2. Gianna
— ? —
Gianna
Seven months later, I ate dinner alone in our Texas Hill Country manor while my husband worked late. Again.
The dining room seated twenty-four. I sat at the head of the empty table, eight months pregnant, picking at food our private chef had prepared for two.
The second plate sat untouched across from me, covered with a silver dome to keep it warm, like Corey still believed Orion might walk through the door any minute.
I’d stopped believing that weeks ago.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the ranch stretched out into the dusk.
Rolling hills dotted with live oaks, the distant shapes of cattle grazing near the creek, and beyond that, miles and miles of Barnes land.
Orion’s legacy. It was beautiful in a way that made me feel lonelier than darkness would have.
I pulled out my phone and texted Orion: Coming home for dinner?
Then I waited.
The clock on the wall, some minimalist designer piece that didn’t match the warm wood and stone of the rest of the house, ticked through the seconds.
I ate three bites of brisket. Pushed roasted vegetables around my plate.
Felt the baby kick against my ribs like a small, impatient demand for attention.
“I know,” I murmured, rubbing the spot where the tiny foot had landed. “Daddy should be here.”
Twenty minutes later, my phone finally buzzed.
Stuck in meetings. Don’t wait up.
I read those six words.
Don’t wait up.
Then I did exactly what he told me not to do. I waited.
I moved from the dining room to the great room, which was somehow even more cavernous.
Exposed timber beams, a stone fireplace big enough to stand in, leather furniture that smelled like money and old Texas.
Through the windows, I could see the horse barn lit up in the distance, the foreman probably doing evening rounds.
Orion loved this land. Sometimes I thought he loved it more than he loved me.
The hours crawled by. I watched half a documentary about penguins, then switched to a reality show about rich people renovating houses they didn’t need, then gave up on TV entirely and just sat there, watching the stars come out over the pastures.
At midnight, I heard the front door open.
The security system chimed its soft announcement, front door, and then Orion’s footsteps echoed through the foyer, that distinctive rhythm I could pick out anywhere. The heavy tread of boots on hardwood. The walk of a man who had places to be, even at midnight, even in his own home.
He appeared in the doorway of the great room, already pulling off his Stetson.
“Hey,” he said, and then he was talking, the words spilling out in that rapid-fire way he had when his brain was still running at business speed.
“God, what a day. The board meeting ran three hours over, and then Peterson started pushing back on the Q4 projections for the energy division, which is insane because the numbers are solid, and I had to walk him through the analytics line by line like he doesn’t have an MBA from Stanford.
And then I had to deal with the ranch manager about the new breeding program, and there’s an issue with the water rights on the south pasture… ”
“The baby kicked really hard today,” I interrupted.
Orion paused mid-hat-toss. “What?”
“The baby.” I put my hand on my stomach, where our child had spent the afternoon practicing for the World Cup.
“Kicked so hard it took my breath away. Like, I actually couldn’t breathe for a second.
And I could see my stomach move from the outside, this little bump traveling across like something out of a movie. ”
“That’s great, babe.” He was moving toward the wet bar now, probably looking for the bourbon he kept in the cabinet by the window. “Really exciting.”
The same thing he said when I told him I’d finished decorating the nursery. The same thing he said when I mentioned I’d found a doula I liked. The same thing he said about everything, always, while his attention stayed firmly fixed on whatever was next on his mental to-do list.
I followed him to the bar, watching as he poured himself two fingers of Blanton’s.
He’d changed out of whatever he’d worn to the office and was back in his ranch clothes now.
Worn jeans that fit him like sin, a faded henley pushed up to his elbows, forearms tanned and corded with muscle.
He looked like the cover of one of those cowboy romance novels Daisy was always reading.
And he was barely looking at me.
“Orion.”
“Mm?” He was checking his phone again, scrolling through emails with his free hand while he sipped his bourbon.
“When was the last time you came to an ultrasound appointment?”
He actually looked up, which felt like a small victory. “What do you mean?”
“An ultrasound. The doctor’s office. The thing where they show us our baby on a screen and tell us if everything’s developing okay.” I kept my voice steady, even though my chest felt tight. “When did you last come to one of those?”
His brow furrowed. I watched him try to remember, scrolling through his mental calendar the same way he scrolled through his emails.
“It was… when we found out the sex,” he said. “When we learned it was a boy.”
“That was seven weeks ago.”
“Was it?” He frowned like I’d gotten the math wrong. “That can’t be right.”
“It is right. Seven weeks. You’ve missed three appointments since then.”
“I had the Houston trip. And the board retreat in Dallas. And the cattle auction in Fort Worth…”
“I know what you had.” The tightness in my chest was spreading now, moving up into my throat. “Because you always have something.”
Orion set down his glass. He was looking at me with that expression I hated, the one that was trying to figure out if this was a real problem or just pregnancy hormones, if I needed to be managed or actually heard.
“I’ll come to the next one,” he said. “I promise. When is it?”
“Thursday at two.”
“I’ll be there. I’ll put it in the calendar right now.” He pulled out his phone, thumbs moving over the screen. “See? Done. Thursday at two, Dr. Reinhard, ultrasound. I’ll be there.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I’d heard this promise before. After the first missed appointment, and the second, and the third. Each time, he’d sworn he’d be there. Each time, something had come up. Something that couldn’t wait.
