tatty raised our glasses at the same time and drank as we watched them go.

“So,” Tatty said. “What’s new?”

“Madison’s pregnant,” Gibby answered.

“Gibby!”

My grandmother shrugged. “There’s no point in beating around the bush, which I could sense was going to happen the minute you saw your father. Besides, when you tell him, it will be three against one.”

My mother had yet to respond, so there was a good chance it would be two against two.

With an uncomfortable swallow, I looked at my mother, who had gathered the linen napkin from her lap and was dabbing invisible tears from the corners of her eyes. I had no idea if they were meant to be happy tears or angry you-ruined-your-life tears or maybe even how-dare-you-make-me-a-grandmother-at-my-age tears.

“Oh, my darling.” Tatty’s arms came around me again, and her hug was tighter than the one I’d received when she first arrived. “Congratulations.” She dabbed some more.

“Is it Connor’s?” she asked hesitantly.

“No.”

She slumped as much as a supermodel with perfect posture could slump. “Dieu merci!” she said, thanking God. “He wasn’t right for you.”

“If you think he wasn’t right, wait until you find out who the father actually is,” Gibby mumbled under her breath.

I swiveled toward her. “I thought you were going to be supportive.”

“Oh, I am, but with you insisting on doing it on your own, consider me less supportive.”

“Why would you do it on your own? Are you unsure of who the father is?” She asked far more calmly than my father would. I fully expected not only a scolding, but a lecture on how much I’d disappointed him, despite him living in France on and off for the past ten years and embracing a modern, open marriage when it was convenient for him. When it came to everything else, he was as conservative as they come.

My mother, on the other hand, could be so very French.

“Tell me everything,” she insisted. “When will I become la mémé? Who’s the father? Is he kind? Gentle?”

Those last two questions surprised me. I honestly would’ve expected her to ask about his looks and financials, as that used to be her barometer of how important she considered a person to be. Perhaps these past few years of yoga retreats and juice cleanses had caused a marked change in my mother.

Kind and gentle. I had to think about it. Was Ian kind? When trying to feed me, he ordered enough food to host a small dinner party. And he not only insisted I stay with him, he gave up his bedroom. That showed kindness. He could still be an ass, but I guess he was a kind ass.

Was he gentle? That was more difficult to answer. My gut, however, told me that he was; or at least he would be with me and the baby, given the chance.

“The baby is due the second week of December, and yes, to the best of my knowledge, Ian is kind and gentle. I don’t know him well, but I’ve experienced both of those traits with him. He’s also financially stable, but that doesn’t matter as I plan to raise the baby on my own.”

An imperial harrumph emanated from my left. I arched a brow at Gibby, but she ignored me and stared straight ahead and swirled the ice in her glass.

Tatty shrugged. “You could hire whatever help you’ll need. Nannies, cooks. Especially if you continue to work, which I assume you will.”

Exactly how I was raised.

“I’m not sure how many cooks I’ll need, but one nanny should suffice.”

My sarcasm failed to land.

“Besides,” she said, motioning at my father who was making his way toward us—alone. “You grew up just fine without a father. The man was never around.” She sniffed, somehow forgetting that neither was she.

I didn’t have to look at Gibby to know she was rolling her eyes. While I grew up surrounded by nannies, cooks, drivers, gardeners, and housekeepers, my beloved grandmother was the one constant in my life until around the time I turned sixteen. I patted her thigh under the table to let her know I acknowledged what she wasn’t saying and was grateful she didn’t verbalize it for my mother’s benefit.

Daddy pulled out his chair and dropped into it in a huff. He raised his glass, but before he drank, he nailed my mother with an icy glare. “I hope you’re happy, Tatty.”

My mother blinked innocently, but Gibby didn’t hesitate to pipe up. “What’s wrong, Charles? Did your new vice president of international affairs quit or did you fire her?”

Daddy narrowed his eyes at his mother, who silenced him with the clink of the ice in her glass. “No matter. Saves me from firing her in the morning.”

His anger piqued. “Mother,” he growled, keeping his voice low. “This is neither the time nor?—”

“Exactly,” I jumped into the fray. “We’re not here to discuss business, right Gibby? We’re here because I need to talk to you and Tatty.”

Visibly annoyed, he tossed back what remained in his glass and signaled the waiter for another. He also instructed him to take Mallory’s still full, red lipstick-stained glass away.

Before she could stop me, I snagged Gibby’s nearly empty glass and slid a bourbon-flavored ice cube into my mouth. I needed a dozen of these, but one was the best I could hope for.

When the waiter returned, I picked up my menu and told him we were ready to order, but Daddy cut me off. “Shouldn’t we wait for Connor?”

Tatty gasped. “Connor’s coming?”

