Chapter 12 The Capshaw Curse
the capshaw curse
Paula stood naked in her bathroom, the floor-to-ceiling mirror reflecting an image she barely recognized.
She was back home. Back in the sprawling Beverly Hills mansion she loved so much but, ironically, spent precious little time in.
With Garrett away on a movie shoot overseas—another continent, another time zone—she was utterly alone in the fifteen-thousand-square-foot home. Again.
Once she'd landed, they'd had the conversation, the one where he'd backpedaled from his cold, stunned reaction to her pregnancy.
It wasn't that he wasn't happy, he'd insisted as he packed for the new movie he was now directing.
It was just... the demands of his job, the being away, the recent, insane drama in Hamby with Kayden and Lana.
Their lives were going to have to drastically change, he'd said, his voice strained but comforting.
He apologized, reassured her, and that was all she needed.
.. wasn't it? She’d told him it was, just to get her own head in the right place, to stop the panic.
But the memory of his initial, gut-punch of a reaction lingered.
Once he took off for the airport, her husband hadn't left her totally alone, of course. There were tons of security personnel now, a silent, roaming presence just beyond the walls ever since the incident with Kim. He didn’t trust Kim any more than anyone else did, and with good reason.
But the added security, meant to make her feel safe, instead made the house feel less like a home and more like a gilded, sterile cage.
Her hand, trembling slightly, rubbed across her stomach.
She turned to the side, examining her profile.
Yup. It was no longer just bloating. She was most definitely, undeniably pregnant.
She had no idea what having a baby would mean for her life right now.
Up to this point, she and Garrett had no responsibilities outside themselves and their careers.
They could jump on a plane, go to whatever city or country they wanted, without a worry in the world.
A baby meant slowing down. A baby meant roots.
She was ready, she told herself firmly. Being thirty-four years old, the time had finally come to raise a family.
Ready or not, here it comes. Sometimes the best life has to offer comes when least planned or expected.
Kayden and Lana’s relationship was a testament to that, without all the hell that had happened afterward anyway.
Paula walked into her palatial, expensive closet and flipped on the light.
The sudden brightness was blinding. Rows and rows of designer clothes, racks with hundreds of pairs of shoes, and shelves of bags and accessories stood in stark, colorful contrast to the pure white carpet, walls, and cabinetry.
She reached for her favorite, oversized cashmere sweater and pulled it on, the soft material enveloping her.
A small, genuine smile crept across her face as she realized, pretty soon, she wouldn’t be able to fit into almost anything in this ridiculous, beautiful room.
The smile faded as quickly as it came. Garrett knew.
But that was it. She wasn’t ready to speak to her mother.
Telling Maureen anything personal felt like a betrayal of herself.
And she definitely couldn’t tell Kayden, not after their recent, devastating loss.
And Lana. Her heart ached. How could she ever tell Lana?
It wasn’t fair. It wasn't fair that they had lost their baby, and here she was, pregnant and conflicted.
Telling her about this... this "bundle of joy".
.. wouldn't make matters any easier. It would feel like twisting a knife. I’ll wait, she decided. I'll wait until I absolutely have to.
But that still wasn’t the only thing she was afraid of.
With a heavy sigh, Paula resigned herself to getting dressed for the night's dinner with her friends. She’d blame her lack of drinking on a stomach issue, or maybe jet lag.
Her friends were super nosy, their lives a whirlwind of gossip that they spread faster than any tabloid in town.
The last thing she needed was them speculating.
Her cell phone rang from the other room, the sharp, electronic sound slicing through the oppressive quiet of the house.
Her entire body went rigid. Her heart didn't just stop; it seized.
She walked back into the bedroom, her legs feeling like lead, and stared at the cube-like device on the top of her vast, empty canopy bed.
The screen read: Hamby Securities, Ltd.
Paula’s breath escaped her in a ragged, desperate whoosh, and she nearly sagged with relief.
