Chapter Eight
Scarlett
“I’m in the doctor’s office, legs spread, wearing one of those paper gowns. And the tech has that cold-ass wand up my hoo-ha. I still think there’s no way, but… there she is. Little heartbeat and everything,” I finally tell Mia, after trying to hide my pregnancy for as long as I could.
Of course, she knew. She always knows. In my dream, Mia says all the things I’ve been saying to myself.
“How could you possibly let this happen? Why didn’t you take your birth control? What are you going to do?”
All fair questions. How could I let this happen?
“How are you going to pay for it? What about the ballet? You’ve just ruined your life. You are so stupid!”
This wasn’t dream Mia talking. This was me.
My eyes flash open, and I realize I am in a hospital room. Everything hurts. It isn't a debilitating ache, but a dull and persistent one.
I assess my situation and look around the room: small, sterile, and loud. Something is beeping in my ear, and I can't move to turn it off.
A nurse comes running into my room, looking frantic. “Oh, you’re awake.” She seems startled. “Good. We need to get your vitals,” she turns off the beeping sound, “and your IV bag is empty. I’ll get you a new one. I’m Christine. How are you feeling this morning?”
How am I feeling? Where am I? Who am I? Why am I in the hospital?
“Um,” is the most brilliant response I can muster.
“Don’t worry. You’ve been through a lot. No need to speak. I’ll let Dr. Myers know you’re awake.” She offers a kindly grin, and for a second, I think everything is great.
I feel mildly comfortable and also pretty miserable. Then it comes crashing back to me. Oh fuck, I'm pregnant. I’m supposed to have a baby in a week! I put my hand on my belly to touch her, to make sure she is there and she is okay.
I feel nothing but soft spongy flesh and an empty womb.
An impossibly tall, dashing man with salt-and-pepper hair comes rushing into the room wearing a white lab coat. All I can do is look at him wide-eyed and panicked.
“Where’s my baby?” I nearly scream at the man.
“She’s in the nursery upstairs. They’ve downgraded her from the NICU.” His voice is even and calm.
“I need to see her, I need to know she’s okay.” God, it hurts to talk.
“When you’re feeling better. You have some pretty severe injuries. I’m Dr. Myers.” He takes a deep breath and sits down in the chair next to my bed, scooting it closer.
His stare is intense and a little unnerving, but also familiar. Too familiar. I focus on his name badge as he brings his chair closer: Dr. Beckett Myers.
Beckett Myers, I think to myself.
“Beckett,” my lips play with the word.
“Yes.” His intense eyes scrutinize me as if he expects me to say something—a confession or some sort of recognition of wrongdoing or guilt.
“You’re Beckett Myers,” I say mostly to myself.
“I think we’ve established that.”
“You’re Mia’s asshole brother.”
Oops and… oh fuck, those lips, that salt-and-pepper hair, the perfect muscles that no clothing can hide. No… no. Please, God no.
“True, but impolite to mention it.” He is cold and distant. “You are Scarlett Cross, Mia’s roommate and childhood best friend. While I’ve never met you… officially.” His voice lowers and his expression darkens. “I’ve known about you for years.”
I am stuck on the fact that I am pretty sure the hot older man in a lab coat sitting too close to my bed is Mr. Cock.
There is something wickedly alluring about his gray hair, chiseled jaw, and the hungry look in his eyes.
More beautiful without the mask, Beckett Myers is known to be a very dangerous man.
He is a doctor but belongs to a secret society of men who do very questionable things, like throw masquerade balls where they can fuck the staff.
“How, is what I want to know.” He leans into me and lowers his voice. “I expect honesty, Red.”
It is him.
Not a day has passed without me thinking of Mr. Cock or feeling him between my thighs, knowing that our daughter would never have a father because I chose to walk away from him that night.
“Mr. Cock?” I barely whisper.
“I think you already know the answer to that question, so I need you to answer mine. I understand that you’re still recovering from severe injuries, so we are just going to stick to the facts. Why do I have an infant daughter in the nursery upstairs when you told me you were on birth control?”
Yep, a complete asshole.