I’m not something that can wait either, I wanted to say. Our son isn’t something that can wait.
“Okay,” I said instead, because it was midnight and fighting with Orion was like trying to hold water in my fists. It just slipped through, no matter how tightly I gripped.
We went to bed.
He reached for me out of habit, his hand finding my hip, but I turned away, facing the window where the ranch lights blurred through my tears.
After a moment, he stopped reaching. Rolled onto his back. I heard him pick up his phone, heard the soft tap of his fingers on the screen.
I lay there in the darkness, listening to him answer emails for people who weren’t me, and felt the space between us grow wider with every message he sent.
He’s busy, I told myself. He’s building something. This is temporary.
But it didn’t feel temporary.
It felt like slowly drowning in a house full of beautiful things, while the person who was supposed to save me stood on the shore checking his phone.
***
The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow.
Early ride with the foreman. Will call later. Love you.
I was a reminder hovering at the bottom of his to-do list, below the board meetings and the conference calls and the quarterly projections and the cattle counts.
I crumpled the note and lay there for a while, feeling the baby shift inside me. He was active in the mornings, my son. Always moving, always kicking, like he was impatient to be born and start living his life.
“I know the feeling,” I murmured, rubbing the spot where his heel was pressing against my ribs. “I’m impatient too.”
The morning stretched ahead of me. I had a prenatal yoga class at ten (virtual, because the nearest studio was forty-five minutes away in Austin).
Lunch with Daisy over FaceTime at noon. In between and after, there was nothing but time.
Time to think, time to feel the weight of my own loneliness pressing down on me like something physical.
I was still lying there when my phone rang.
Mama’s name on the screen.
“Hey, Mama,” I said, pushing myself up against the headboard. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, baby, everything’s fine. I just wanted to check on you.” A pause, and I could hear her moving around her kitchen, the familiar sounds of pots and running water. “And I wanted to tell you something. About your sister.”
My stomach tightened. “What about Demi?”
“She lost her job, sweetheart. Last week. That marketing firm she was working for, they did layoffs, and…” Mama sighed. “She’s been staying in her apartment, not answering calls. You know how she gets.”
I did know. Demi’s pride was a fortress. She’d rather starve than admit she needed help.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, and I meant it, even though things between Demi and me were… complicated.
“I was just thinking,” Mama continued, her voice careful now, “maybe there’s something Orion could do? He’s got all those companies. Maybe there’s a position somewhere…”
After she hung up, I lay there staring at the ceiling.
Demi needed a job.
Orion had jobs.
The thought should have ended there. Should have been immediately dismissed, filed away under terrible ideas alongside eating gas station sushi and texting your ex at 2 a.m.
But it didn’t end there.
Because the guilt never goes away. It just sits in your chest like a stone, getting heavier every time Demi looks at you with those eyes full of resentment. Every time she makes a comment about your luck, your life, your husband.
Your husband.
The one she’d been introduced to first. The one who’d chosen me.
What if… what if giving her this could change things?
What if a good job, a great job, one that paid three times what she’d been making and gave her real responsibility and a chance to prove herself, could finally make her see me as something other than the sister who stole her life?
It was stupid. I knew it was stupid.
But lonely people do stupid things, and I was so, so lonely.
I picked up my phone and called Orion.
“Hey, babe.” He sounded distracted, wind in the background. Probably out on the ranch somewhere, probably beautiful and completely unaware that his wife was about to make a terrible suggestion. “Everything okay?”
“I want to talk to you about something. About Demi.”
The pause was heavy. “What about her?”
“Mama called. She lost her job last week. And I was thinking…” I took a breath. “I was thinking maybe you could hire her. Give her a position at Cliff.”
Another pause, longer this time. “You want me to hire your sister. The one who called our pregnancy meaningless.”
“I know how it sounds. But maybe… maybe if she had something of her own, something that wasn’t about me or us, she’d stop being so… angry. Maybe it would help.”
“Gianna.”
“Just think about it. Please. She’s smart, Orion. She’s good at what she does when she’s not busy resenting me. And if she was working for you, making real money, building something for herself…”
“She’d still resent you. She’d just be doing it from my office.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “Or maybe not. Maybe this is the thing that finally changes things between us.” I heard my own voice, heard how desperate it sounded, and hated it. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But she’s my sister.”
Silence on the line. I could picture him out there somewhere on the ranch, sitting on his horse with the phone pressed to his ear, that look on his face he got when he was calculating odds.
“If I do this,” he said finally, “I need you to understand something. It’s going to be strictly professional. I’ll keep my distance. Meetings only when necessary, everything through proper channels. I’m not going to give her any reason to think that means anything.”
“That’s exactly what I want. Keep it professional. Just… give her a chance.”
Another long pause. “Fine. I’ll have Sarah reach out to her. But Gianna? Think this through.”
“I know,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
I hung up and sat there in the silence of the manor, feeling the baby kick against my ribs.
This is a good thing, I told myself. This could fix everything.
But some part of me, some small voice in the back of my mind, was already whispering that I’d just made a terrible mistake.