Chapter 17 #2
I flick a look across to her. “What’s the difference between using a tennis racket or a baseball bat?”
She narrows her eyes at my tone. “Well, one certainly doesn’t involve sliding around in the dirt, does it?
” I roll my eyes, but don’t argue, because there’s no winning with her when she’s like this.
She purses her lips, face lined with disapproval.
“I did tell Lynley all this. And yet, Mason was telling me all about his baseball game on our last FaceCall.”
“FaceTime,” I mutter, finishing my coffee and slumping back against the uncomfortable settee. I’d be better off sitting on a piece of wood. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s golfing with some big-time lawyer. Teddy something.”
“Teddy Gallagher.”
“That’s it!” She shakes her head. “Fancy calling your child Teddy. I can’t imagine what his parents were thinking.”
“His actual name is Theodore, Mother.”
She pauses with her cup halfway to her mouth, eyes flaring with surprise. “He chooses to go by Teddy? Goodness. Well, there’s no accounting for taste.” She falls quiet, watching me assessingly. “You don’t usually visit me during the week.”
She’s stating a fact, but I hear the unasked question. I keep my expression neutral, giving her a cool look. “I’ve taken some time off this week.”
“Oh.” Her thin brows lift high. “That’s not like you, but everyone needs time off, I suppose.
Perhaps you could encourage Lynley to start thinking about going back to work.
The children are both in school now, and the responsibility shouldn’t fall entirely on your shoulders.
The days of women staying home are long gone, don’t you think? ”
My mouth twitches. I’m not sure that sitting on charity boards and hosting luncheons counts as paid employment, which makes her stance…
interesting. I finish my coffee, watching as she stirs another sugar cube into hers, the silver spoon clinking against the side of the cup.
The silence stretches out between us, but I won’t be the one to break it.
Eventually, she puts her spoon down and sips her drink, grimacing delicately, and then she sets the cup down on the table beside her with finality. “What’s going on, Christopher?”
I tap my fingers against the armrest, considering my words. “Did Dad ever cheat on you?”
She blanches, her cheeks going as white as her coffee, before her expression pinches. “What kind of question is that? Honestly, Christopher—”
“Did he?” I persist. “I know you two aren’t exactly a love match.”
Something flashes through her eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for me to catch.
“I see.” She sighs heavily, and I am not about to ask for clarification on what she thinks she sees.
“Your father had his…dalliances. But he was discreet, which is all I asked of him.” The emphasis on “discreet” hits as hard as she means it to, but I bury the wince down.
“Is there something you need to tell me, Christopher?” She prods.
“As always, I’d rather be prepared now than be shocked later. ”
Francine Delcourt is all about image—the family’s and her own. I know she’s already spinning a narrative, strategizing what kind of statement she’ll need to put out to bank any fires I’ve set. Anything to keep society believing we’re the perfect family. The thought makes my lips curl up.
I lower my lashes, hiding the look in my eyes. “I wasn’t asking for me. I was just curious about Dad.”
She makes a small, disbelieving sound, but lets the conversation go.
We make polite small talk for another twenty minutes before I tell her that I need to collect the kids from school.
As she walks me out, her heels clacking loudly against the marble flooring, she remarks dispassionately, “You’d think that, with Lynley’s lack of employment, she wouldn’t be delegating such mundane tasks to you, especially if you’re trying to take some time to relax. ”
Lynley has never been the wife my mother dreamed I’d marry.
She doesn’t have the finances or connections that could elevate the Delcourts to the next level, and my mother has never quite forgiven her for that.
Mom will never believe that Mase’s conception wasn’t a carefully orchestrated trap, and I gave up on convincing her a long time ago.
I think she did finally accept that my wife wasn’t going anywhere around the time Ginny was born.
One child was a mistake, but two was a choice, and apparently, that made it permanent enough for her to accept.
Honestly, if Lynley had just danced to my mother’s tune, it would’ve made life more pleasant for all of us. Instead, she’d always bucked against Mom’s expectations, forcing me into the role of middleman.
“It’s fine,” I tell her when we reach the door. “Lynley’s got…an appointment.” Mom makes a small noise, but before she can dig any further, I press a kiss to her cheek and make a quick exit. “I’ll call you.”
“Tell the kids to FaceCall me!”
As I ease the car out of the circular drive, regret coils in my gut.