Fuck him for making birth control entirely my responsibility. “Sperm makes babies, Doc, and not all birth control does the job. I guess we can assume that invisible condoms do not actually work.”
“Did your birth control not work, or did you just not use any?” Still accusing… me.
Tears well in my eyes, and I feel completely out of my element, totally in pain, and miserable. I stay silent because I don't have the strength to approach his answer.
“So you didn’t want my money, but you wanted my genetics? Were you planning on blackmailing me? Did you and Mia have some grand plan? I’ve done nothing but accommodate her brattish, self-indulgent—”
“Shut up!” I start to cry. “Shut the fuck up. You can’t talk about her like that.” I am in so much pain, the room starts to spin.
And despite wanting to be strong and powerful—and I am woman hear me roar—I am overtaken by a flash of nausea.
Grabbing for my water glass because it is the closest thing to me, I bring it to my mouth and barf all over my hand.
Most of my projectile does not make it into the cup.
I am sobbing as the nurse comes in with my fresh IV bag.
Beckett stands up quickly to get away from the splash. The nurse is much more empathetic as she hangs my bag and strokes my damp hair.
“Oh, sweetheart, you have to take it easy. Your body has been through a lot of trauma. Here, let me clean you up and get a fresh gown. I’m sorry, Dr. Myers. I know you’re doing your rounds… maybe you can visit another patient.”
“Ms. Cross is my only patient at this hospital. I’ll wait for you to clean her up.”
The nurse quickly removes my gown, and I am nervous for only a second since I am bare underneath, but I realize Beckett has seen it all already.
Another wave of nausea hits me, and I dry heave into the barf bag she offers.
The nurse quickly changes me into a crisp new hospital gown.
I wipe my face with a damp cloth, all while Beckett stands there staring at me.
When she is done, she strokes my hair once more and pats my arm, saying, “Dr. Myers is the best in the business. He’ll make sure you’re right as rain in no time.”
Ugh, he may be the best in the business, but he is a total monster in all other ways.
As soon as she leaves, Beckett takes his seat again, and I close my eyes and speak in an even monotone.
“I had an audition for the New York City Ballet. I’d been mentally and physically preparing for my audition for months.
Even though I worked the night before and had sex for the first time, I was ready.
I wasn't thinking about the birth control I had run out of that morning or the fact that the pharmacy would be closed. I stayed at the audition until late, then was called back the next day, and the day after. I missed my chance to buy the morning-after pill. I could have asked Mia to get it for me, but accidental pregnancy is a really sensitive subject with her.” I open my eyes and look at him, accusing.
“It would be.” He glares back at me but is softening.
“It was the only thing she and I would probably fight about, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. She’s my best friend and my rock. Does she know I’m here? Did you tell her? She has to be worried sick.” I heave again and almost throw up.
He puts his hand on my arm, and I am surprised by the gesture; it is nicer than I expected.
“I told her, but she’s not allowed to come just yet. You’re still in the ICU. She is sick with worry, but luckily I ran a DNA test and found out who you were. At least she knows that you’re alive. You were saying…”
“When you talk to her again, tell her I love her.” I give him a sad look, knowing how fucked my life is.
“By the time I could buy the morning-after pill, it was too late to take it. I planned to go into Planned Parenthood and have an abortion.” Tears roll down my face.
“But I couldn’t do it… I couldn’t go through with it. ”
I start truly sobbing, hurting so deeply, physically and emotionally.
There he is, my mysterious lover, whom I ran from.
He is Mia’s brother? How is any of this possible?
My sadness is bone-deep, and all I want to do is run away from Beckett Myers again.
I know what he is like, and I don’t want any part of it.
“I can do this on my own. I’m okay. We’re okay. You can leave.” Suddenly, I am hyperventilating, and the damn beeping starts again.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He stands up and fixes my machine, then goes to the sink, runs water over a paper towel, and lays it across my forehead, making sure to avoid the bandage at my hairline.
“You need to calm down,” he says, placing an oxygen mask over my face and turning on a fine stream of pure oxygen that immediately calms me. “Just breathe, Scarlett.”