Oh, thank God. She had been so afraid, so utterly terrified, that it would be Taylor calling her.
Again. She didn't want to talk to him unless it was about business, and even then, she tried to keep the conversations short, her voice clipped and cold.
The night of the incident... the night she and Taylor had both been running on adrenaline, fear, and something else.
.. they had slept together. It was a colossal, stupid, life-altering mistake, one she wished with every fiber of her being she could reverse.
He’d called several times since, "wanting to talk," and she'd been uninterested, brushing him off.
But "uninterested" wasn't the right word.
Terrified was. Terrified that this tiny, secret life growing inside her wasn't her husband's at all. It could be his.
She hit answer on the phone and put the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” she said into the phone.
As the security manager began to speak, he informed her that the intruder alarm at her home in Hamby had gone off. She sat on the bed as he continued to inform her of graffiti that had been sprayed on the side of her house as well.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“A few days ago. We’ve been trying to reach you.”
Paula sighed, not sure what could be happening. There had never been anything of the sort in the past. Could it be Kim, she wondered. As fast as it crossed her mind, it terrified her.
“Can you increase security? Have someone physically on the property?” she asked.
After working out the details of the cost involved, Paula read her credit card number over the phone and assured someone would be there by morning.
After she hung up, she had to arrange for someone to paint over the graffiti on her property the next day.
A sheen of sweat ran across Paula’s face after she hung up the phone with them.
Something was off. For a moment, she considered calling Taylor to have him look into it, but decided against it.
Tonight, she needed normal; she would deal with crazy tomorrow.
AUNT MAE SAT at her small, newly designed table in the back of the diner, fanning her flushed face with a laminated menu.
The lunchtime rush was finally dying down, but she was exhausted.
Bone-deep, soul-weary, exhausted. The familiar, chaotic symphony of the kitchen—the sizzle of the flat-top, the clatter of plates, the sharp ding of the order bell—seemed to be coming from a great distance.
The job was becoming harder. Her feet throbbed in their sensible shoes, her lower back was a constant, dull ache, and her hands, stiff in the morning, didn't grip the heavy pots like they used to. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself.
But lately... lately, it was getting harder to do it all.
To serve, to cook, to clean, and to boss everyone around with the booming, cheerful authority they all expected.
She let the menu drop, her gaze drifting out over the patrons in the dining room.
Mr. Henderson was laughing, really laughing, at something the new waitress said.
The Miller kids were bent over a single, massive milkshake, their faces lit with conspiratorial smiles.
The sound of quiet conversations, the clinking of silverware, the bond of this town sharing a meal under her roof.
.. this was the reward. This was what warmed her heart, a deep, steady heat that no kitchen stove could ever produce.
What in the world could she possibly do sitting at home all day? Stare at the walls? Wait for the mail? The thought of that kind of silence, of being useless, was a cold, sharp dread that pierced her weariness.
Aunt Mae willed the thought from her mind and grabbed the tall, sweating glass of lemon-flavored iced tea sitting in front of her.
She took a long, sharp sip, the cold and tartness a welcome jolt.
No. There was plenty of work left for her to do, and she intended to do it until she flat-out couldn't anymore.
That day might be coming, she thought, a small, rebellious part of her acknowledging the truth. But it surely would not be today.
With a soft, private grunt of effort, she pushed herself up from the table, her joints protesting the movement.
She ignored them, grabbed her dishrag from the table, and threw it over her shoulder like a badge of honor.
She bustled herself back into the bright, loud, wonderful chaos of the kitchen, ready to give it another four hours.
THE SILENT DINNER was more awkward than Kayden had first thought it would be.
He sat across from his mother and Heathcliff, and they all ate in complete silence.
The only noises were from the forks and other silverware tapping and scraping against the fine China.
Maureen had Rochelle make lamb chops, mint jelly, rice pilaf, and steamed vegetables.
It was absolutely delicious, but Kayden was ready for her to talk.