Chapter 25
Quinn
“ W e’re doing limo karaoke,” drunk Dani informs me. “Every time we pick someone up, we play a song for them.”
“We’re not singing, though,” drunk Nicole clarifies.
“So, not karaoke, then,” I say.
The girls just laugh, because they’re drunk.
I’ve just climbed into the back of a limo, joining Dani, Nicole, and Dani’s twin sister, Danica. Dani welcomes me with a cup of sparkling apple juice.
“We need something from the eighties for Quinn,” Nicole announces, scrolling through her phone, which is tethered to a panel inside the limo.
“Which will match the interior of this limo,” I point out. “I’ve never seen so much neon in my life.”
“Isn’t it awesome?“ drunk Danica says happily.
Honestly, I would’ve rather stayed home tonight, in my jammies, than gone cruising in a party limo and out to a bar. But it’s four days until Christmas, everyone is in the holiday spirit, there’s a big party at Champagne tonight, and Dani rented the limo for us. The girls brought the limo to my place to pick me up, so how could I say no?
They all look gorgeous, and every one of them has pink cheeks.
“I see you’ve already been doing shots,” I remark soberly. There’s an open bottle of Baileys Irish Cream and a bottle of Prosecco in a built-in bin of ice, and they’re all drinking Prosecco from plastic champagne cups. “I’m not saying I’m jealous, but I’m sort of jealous. Not only can I not drink alcohol right now, I’m swelling all over, nothing fits right, and I may throw up before the night is over. Just warning you all.”
“Poor girl.” Nicole pats my knee.
“I can’t wait to be pregnant one day,” Danica says dreamily, as if I somehow made it sound enjoyable. So far, for me, it really hasn’t been. But Danica is quite different from her twin, as in way sweeter, and deeply in love with her two men—long story—and I know she’s actually happy for me.
“Well, maybe tonight’s the night for one of us,” Nicole says, and cackles happily when Dani gives her a disturbed look.
“No!” Dani says. “Condoms on cocks, always!”
“Yeah, I could’ve used that reminder a few months back,” I say, and sip my apple juice.
Danica gives me a sympathetic look.
“Ooh, I know!” Nicole has finally found a song, and puts on “Don’t You Want Me.” “This a perfect song for you and your… situation,” she shouts at me over the loud music.
“What situation?” Danica shouts.
“She met Harlan when she was waitressing,” Nicole shouts back. “Listen to the lyrics.”
“What’s going on between you two?” Danica shouts at me. We aren’t super close, but I know Dani tells her some things, even if I don’t. And I think Danica is the only one of my girlfriends who thinks Harlan is a great idea. But then again, she hasn’t met him yet.
Even Nicole has become real iffy about Team Harlan, ever since he knocked me up and I told her about all the mood swings. His, not mine.
“I don’t even know,” I say, and when I see she can’t quite hear me, I shout, “I don’t know!”
I’m now wondering if a night of super loud music in a bar, surrounded by drunk people, is a bad idea for the baby.
Should I even be going out tonight?
“Why are we sitting here so long?” Dani yells. She’s trying to look out the windows, but they’re heavily tinted. We’ve barely gotten rolling from my place, but she’s right, we’ve been sitting still for a while. “We’re not even at an intersection…”
The words are barely out of her mouth when the door next to her flies open. The girls all draw back, startled, and “Don’t You Want Me” spills out into the night.
And there stands Harlan.
He wears his usual black suit, without a tie, and when he leans down to look into the limo, the expression on his face is murderous.
“What are you doing here?” Dani shouts.
“Wait!” Nicole scrambles to turn down the music, so we can all hear this. “Okay, proceed.”
“This is ladies’ night,” Dani informs him at a more reasonable volume. “No men are allowed in this limo.”
“Except the driver,” Danica adds politely.
“And unless we pick them up at a bar,” Nicole stage-whispers.
“I won’t be picking up anyone at a bar,” Danica says earnestly.
“It’s standard ladies’ night rules,” Nicole informs Harlan. “Also, you look nice. I like your suit.”
