Chapter Nine
Maddie
Quite clearly, Caesar is extremely pissed off about this whole adventure.
At the risk of sounding like a fourteen-year-old, that hurts my feelings.
We shared what I thought was a wonderful moment in that hotel room.
I really thought he liked me. But I guess the realization that I’m a Rutherford has overridden that memory, and now when he looks at me all he can see is an enemy.
As the plane moves to the runway, then speeds up, my throat tightens and tears prick my eyes. It’s just the damn baby hormones, I console myself. Nothing more.
I’m coming dangerously close to the deadline I set myself for making a decision about this baby, and I’m still undecided.
In the end, I thought I’d wait until after the trip to Queenstown before I made up my mind.
This feels like a huge hurdle I need to scale first. After all, it’s not every day you go away with the father of your secret baby, especially when he hates your guts.
I’m not a great planner. I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-jeans kind of girl. I make everything up as I go along. So I’m going to wait, get through this nightmare, and then decide.
Until then, I have to put up with the inconvenient nausea, the waves of tiredness, and the fact that my brain seems to have gone on vacation somewhere far away.
I inhale and then let out a long, slow breath as I take off my baseball cap and put it on the table.
“Are you afraid of flying?” Caesar asks.
I realize I’ve rested my other hand on my stomach. It’s becoming an automatic gesture.
“No.” I tuck my hands beneath my thighs so I don’t do it again. “I had another migraine this morning, and I feel queasy again, that’s all.” It’s the best excuse I can think of to explain my regular bouts of sickness.
He frowns. “Have you tried Sumatriptan injections? I understand they can stop a headache in fifteen minutes.”
“No… I might have to look into them, though.” I do suffer from migraines, just not as frequently as I’ve been making out. “How do you know about Sumatriptan? Do you get them?”
“No.”
“A no-doubt-gorgeous ex who tried to claim she had a headache every night?”
His lips twist. “No… my mother, actually. Not so much since she went through the menopause, but when she was younger she got them a lot. Linked to her periods, I think. Are you the same?”
It seems like a reasonable explanation, so I nod.
“Period pain and migraines at the same time,” he says, “that’s pretty unlucky.”
Now I feel guilty for lying to him again, but it’s too late to correct myself. “I’d still rather have those than be a man.”
He’s saved from answering as Joe comes over and asks whether we’d like a drink and a snack. Caesar orders a latte, but I settle for fruit tea, as the smell of coffee is still making me nauseous. Joe suggests a plate of mini muffins, and, trying not to look at one another, we both agree.
“Thought you wouldn’t say no to bakers confectionery,” Caesar says after Joe walks off.
“Just because I temporarily called myself Cupcake, it doesn’t mean I have a cake fetish, any more than you calling yourself Captain means you have a boat fetish. Or do you enjoy splicing the mainbrace? I have no idea what that means, by the way, but it sounds nautical.”
“It’s a command in the Royal Navy to issue an extra ration of rum to the crew.”
My eyebrows rise. “Oh. Okay, I didn’t know that. I thought it involved doing something to the rigging.”
“Well, technically, yes, you’re right. The mainbrace was the thickest rope on a sailing ship. It held the mainmast brace. Splicing, or repairing, it during battle was dangerous, and sailors who did it were rewarded with an extra ration of grog.”
“Look at you,” I tease. “I’m not sure whether Captain suits you better than my current nickname for you.”
He huffs. “Don’t tell me.”
“It’s Brielle’s fault. She called you Caligula, and it stuck.”
He snorts. “Charming.”
“I dunno, if the cap fits…” I lift my eyebrows as he glares at me. “He thought he was a living god, and he was known for extreme extravagance and sexual excesses. Tell me that doesn’t sound like you.”
“Well, I’ve never fucked my sister, so I think that should be a mark in my favor.”
I giggle, and that earns me a wry look as Joe brings a tray over with our drinks. He puts the muffins between us, checks we don’t want anything else, and retreats.
Caesar passes the plate to me. I survey the mini muffins and choose a chocolate-chip one, and he does the same.
He eats the muffin in one bite, then sips his coffee as he watches me pick out the chocolate chips and nibble them.
“Funny to think of you having a mum,” I say.
He gives me an amused look. “Why?”
“I assumed you came into the world as a fully formed adult. I can’t imagine you as a boy.”
“I was a wonderful kid. A little angel.”
I snort. “Yeah right.” I have another chocolate chip. “What’s your mum like?”
“Warm. Funny. Gentle.” He takes another muffin and studies it for a moment.