“Of course he’s coming,” my father snapped. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“But he’s not even the father,” Tatty argued. “Why does he need to be here for this conversation?” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “Please tell me you’re not going to marry him just because the actual father doesn’t want to help you raise the baby.”

My head dropped into my hands. Not only was the horse out of the barn, it was galloping full speed toward the horizon.

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” Daddy demanded. “Who’s pregnant?”

Sliding an arm around my shoulders, my mother lifted her chin defiantly. “Our daughter is pregnant, Charles, and it would behoove you to behave like a father for once and not a philandering playboy.”

Oh brother.

Gibby grasped my hand. “I got this, kiddo,” she whispered, and if I hadn’t been struggling not to burst into tears, I might have giggled. She hadn’t called me kiddo since I was ten.

“Enough,” Gibby said, addressing her son and his wife. Then to the gaping waiter she said, “Obviously we’re not ready to order, but in the meantime, could you please bring my granddaughter an order of the chestnut agnolotti? She needs to put something in her stomach while I try to get everything under control here.” She gave him a benign smile. “I promise there will be no more disturbances coming from this table this evening.”

My stomach growled in response, and with a slight nod, the waiter scampered off in the direction of the kitchen.

I was so hungry and grateful, I nearly cried. Of course, there were plenty of other legitimate reasons I may have wanted to cry as well. Between my hormones and my parents, it was a wonder I didn’t cry all day long. Even when I wasn’t pregnant.

“Now what’s all this nonsense about you being pregnant?” Daddy demanded, his voice not quite booming, but he was clearly angry.

Gibby grabbed one hand while Tatty held the other. Instead of the strength and fortitude they may have hoped to impart, it made me feel more like a child with both of them holding my hands. Despite that, I stiffened my spine and responded.

“It’s not nonsense, Daddy. I’m pregnant. The baby is due in December.”

“How is that possible?” he sputtered. “You’re not even showing.”

“And how would you know that, Charles,” my mother piped up. “First of all, she’s sitting down. And second, when were you in her presence last? It’s been months since you’ve been in the States. You’ve been too busy playing house with your little friend. How old is she? Younger than your daughter? Vous êtes inutile en tant que père,” she added, calling him useless as a father.

Color rose in his cheeks. “How dare you. Where’s your little tennis instructor? Or is it yoga instructors these days? Pool boys? I can hardly keep up.”

“Silence,” Gibby snapped, keeping her voice low. “You’re both useless as parents.” She cast a gimlet eye at my father and then my mother. “I’m telling you both to be quiet and to listen to your daughter. Once she’s done speaking, the only thing that should leave your mouths should be words of concern and support for her and my great-grandchild.”

My eyes filled, but this time with relief. “Thank you, Gibby.”

She released my hand and gave it a pat. Chastened, my mother also released my hand, but coolly folded hers into her lap while the other reached for her drink. My father stewed in silence.

“First, let me remind you that Connor and I broke up several months ago. He was cheating on me the entirety of our relationship and chose to break it off with me in favor of the other woman.” Technically, I was the other woman, but there was no need to tell them that, especially since I hadn’t known. “Even if this were Connor’s baby, I wouldn’t want anything to do with him.”

My father appeared aggrieved, while my mother looked relieved. “If you want Connor to work for you, that’s on you, Daddy. I, however, want nothing to do with him.”

Before Daddy could speak, Gibby made it known that regardless of my father’s wishes, Connor Thomas Westbury would never be employed by brE Global. Daddy grumbled a response under his breath.

I continued. “The baby’s father is aware that I am pregnant. We are not a couple, and he hasn’t expressed an interest in raising the child with me. I’m perfectly fine with that. In fact, I’d prefer it. I don’t need someone telling me what to do. I spent too many holidays bouncing from coast to coast or country to country depending on which parent laid claim to me at the time, because the two of you couldn’t get your acts together long enough to come to me so we could share a meal together. I don’t want that for my child.”

My father’s eyes narrowed, and my mother sniffled quietly.

“It was rare that we didn’t all get together for Christmas,” Daddy insisted. “You were all welcome to join me in Champeaux when I was too busy to travel. I can’t help it if your mother was on the other side of the world doing who knows what.” He glared at my mother. “Or is it who knows whom, my dear Tatty?”

“Un connard.” My mother snarled under her breath, low enough not to disturb nearby diners but loud enough for Daddy to hear. “As if you are in any position to speak.”

Gibby signaled for another round, while I whetted my dry throat with less-than-satisfactory club soda. I almost spilled it when she snapped her fingers at the Bickersons and demanded they pipe down.