Harlan ignores them all. All the girls are staring at him, but his gaze has locked on me.
“Get out of the car, Quinn,” he says evenly.
“Uh… Danica, this is Harlan,” I tell her. My heart is thumping. I’m not not happy to see him. I slightly don’t mind being rescued from this party limo right now.
But I definitely don’t appreciate being abducted by my baby’s father in front of my girls. Especially when he’s acting like a belligerent caveman.
Danica being Danica, however, shuffles over to the open door and offers her hand. “Oh, hi! So nice to meet you, Harlan.”
He doesn’t even glance at her.
“Quinn,” he growls warningly.
“Maybe if you asked her nicely,” Dani says coolly.
He just stares at me. Danica withdraws her hand and scoots back into her seat.
“Please, get out of the car, Quinn,” he says with restrained fury.
I glance at my friends. Dani gives me a look like, Don’t you dare, you crazy, horny pregnant woman.
“Okay, I’m just gonna go.” I scoot toward the door.
“Quinn!” Nicole says. “What about limo karaoke?”
“Yeah… I think my baby daddy is in a mood. I’ll catch up with you girls another time.”
Dani frowns.
Harlan offers me a hand. I take it and he lifts me out of the car, setting me on my feet.
I wait for him to shut the door before I smack him on the chest. “What are you doing? You can’t just show up and bark orders at me in front of my friends!”
“I said please.” He laces his fingers through mine and pulls me toward his SUV, which is parked directly in front of the limo, blocking it. Manus waits for us politely by the open back door, as if his boss isn’t acting like a total psycho.
“You need those etiquette lessons,” I mutter.
“We’ll talk in the car,” Harlan growls.
We climb into the back of the SUV, Manus shuts us in, and we get rolling, while I quietly fume and recover my dignity.
“That was embarrassing, you know. You need to apologize to my friends, the next time you see them.”
He scoffs. “Sure. After they apologize to me.”
“Are you kidding? That was hella rude. Dani paid for that limo.”
“Yeah?” He pins me with a glare. “How rude is it when they talk about me, and my child, like I’m not even there?”
I balk. “When did they do that?”
“Every single time I see them.”
I think about that as I gradually calm down. My girls have been around a lot, that’s true. As in, pretty much every time I see him these days.
It’s been weeks since I told him I wasn’t moving into that apartment above the bakery space he wanted to buy for me, and the only time I really see him is when he drops in unannounced at my house. And usually, at least one of my girls is there. It’s like they decided to start taking shifts to babysit me after I became pregnant—and my situationship with the baby’s father became such a disaster.
I don’t mind the extra love from my friends. They’ve really rallied around me. Because that’s what great friends do.
But okay, they haven’t been super welcoming to Harlan. I get that.
“They’re just protective of me,” I tell him. Surely he can understand that.
He’s protective, too.
“And yet when I’m protective of you,” he says, “I get pushed away.”
Maybe that’s true. “Well, my girls are a little less barbaric about it. They cook for me and rub my feet and help me do the dishes. You give me orders and bodyguards and track my phone. It’s stifling.”
He glowers at me. He says nothing, but now my hair seems to be the focus of his anger.
“What?”
“You changed your hair,” he says in a low, accusatory tone.
“That’s why you showed up and dragged me away from my friends? Because I went to the salon today and didn’t tell you?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“What the hell, Harlan.” I don’t even know what to say to the man. “So, you don’t like my new hair color, and this is how you choose to tell me?”
“Why did you change it?”
I can’t believe how personally affronted he’s behaving about this.
“Well, I colored it turquoise when I was going through a hard time earlier this year and just needed a change, because I do that sometimes. But I didn’t want to keep coloring it while pregnant and breast-feeding, so now that I’m out of the first trimester, I decided to just have it colored back to my natural brown.” I study him as he continues to assess my new look, which is really my natural look. “Is it bad?”
“You look beautiful,” he says tightly. His gaze drifts down to my plump pregnancy boobs, which are bursting out of my dress.