“Oh, of course,” I say softly, “she had breast cancer, didn’t she? How is she?”
“She’s had treatment, and she’s recovering now. She used to have all this red hair…” He mimes wild curls. “She lost it all, which was traumatic for her. It’s growing back now, although she’s keeping it short.”
I rest a hand on his arm. “I really am sorry for teasing you about her.”
He gives me a strange look. “That’s okay. Anyway, the name Caesar was my father’s idea. He had a thing about the Roman Empire and creating a legacy. Mum would think calling me Caligula was hilarious.”
I chuckle, go to take a bite of the muffin, then put it down as nausea sweeps over me.
“Still feeling nauseous?” he asks. When I nod, he says, “How’s the head?”
I tip my hand from side to side, putting the muffin down, and draw up my legs so I’m curled up in the seat. “I might listen to some music for a while, if that’s okay. It tends to help with the sickness.”
“Of course.” He pulls out his phone and settles back to read.
I turn on my noise-cancelling headphones, start a playlist of ocean sounds, and close my eyes. Hopefully the queasiness will pass by the time we land.
The hum of the engines reverberates through me. I can smell Caesar’s cologne, subtle enough not to affect my sickness. I open my eyes a little and see his arm, bare from the sleeve down, the skin tanned, scattered with light-brown hair. If I were to reach out, I’d be able to touch him.
I don’t. But I could, if I wanted to.
*
A hand on mine makes my eyelids flutter open. I blink, wondering where I am. I’m curled up in a seat, and my temple is resting against a solid male shoulder. My hand is hooked over his arm.
I rear back in alarm and whip off my headphones. “Oh my God.”
“You were dead to the world,” he says. “Do you feel better now?”
I nod, because my nausea has vanished. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night.” I look at his smart polo shirt. “Fuck, I dribbled on your arm.”
He looks at it, then up at me. “Not the first time you’ve soaked my shirt. It’s starting to be a habit.”
My eyes widen, and my face fills with heat. “Jeez, just make it ten times worse, why don’t you?”
He gives a short laugh and looks out of the window. “We’re coming into Queenstown. You missed the Franz Josef glacier.”
“I slept the whole way?” Surprised, I follow his gaze to see the plane sweeping down the valley toward the town, close to landing. “You should have woken me.”
“Seemed a shame when you weren’t feeling well. Besides, the sound of the engines overrode your snoring.”
I bump his shoulder with mine. “I don’t snore.”
“I thought it was a foghorn at one point.”
“Oh, shut up.” I retrieve my purse, take out my compact, and examine my reflection to make sure I’m presentable.
“You’re wearing makeup today,” he says.
“Very observant of you.” Luckily, neither the mascara nor my eyeliner has smudged, and my eyebrows still look neat.
“Why do you want to cover your coloring?” he asks.
“I would have thought that was obvious.”
“No, it’s not.”
I frown. “Well it wouldn’t be to you, because you’re not a freak.”
He glares at me then, his eyes hard. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I say so.”
His bossy tone makes me roll my eyes. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll put you over my knee and spank the living daylights out of you. You’re stunning, and anyone who says otherwise is just jealous of your uniqueness.”
My jaw drops, both at his compliment and at his threat. “Jesus!”
“What?”
I steady myself as the plane’s wheels touch down with a bump. “That is an incredibly inappropriate comment to make.”
He snorts and pockets his phone. “I was just teasing, keep your knickers on.” His gaze slides to me. “I know that’s not the status quo for you.”
“Caesar!”
He turns to me then and fixes me with a firm gaze. “If you really think I’m going to be able to spend all weekend with you and not try and unsettle you as much as you’re unsettling me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
I’m unsettling him? I try not to dwell on that and say, “It’s another think coming.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. Google it.”
“I will.” He pulls out his phone and stabs at the keyboard while the plane taxies to the gate. Then he scowls.
“Told you,” I say smugly.
“It makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. It’s saying if you believe something, you need to reconsider, or think again.”
He shoves his phone in his pocket. “Stupid English language.”
“A bad workman always blames his tools.”
“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” he mumbles.
“Neither of us had a choice,” I say tartly. “And to be fair, it’s not our family’s fault that we bumped uglies at the ball.”
“Are you saying my family jewels are ugly?”
I snort. “The male appendage isn’t exactly photogenic, is it?”
“A billion dick pics on the internet would take issue with that.”
I unbuckle my belt as the plane stops. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never received one.”
His eyebrows rise. “No boyfriend has ever sent you a dick pic?”
“Nope. Even though I’ve begged them to.”