Chapter 12
"So, how was your day?" he asked as he wrestled with the noose around his neck. Finally, ridding himself of it, he tossed it aside and ran a weary hand at the back of his neck.
"Let's start with yours. How about a drink, you look like you could use it."
His smile came quickly. She was playing the part of the dedicated wife to the hilt and he liked it. It might sound perverse and purely sexist, but he liked the idea of coming home to her. And seeing her decked out in a slinky crimson robe that highlighted her assets.
At this time of the evening, they were quite alone. He had every intention of taking complete advantage of it.
"Scotch, straight. Thanks." He finished undressing, watching as she made her way towards the recessed bar adjacent to the huge fireplace in their bedroom. The spring air was cool enough for her to leave the glass doors leading to the balcony open.
Dragging on a robe, he sat on the padded sofa and pleasured himself by watching her cross the room, the silk of the material sliding against her subtle curves.
"Thanks. Sit." He patted his lap and was surprised and a little disappointed when she chose to perch next to him.
"You were about to tell me about your day."
Eyeing her over the glass, he studied her face for a minute before launching into a discussion about the snarl of red tape that was making things progress slower than expected.
"Not a lot of people want to invest or take a chance on the so-called small businesses. And the business owners are rightfully suspicious." He took another sip and shook his head. "We're known for funding big businesses and that has been our reputation for more than two hundred years." He shrugged.
"But you're not going to allow that to stop you."
Her quiet reassurance had him smiling at her. "Absolutely not. Nor am I going to allow the fact that my father thinks I'm a certified lunatic for caring about these people, as he puts it, turn me off." He grimaced as he recalled the argument in his father's office.
He had a feeling that it was not the business venture so much as the fact that Dean had changed his ways. The man had loved the idea of him being a playboy. It had made him proud and validated his manhood in some kind of sick and convoluted way.
"Anyway." He snagged her wrist with the intention of drawing her closer. A frown touched his brow when she evaded and rose.
"Darling?"
"More scotch?"
He deliberately put the glass down and focused on her.
"You might as well spill it. I can see that something is wrong. Is it the play? I knew I promised to be there, but I couldn't get away. How was it?"
"It went well and I understood you not being there."
"So, what's the problem?" Alarm skittered across his face. "Are you ill?"
"No." She took a deep breath. "Not exactly."
"Catherine, dammit, you're officially scaring me now."
Instead of sitting next to him, she sat on the loveseat facing him, her hands clasped in front of her.
"I'm pregnant."
"Oh. Oh!" A smile bloomed across his face. "Darling! Is it too soon? I know we never discussed this. Wait-" He lurched forward to go on his knees in front of her. "Are you well? Christ! When did you find out and what did the doctor say?"
A frown replaced the smile. "You didn't call me to accompany you. That's not acceptable. Why didn't you-" His voice tailed off as he noticed for the first time that she looked far from happy. "You're not pleased."
"I love children!" She hastened to assure him. "That's why I teach." She started to get up again, but he pressed her back down.
"Let's hear what this is all about."
"Could you give me a little room?"
"No. Just say it."
Biting down on her lip, she avoided his eyes by gazing down at her hands.
"I did not tell you everything about the accident."
"All right."
Taking a deep breath, she finally lifted her eyes to his. "I did not really get away with just cuts and bruises."
"What else happened?"
"I had internal injuries."
An awful premonition hit him as he stared at her. "What sort of internal injuries?"
"It has to do with my uterus. The doctors said it would be impossible for me to conceive and if I do, the pregnancy would be very high risk. That I should never think about having a child."
He got up abruptly and turned to pick up his glass.
"Dean?"
"You never thought of telling me this before now?" He was holding onto his anger by a thread.
"I- I never thought about it," she began.
"I know I should have told you that there's a possibility that I would never be able to conceive, but I love you so much and I believe in the absolute power of prayer, and I've been praying earnestly for healing.
This is God answering my prayers. I-" She braced back on the cushions when he whirled around, a blaze of fury on his face.