“So… what is it, then? You’re upset that I went to the salon with Nicole instead of you? Is that it?”
“You could’ve told me.”
“Why would I tell you?”
“I don’t know, Quinn. You never tell me anything. The only way I find out is by stalking you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. Your girlfriends know everything, because you tell them. I show up with dinner, and it’s the wrong thing, but your friends know what you need to eat so you don’t feel sick. They know you’re experiencing morning sickness before I do?—”
“That’s because they’re around more.”
“Because you let them come around more.”
That may be true.
“They’ve completely taken over,” he says resentfully, “like I’m not needed.”
“Well…”
“Don’t say it,” he growls.
“I don’t need you to raise this baby, Harlan,” I tell him carefully.
“I have rights.”
“I’m not trying to take the baby away from you.” I soften my tone. I don’t want him to think I’m waging war on him. I’m really not. This whole situation has just been hard, on so many levels. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just needed… air.”
He takes a deep breath, and I think he’s calming down.
“Are you really upset because you don’t feel needed?” I ask him. “Or because you think you’re not wanted ?”
He doesn’t answer, his mouth clamped shut.
“I never said I didn’t want you,” I say gently.
“Then why don’t I ever see you?” he demands.
“I’ve been busy. There’s a lot on my plate.”
“Yes, I noticed. You quit Champagne, yet you go out to bars now as often as when you worked in one.”
“First of all, that’s not true. Second, I quit Champagne because you generously offered to cover my rent, for now, so that I could cut back on work.”
He also bought me a new oven; that was the concession made when I refused to come back to his kitchen. And he bought me a new bed, insisting that it was important for the pregnancy.
I appreciate it all, but this never-ending power struggle is exhausting.
“I covered your rent so you didn’t have to work so hard through the pregnancy,” he corrects me. “So you could rest. Going out partying isn’t resting.”
“We’re not partying. At least, I’m not. I’m just spending time with my friends.”
“It’s a Thursday, Quinn. You could stay home.”
Oh my god. I just don’t understand his possessive bullshit. If he doesn’t want me to be his woman, because he “can’t offer me more” and all he wants is sex, why is he so obsessed about controlling my every move?
Is this really about the baby, or my hair, or my friends?
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I tell him.
“I’ve told you what I want. I tried to buy that bakery for you. I pay for things because I’m trying to help you.”
“And I appreciate it.”
“Do you? You haven’t slept over at my place since you became pregnant.”
I stare at him.
“So that’s the problem,” I say. He isn’t getting laid, so he’s throwing a caveman hissy fit?
“You barely let me touch you,” he growls.
“Me? You’ve been so cool and formal, you might as well be a stranger.”
“Because I don’t know what you want!”
“Don’t yell at me.”
He takes a breath. “I tolerate your ‘I’ve got this and I don’t need you’ act?—”
“It’s not an act!”
“I tolerate your friends gossiping about men, including your ex, right in front of me. I even tolerate their attitude that I’m little more than a sperm donor. But it makes me wonder if that’s how you see me.”
“Of course not.”
“It fucking feels like it.”
“Please, don’t swear. I don’t want to see you upset. I’m so tired.”
“Then why were you going out tonight?”
“Because my friends wanted to take me out, okay? And it’s almost Christmas. And I wanted to make them happy.”
He glowers at me. “And what about me? Do you want me to be happy?”
“Of course.”
“Then come home with me.”
I can feel his smoldering heat, and it’s clear what he wants. He wants to get me naked. Right now.
Maybe he wants to spank me and tell me I’ve been a bad girl, until I behave for him. Until I beg for him.
And while that would be fun…
“I’m not sure that fixes anything, Harlan.”
“How can I fix anything,” he says in a low voice, “when I don’t even understand what the problem is?”
“I feel the same way,” I say, frustrated.
Neither of us says anything else. I can feel his anger, too, which I imagine is an expression of his hurt.
Or maybe it’s his fear that I truly see him as nothing but a sperm donor? And not a real father to this baby?
