Chapter Seven #2
“Because you’re the most skeptical of all of us, and you’ll look at the data with a clear head. If you come back impressed, I’ll know it’s worth considering.”
Caesar can’t argue with that, and he purses his lips and gives a short nod.
“I’d be happy to take you around the farm,” Brielle says.
I was right—she likes him. And she’s so much prettier and more charismatic than I am. I know he’ll fall for her if he goes.
“No,” I say loudly.
Everyone looks at me. Gramps looks surprised. “You want to say something, Maddie?”
“I… um… it’s just that I know the science. I was the one who did the work at Blackridge. I should be the one to give the tour.”
“That’s right,” Gramps says, “it’s your baby.”
My face heats, and I have to fight not to rest my hand on my stomach.
“Right,” Caesar says, in a tone that suggests he’s thinking for fuck’s sake.
Oh shit. What on earth am I doing? I can’t possibly go with him to Blackridge and spend time with him alone. That would be a total disaster.
“It’s Waitangi Day tomorrow,” I state desperately. “And a public holiday Monday.”
“Then let’s make it next weekend,” Grandpa says smoothly. “Give us time to sort things out. You can take our jet. Saturday the thirteenth? I’ll pencil it in.”
“Nice way to spend a romantic weekend,” Aurelia jokes, reminding me it’ll be Valentine’s Day.
“I don’t think Maddie’s busy.” Brielle smirks, and I glare at her.
“Neither’s Caesar,” Marcus says, and Caesar glares at him.
“Then it’s sorted.” Edward closes his folder. “Caesar can report back, and then we can take it to the board if necessary. I’ll get back to you at the end of the month. Is that acceptable?”
Grandpa nods and shakes his hand, and we all get to our feet.
“Maddie,” Caesar says, “would you mind staying behind. I’d like a quick word about the trip.”
Fuck.
“Sure.” Nausea rises in me again.
“We’ll wait for you in the lobby,” Brielle states. She and Grandpa follow Edward and the others out, and the door swings shut behind them.
Caesar and I face each other over the table. I pick up my briefcase and hold it to me like a shield. My stomach rolls.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he snaps. “This wasn’t my idea, and I’m not happy about it. So don’t start thinking we’re going down for any reason other than to check out the fucking farm.”
I press my fingers to my mouth. Then I say hurriedly, “Excuse me.” Leaving my briefcase on the table, I open the door and run down the corridor to the bathroom I used earlier. Luckily, it’s vacant, and I go inside and lock the door behind me.
Then I vomit the contents of my breakfast into the toilet.
Well. That’s one way to exit a high-stakes negotiation.
I retch until there’s nothing left. When I’m done, I rinse out my mouth and look at my reflection in a mirror. It’s difficult to tell where my hair ends and my white face begins.
I splash on some cold water, my hands shaking. I don’t want to talk to Caesar. I know how he feels, and I don’t need him treating me like the bad guy when all I’m trying to do is concentrate on the science.
It’s not my fault that we slept together at the ball. I know I made the overture, but he could easily have said no and walked away. We’re both to blame.
But I knew who he was. I can’t hide from that. I feel like a spider poked with a stick—I just want to curl into a ball. It’s no wonder he feels betrayed. He thought it was two strangers having a fun one-night stand. Now that he realizes I knew his identity, it takes on a much more sinister tone.
I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I just let Brielle take him to Blackridge? But once again, as I think about my sister and Caesar alone together, jealousy grips me in her big green hands and squeezes.
I’m carrying his child. Even if he doesn’t know it, I can’t act as if I’m okay with him sleeping with other women. He might already have done so. The thought almost makes me retch.
I want to run down to the lobby and never see him again. But my briefcase is in the boardroom, and I can’t go without it.
And besides, I’m not a coward. I got myself into this mess. I’ll have to try to explain to Caesar as best as I can that I wasn’t sent to seduce him, and if he doesn’t believe me, well, that’s his problem.
I go out and walk slowly back to the boardroom. He’s standing over by the window when I push the glass door open, but he turns as I walk back to my seat.
“Everything all right?” he asks, frowning.
I nod and clear my throat. “I apologize. I have a migraine, and they make me nauseous.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” To my surprise, he gets up, walks around the table, and holds my chair. “Please, sit down.”
I lower into the seat, and he helps me tuck it in. Next, he goes over to the window. “Brielle mentioned you have photosensitivity,” he says as he fully closes the blinds.
He walks to the fridge and takes out a bottle of water, and opens it, reminding me of the night of the ball in the hotel room, when he gave me a bottle after we’d had sex. His eyes meet mine for a moment, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.
He drops his gaze and retrieves a clean glass, then pours the water into it. “Here, have a drink.”
I sip the cool water thankfully. “Thank you.”
He hesitates, then pulls out the chair next to mine and takes a seat. I sip my water again, my hand shaking.
Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he links his fingers and studies them.
It gives me the opportunity to look at his face, the first time I’ve had a really good look at him without his mask.
He’s so handsome. I feel a wash of sadness.
A guy like this would never choose the real me.
He was attracted to Cupcake, not vanilla-flavored Maddie the Weirdo, who’s had children point at her in the street.
I’ve tried to be like Brielle and embrace my uniqueness, but I don’t have the personality for it.
This whole episode has been a disaster from start to finish, and it’s left me with an impossible decision that makes me emotional every time I think about it.
I can’t have this baby. For a start, what if it also has albinism?
It’s unlikely, as Caesar would have to be a carrier of the gene too, and even then there would only be a one-in-four chance of the baby having the condition, but I can’t risk it.
I don’t want to curse Little Raspberry before he or she is even born.
I don’t want them to experience what I went through.
Tears well up inside me, and before I can do anything about them, they spill over and run down my cheeks, which is the opposite of the strong and sassy image I wanted to portray to the man who clearly already thinks I’m a master manipulator.
Oh God. Why am I so useless at absolutely everything?