"So, let me see if I understand you correctly. You spoke to God and he told you that you're going to safely carry a baby. Not that I'm doubting your religion, but what did the doctors say?"
She drew in a deep breath. "They're offering the option to terminate the pregnancy.
They also said it's risky at this time, but even if that were not the case, I would never dream of getting rid of our baby.
" Her expression turned pleading. "I want this baby, Dean.
It's a part of us, something we created in love-"
"Damn you!"
She stared at him openmouthed as he sent the glass hurtling towards the hearth. The crash had her jumping, one hand flying to her throat.
"Do you think I give a crap about a child, if it means you risking your life? How could you keep something like this from me?"
Lifting her chin, she tried to face his wrath head on.
"Because I knew you would react this way.
And the fact is, I didn't know I was pregnant.
I'm not really regular and I felt nothing until a week or so ago, when I started feeling dizzy and the scent of cooking at the cafeteria made me feel nauseous. "
"A week ago." He glared at her. "A week ago. We talk every damn day, and you never said anything."
"I wanted to be certain-"
"No, Catherine. Let's call this what it really is: you knew and you wanted to keep it from me. You knew damn well that I wouldn't be happy about it, if it means a pregnancy will in all likelihood cost your life. That's the real reason you did not say anything, isn't it? Answer me!"
"Yes!" She sprang up off the sofa, eyes blazing. "I want this baby and nothing you say will make me change my mind."
"And it doesn't matter what I think, does it?
" he asked bitterly. "You've already made up your mind.
This has nothing to do with me. It doesn't matter to you that I'm going to have to spend the next few months waiting in anguish to find out if this is going to end your life.
You're so bloody selfish that you never took my feelings into consideration. Never."
"How dare you-"
"Enough!" He held up a hand to stop her tirade. "I need to do some thinking, and I need to do it alone. I will be sleeping in one of the guest rooms tonight."
She blinked at him. "What? Oh but-"
"I cannot be with you right now. I'm sorry."
She watched in shocked despair as he picked up his glass and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
The silence he left behind was fraught with tension.
She seriously thought about marching after him and demanding that he finish the argument.
And apologize. She did not get pregnant on her own and the fact that they had not been using anything should have alerted him to the fact that there was a possibility of her getting pregnant.
It wasn't her fault anyway, she thought angrily.
Yes, she should have told him that she might not be able to conceive, but she had put off telling him because she had been praying earnestly that the doctors were wrong.
That whatever had happened inside her had healed itself.
There was a possibility of that happening.
And she had faith. It was what had kept her going for years.
Sinking down on the sofa, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She could die. The thought of that happening scared her. So, she could understand his position.
He was afraid of losing her. To him, she was his only family because he was not close to his parents and even though he and his sister were getting along better now, the breach was still wide.
If he thought he was going to lose her, he would not be able to think of anything else. This was supposed to be a happy moment. They should be celebrating with glasses of non-alcoholic beverages and toasting each other. And wondering if they would be having a boy or a girl.
She wanted a son, one who looked like his father. She wanted that for him, for both of them. She desperately wanted a significant part of him to always look at. A child that would help to tighten their bond.
Taking a deep breath, she placed a hand over her flat belly and started praying.
*****
He should have brought the bottle with him. He had finished the little bit of scotch left in the glass much too quickly and his mind was not muddled. It was sharp and clear, much too sharp, he thought bitterly. So much so that he could recall every damning word she had spoken.
His wife was pregnant. A high-risk pregnancy that could cost her life. The thought of it had his blood curdling. How dare she keep that from him! How dare she put him in this untenable position! What the hell was he expected to do about it? Demand that she get rid of it?
Swinging his legs off the bed, he prowled the length of the room.
He had seen the look on her face when he made the announcement that he was sleeping elsewhere.
She had looked as if he had struck her. They had never been apart before, and it felt strange.
He had come to appreciate making love to her, to hold her in his arms, breathing in her scent that would stay with him as he drifted off to sleep.