That’s not true.
I’m just hurt, too.
When I look out the window and suddenly realize where we are, that we’re driving into his neighborhood and toward his house, I groan. “My god. As if your obsessive, overprotective stalking isn’t enough. Now you’re kidnapping me. Again.”
“You didn’t seem to mind last time,” he says darkly.
A familiar heat washes through my body.
But I glare at him.
“You think I’m just coming up to your bedroom with you? After everything that’s happened?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Explain that to me.”
“Because… I’m upset.”
His eyes narrow. “What are you upset about, exactly?”
I take a breath. “Nicole told me, a few weeks ago, that Megan and Jameson decided to go with another wedding cake designer,” I admit. “Was that your doing?”
“That’s why you’ve been so angry with me?” he demands. “You’re upset that you lost out on a cake design job, so you’re lashing out at me?”
“How am I lashing out at you? I was just going out with my girlfriends, and you crashed the party and stole me like a caveman. I’m surprised you didn’t just drag me away by the hair.”
“I would never do that,” he says stonily. Then he adds with a whiff of indignity, “You’re pregnant.”
“Oh! You think this is funny?”
“Nothing about this is funny.” He adds in a low, chocolatey voice, “And a man can’t steal what belongs to him.”
“I belong to you? That’s how you see it?”
His jaw does that crackling thing that is never a good sign. “That baby in your belly belongs to me.”
I lay my hands on my belly protectively. “This baby is ours ,” I correct him calmly. “Which means Jameson and Megan are the baby’s family, too.”
“You can’t design their wedding cake, Quinn.”
I sigh in frustration. Does he really think this is about a damn cake?
When we pull into his driveway and park in front of his front door, he opens the door of the SUV, and I follow him out. He helps me down, and holds my hand as he walks me into the house.
I want to be here. I really do. I’ve wanted to be in his house, in his arms, for weeks.
But not like this.
Not when there’s this terrible distance between us. I can feel the jagged edges of his emotions right now, and surely he can feel mine.
Fucking isn’t going to make them all go away.
It would be a delicious distraction, but that’s not nearly enough.
We left any possibility of having that kind of only-skin-deep sexual relationship behind the moment I found out I was pregnant.
As soon as we’re alone in his foyer, I stop in my tracks and say, “I guess you’re not taking me to your brother’s wedding, either? You’d rather keep me hidden away from your siblings like some dirty secret.”
He frowns.
“Are you ever going to introduce them to this baby? Or are you just going to hide their little niece or nephew in the closet every time they come over?”
He gives me a look that says I’m really asking for that spanking. Then says, “I can take you to the wedding if that’s what you want.”
I’m actually shocked he’d say that. I’ll be massively pregnant when Jameson and Megan get married. “As what? Your pregnant friend?”
He gives me a long look. “We’re not friends, remember?”
I’m starting to feel nauseous, and try to swallow the rising feeling. “I need to sit down.”
“What’s wrong?” Instantly, he grabs my arm and gets in my face. “Do you feel faint?”
“No. I just feel sick.”
He walks me over to a bench and sits me down. “You’re sick? Since when?”
“Not sick sick.”
He crouches in front of me. “Are you in pain? I’ll call the doctor.”
“Harlan, stop. It’s fine. Really. It’s just morning sickness.”
“It’s almost ten o’clock at night.”
“Yeah. It’s a real misnomer. It comes on at any time of day or night it damn well pleases.”
His eyebrows draw together. “Well, what fixes it?”
That’s such a Harlan question, I have to smile a little. “Nothing, really. Sometimes eating a bit. Mostly I just need… comfort.”
He blinks at me, and I sigh. Because clearly I just spoke to him in a language he doesn’t understand.
“A bath would be nice,” I interpret for him. “Followed by sleep. Lots of it.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Harlan Vance take anything so seriously as he does right now—when he gently picks me up in his arms, carries me upstairs and into the bathroom, sets me carefully on my feet, and tells me, “Get undressed, Quinn.”