I do my best, trying to get myself under control. It takes a minute to slow my breathing and calm my body down. The pain has started to overwhelm me, as has my fatigue, but suddenly I am worried about something beyond myself. My little girl.
“Is the baby alright?” I ask.
“She’s beautiful.” Beckett is a little nicer when talking about the baby. “And very healthy. What happened to you? The taxi driver said he slid on ice.”
“I guess he did. I thought I was having contractions, but I also read that it could be Braxton Hicks; she wasn’t due for another week.
So I read that if you get your blood sugar up, they’d stop.
I went to the bodega for a smoothie. All during my pregnancy I craved their pomegranate lime smoothies.
But I was hit while crossing the street.
” My eyes feel raw and tired, like they are made of wood chips and sandpaper.
“When can we go home? I can sign whatever you need me to sign to make sure you don’t have to take care of us.
” I look at him, making sure he understands he isn’t responsible for my mistake.
He has eyes that exude power. His set jawline and salt-and-pepper stubble make him look both dangerous and wise.
Suddenly, I am a little terrified of Beckett because I know he isn’t a nice man.
He also is involved in some very questionable stuff.
But more importantly, he said he didn’t want a wife or attachments, and I know he meant it.
My fantasy lover, the “husband” I slept with once, is Beckett Myers, Mia’s asshole brother.
He may be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen now that I am looking at him in person, but he isn’t going to be a husband or a father.
Thank God Mia told me all about him, so I know to stay clear.
He rolls his neck and looks irritated. “I can’t take you home until you’re discharged from the hospital, which won’t be for at least another week.
When you’re feeling better I’ll take you to see our daughter.
As far as going home, well, when you’re discharged, we’ll be returning to my penthouse on the Upper West Side. ”
“Your penthouse? No, I have a place. Mia and I do,” I protest as confusion still swirls around my head. The oxygen is making me sleepy, and it is hard to talk through the mask.
“I’ve had you, Mia, and her horrid little cat moved out of that hellhole. I don’t want her living there alone, and you aren’t going back.” He is so adamant; it doesn’t make any sense.
“Where are we going to be living then?”
“She’s staying in our father’s loft downtown.
It has a doorman, an elevator, and a security guard on her floor, not to mention a valet garage for her rare and priceless car.
I’m surprised it hasn’t already been stolen.
You will be staying with me in my penthouse in the same building, or at our house in Canada. ”
What? There is no way I’m staying with him.
“Isn’t there enough room in Mia’s loft? How much is the rent? I’m on maternity leave from the Ballet.”
I am starting to panic. I’ve only danced with the ballet for six months and haven’t saved that much, plus I still have to repay my student loans.
I decided to defer my senior year so I could get used to being a single mom.
Later, I’d be ready to return to the ballet and school.
Luckily, both are holding space for me since neither institution can discriminate against a pregnant woman.
“You won’t be staying with Mia. You’re in the same building; consider that an unexpected kindness.” He is so cold and distant.
“Why not? Why can’t I live with my best friend? I don’t even know you. We can make a visitation schedule if you want to have time with the baby—”
“Because I’m not living apart from my wife. You wanted to play house? Wish granted, Cinderella. Or should I say, Mrs. Myers.”
What the hell?
“I’m not your wife.” Why is everything so hard and confusing? My body hurts, my mind hurts, I want to see my baby, and now I am married to an asshole?
“A benefit to being rich is also being influential. You are legally my wife. The wedding will come later,” he says with conviction and without a shred of emotion.
“How?” I am about to hyperventilate despite wearing an oxygen mask.
He leans forward, pulls the remote from my bed, presses the red call button, and speaks into it. “I need ice chips and a cannula for the patient’s oxygen.” He sets the remote back down and looks at me. “I have connections.”
“I don’t want to be married to you.” I am so angry at him. Why is he doing this?
“And I don’t want to be married to you, trust me.
This marriage is of convenience. You gave me a child, and now, I also have a wife.
I have a reputation to uphold. I’m not going to be seen as a man who fucks around making babies.
You are and will always be the only woman I ever marry.
So, you’ll be coming home with me. Scream, cry, hire a lawyer—I don’t care. For the next five years, you’re mine.”