“You will stop it this instant,” she hissed. “Look at what you’re doing to this poor girl. Contrary to what you both believe, Madison’s situation has nothing to do with either of you. This is about your daughter and my future great-grandchild.” She dropped a shoulder and leaned toward my father. “Don’t test me, Charles, or I’ll change my will, so that when I die, the entire company will be left to Madison’s child.”

I rolled my lips together to keep from smiling. Over the years, I’d often heard my grandmother threaten to cut my father from her will, but this was the first time I believed her.

Before Daddy could respond, a piping hot side order of agnolotti, one of my childhood favorites, was placed before me and was greeted—loudly—by my tummy. Even the baby stirred, either awoken by the noise or anxious for the rich, decadent pasta. My mouth watered and all I wanted to do was to dive into the bowl in front of me. It’s not like the conversation was proving very fruitful.

Gibby picked up my fork and handed it to me. She was treating me like a child, but it was her way of taking care of me. My grandmother was babying me and given the way this attempt at a family dinner had gone, I could use a little babying.

“You eat,” she said. “I’ve got it from here.”

Knock yourself out, I thought, diving into the bowl of creamy goodness in front of me.

While I feasted on carbs, Gibby read my parents the riot act. She told them how she would ensure that all of my needs were met and that I had the best doctors, nurses, a private suite at the hospital, and when the time came, the best nannies and baby nurses she could find.

She also told them that I would be moving in with her so that I could raise the baby at Randolph Hall where she could be certain I was being well cared for.

I nearly inhaled a little pocket of pasta. “Gibby,” I coughed. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not moving in with you.”

She turned the same cool, assessing eye on me that she’d used to silence my parents.

“Then where do you intend to move to?”

“I don’t intend to move anywhere. I have three guest bedrooms. We’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be foolish, Madison,” Daddy said, wading back into the conversation and believing he was on firmer ground since he agreed with my grandmother. “Where will the help sleep?”

Tatty joined in. “Really, ma chérie. Your home is no bigger than my closet.”

“Few things are, mother,” I muttered. “But in case you’ve forgotten, I moved after I graduated from Penn and bought a penthouse near Rittenhouse Square. I have more than enough room, and other than a nanny, I don’t need live-in staff.”

“Madison,” Gibby intoned. “I understand that you think you can do this on your own, but it’s too much. Maybe now is not the time to be stubborn.” She flashed a defiant look at my father. “There’s no need to be proud to your own detriment.” She gave me a dismissive pat on the arm. “It’s settled then. We’ll put your apartment up for sale immediately, and in the meantime, I’ll have Betsy make the arrangements to have your things packed and moved to Randolph Hall.”

This time, I made sure to swallow before I began to sputter.

“Excuse me,” I said shoving at my mother to move and let me out from the circular booth. She rose and I yanked my purse off the seat. “No,” I said plainly. “I’m not selling my penthouse, and I’m not packing my things and moving back to Randolph Hall.”

Gibby gaped at me. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s plenty of room. We can have you all settled in before I leave for France next week.”

“With more than two dozen bedrooms, I should hope so. But that doesn’t mean I want to live in that museum you call a house. I have no inten?—”

“Excuse me,” my father said, ignoring me. “What do you mean before you leave for France? Why are you coming to France?”

Gibby gave him a withering stare. “Really, Charles? After introducing us to your latest acquisition, vis-à-vis the vice president of international affairs, it would behoove me to see what else you’ve done with my father’s company behind my back.

“That’s not only unnecessary, Mother. It’s insulting.”

“Don’t be absurd, Charles. When I insult you, you’ll know it.”

Having had only two bites of my pasta, it pained me not to wait for a doggie bag, but I needed to leave. Immediately. The lingering headache I’d been experiencing returned with a vengeance, and if I didn’t walk out soon, I was likely to drop to the floor in a puddle of tears and ruffles. And then who would take me seriously?

Not these three.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me,” I said, too loud, but who cared at this point?

“I’m leaving. Tatty, Daddy, I’ll be sure to let you know when the baby arrives. Gibby, I’ll see you when you get back.” I tucked my clutch between my arm and my side. “Thank you all for an eventful evening. Goodnight.”

By the time I stepped out onto Walnut Street, the ma?tre d’ already had a cab waiting. I shoved a twenty into his waiting hand and slid into the back seat. By the time we pulled into Friday evening traffic in Center City, I was pulling up the food delivery app on my phone and ordering myself everything I’d seen on tonight’s menu.

Hopefully, by the time I slipped into my pajamas, I’d be ready to sit down to a nice, uneventful dinner. Alone.

No sooner had I formulated my plan, I felt a swift kick under my ribs.

Notwithstanding the nightmare that was my family, I couldn’t help but smile as I ran a hand over my belly.

“My apologies,” I whispered. “You’re right. I’m not alone.”