I shouldn’t have stopped by. I’m not even sure what I was hoping to get from her—maybe validation that Lynley is overreacting.
Reassurance that I haven’t done anything wrong.
Instead, my mother has got the scent of smoke, and the last thing I need is her digging into my personal business.
None of this would be a problem if Lynley had just kept her goddamn head down. She’s being too sensitive, blowing things out of proportion, and I’m not going to let her throw our life away because her feelings have been hurt.
She should be grateful for everything I’ve done for her. I work my ass off to pay for this life, to give her the freedom to stay home with the kids. I don’t drag the stress of the office through our front door, even if she doesn’t like the way I deal with it.
That should count for something.
It’s illogical, but there’s a tiny thread of hope that I’ll pull up to our house, and she’ll be there, a welcoming smile on her lips, and everything back the way it was.
The thread is small enough that the disappointment barely touches me when I walk into the cavernous house, the silence echoing loudly in my ears.
I head for my office, determined to find a new job before my termination becomes public fodder.
If I can find another job first, I can swing the narrative in my favor.
But I pause when there’s a quiet knock at the door.
I’m not expecting anyone, and I already know it’s not Lynley—she’s not coming home.
Not today. I won’t kid myself about that.
I backtrack, expecting to find FedEx or someone delivering something, but I’m surprised when Angelica gifts me a perky smile from the front stoop.
“Chrissy!” she cries, throwing herself into my arms and peppering kisses all over my face. I grab a hold of her arms and forcefully push her back, taking a step away from her clinging grip.
“What the fuck?” I gasp in surprise, and she takes the opportunity to lunge forward again, planting her mouth against mine and thrusting her tongue into my mouth.
It’s sloppy and wet—not in a good way—and her teeth clash against mine.
I rip myself away, putting several feet between us, with my hands up to ward her off.
“Angelica,” I grit out. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She steps into the house like she belongs here.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she simpers, cocking a hip out and drawing my attention down.
She’s wearing a plaid skirt that’s basically a strip of material and a crop top that’s most definitely a size too small, her peaked nipples beading against the pink fabric. No bra. “Haven’t you missed me?”
I scrub a hand over my face, trying to rein in my anger. “How do you know where I live?”
She tilts her head, dark hair falling over her shoulder.
“It wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be.
Just some light flirting with Gary from HR.
” She pouts. “I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t think it was cheating when there was no actual nudity involved.
” She giggles, twisting her hair around her finger.
My eyebrows climb my forehead. “Cheating? What the fuck are you talking about?”
She doesn’t answer, taking a few steps around the foyer, her wide eyes taking in the house. “Wow, this is great. It’s so nice that your wife realized that she needs to move out so quickly. I’m so looking forward to adding my own touch to this place.”
She’s lost her fucking mind. I gape at her as she frowns at a painted landscape that Lynley hung on the foyer wall.
“Waterfall,” she murmurs. “Pretty.”
“Angelica,” I snap loudly, and she startles, whirling around to face me with wounded eyes. I try to soften my tone, saying through gritted teeth, “Why are you at my house right now? I live here with my family.”
The injured expression fades into something furious, her eyes flashing viciously.
“I’m talking,” she says sharply, “about us being together, out in the open. No more supply closets or offices, but together. I’m here so we can start our life together.
You, me, and”—she presses a hand to her midsection—“our baby.”
Nausea cramps my stomach, the world going out of focus.
My eyes flick back up to her face, watching her lips curl smugly, and then a bark of harsh laughter escapes me.
“Holy shit. You almost fucking had me.” I bend over, resting my palms on my knees, sucking in a lungful of air.
“Oh, god. That’s not funny, Angelica. Christ.”
Her eyes bulge at the unexpected reaction, right before stomping her tiny heel against the floor. “I’m not joking!” she whines, the sound grating. “I’m pregnant with your baby.”
Her face sets in something mutinous as I straighten, pinning her with a dark glare. “Okay, sure.” I flick up a finger. “You’re pregnant, and I didn’t actually get a vasectomy five years ago.”
She goes pale. “That’s not… No—”
“I shoot blanks, Angelica. So what the fuck are you playing at?”
“There’s no way,” she hisses, her expression firming into something terrifying, and a cold sweat trickles down my back. “This is your baby, and you need to take responsibility for it.”