Chapter 33 - Laurel
Ouch. I had been running my brush so furiously through my hair I clunked myself hard, my head throbbing. Tossing the brush down, I scowled in the mirror at the frizzy halo I had created and rubbed the sore spot on my scalp.
Was this how those fairy tale maidens felt, trapped in their towers? Except I wasn’t waiting for the prince to come rescue me. He was the one who put me here. Gathering my hair into a ponytail, I left the luxurious bathroom and paced around in my equally sumptuous guest room for a while.
Oh, I could go out to the pool, or walk around the neatly manicured lawn, or even go shopping if I was willing to let a driver follow me around, all the while knowing he was secretly holstering a gun somewhere under his jacket.
The one place I couldn’t go was to the restaurant, because it was completely shut down, and that was where my fury stemmed from.
Not at Mik, who was doing what he thought was best for everyone.
We’d all been victims, after all, not just me.
That didn’t help the anger that was only directed at myself, either.
This was all my fault. I was the target here, not the restaurant or Mik’s family, or the other employees.
I imagined myself back at Canyon Vines, constantly waiting for the next insult, the next blank-eyed rage that inevitably had me nursing tender ribs or having to wear long sleeves even when the weather called for tank tops. Should I have stayed to prevent this?
Should I go back and admit defeat?
No, that wasn’t something that was ever going to happen. What I should have done was not blithely think I could so easily live out the rest of my days once I was a few hundred miles away from Rand. I should have changed my name, gone further, gone into a completely different line of work.
I should have given up everything. Instead, everyone around me had to give something up. How long was Mik going to delay the opening? How long would Andre hang around before realizing he didn’t need to put up with this shit? How much money was Mik losing?
This was all on me. I left my room, stifled by the same path I was wearing in the thick carpet, and sat outside with my feet in the pool and the sun dappling my skin as the decorative palm trees waved over my head.
It was so beautiful out here. And I was safe. But at what cost?
“Can I get you a drink, ma’am?” The cook, who came several times a week, hovered over me, looking anxious. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look a little tense.”
Understatement. My fingernails were digging into the edge of the pool, and I wasn’t so much dangling my feet in the pool as kicking up a maelstrom.
I tried to smile and look more relaxed, and declined her kind offer, my stomach empty but not in any mood for anything.
After only a few days without the constant bustle of work, I had grown sick of the leisure life, and nothing really interested me.
I tried reading, and Mila called me once to ask me out to lunch, but now all I heard was the motivation behind her offer.
Pity. Surely Mik put her up to it.
Why? That was the question that nagged at me the most. I didn’t understand why he was putting his life on hold for me, when it turned out his father wasn’t threatening to marry him off after all.
While the offer of safety was a big factor in helping me agree, the main reason I was able to accept was that I thought I was also helping him out.
Now it felt awful, worse than the twisting in my empty stomach, to know he was only doing it out of pity. And responsibility. I couldn’t forget that. I might have thought he was a tyrant when he first came on the scene, but he was a generous one, taking excellent care of his employees.
Once we were living together, and I overheard a few of his breakfast phone conversations with his accountant, I learned that the reason none of the construction workers ever complained was that they got a bonus every time Mik made changes.
Andre’s salary rose every time his menu was desecrated.
He gave ten grand to one of his drivers who had to take a leave of absence and return to Russia for a family emergency, and Mik refused to call it a loan. That was a mighty big gift.
At the time, I told him how nice it was that he did that, and he looked at me like he didn’t understand the concept of nice. “It’s the right thing to do,” he said. “The man works for me. I have to take care of him.”
So Mik had a heart of gold under that gruff exterior, but how long could I swallow being a charity case?
No one ever helped me out. While I truly believed I could work my way up to the position I wanted in life, a big reason I didn’t go to college was because my parents didn’t think it was worth paying for.
They didn’t give me so much as a going-away present when I finally saved enough to strike out on my own in California. Not a single congratulation when I got what I thought was my dream job. Well, the job was a dream. The man who gave it to me, not so much.
And now I was with someone who actually was a dream. Someone I would have been happy to call my husband by now. Some part of me believed we might be able to make this contract into something real, but that was when I thought I was going into it with something to offer.
Yes, we had passion. Oh my God, so much passion. But I couldn’t be with someone solely because he felt like he was responsible for me. After Rand, I absolutely had to be on equal footing in a relationship.
If only this were a relationship and not this weird transaction I could never repay.
That evening, Mik came home with some work for me, and I almost squealed with joy. “We’re back on track?” I asked.
“When were we off track?” he asked. “Oh, you mean with the opening? No, this is some research I thought you might enjoy. I was thinking about investing in some land in Mexico and starting my own vineyard. I’ll need an expert.”
I stared at him blankly, my mind racing. Was this his dream or mine? “Not a brewery?”
“I already have one of those,” he said. “Do you want to help or not?”
“Okay, grumpy.” Yes, of course I did. This was just what I needed.
He laughed, chucking me under the chin. “You’d know all about being grumpy. Now maybe you can stop moping around.”
So that was the reason behind this. He felt bad for me. Again. “It’s not like you’re ever around to see it,” I muttered, taking the folders from him. I mean, what was he doing all day if the restaurant was closed?
“Oh, you miss me?” he asked, giving me that panty-melting smile. “Then put that down. Let’s put on a movie and not watch it.”
All my misgivings began to dissolve. Then his phone rang. After a few short words, he ended the call. “Sorry,” he said. “I have to go.”
“Why?” I asked the first bold, direct question about what he got up to every night.
“Family,” he said, turning away.
Family. My heart sank. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him, but it was confirmation that I wasn’t part of that classification to him. “Can you set up some appointments with those realtors?” he called over his shoulder on his way out.
Dragging the folders into the living area, I sank onto a couch and spread them out on the coffee table.
I had no reason to have hurt feelings. Whatever the reasons were for our fake marriage, I had agreed to it.
I might not be Mik’s wife in the way I would have liked—not real, but at least equal—but I was still his employee.
Working would help me get over this strange sadness I couldn’t shake. There was no call for it. None. I was just upset that the restaurant was getting screwed up because of me, but now I could help again. Earn my keep, so to speak.
The areas featured in Mik’s folders were stunning, and I set out to research the rainfall and soil properties, and any other nearby vineyards, and what kind of grapes they grew.
It was a huge relief to not have to think about striking out on my own again, for the good of those around me.
I was useful again, not a burden who was ruining everything.
When I opened my calendar app to have it ready to request appointments, I was shocked to see how the time had flown since I first came to LA.
I was lucky to get the job within two weeks of arriving or I would have been sunk.
Then Mik took over, and everything started moving as fast as lightning, each change like a new flash.
Wait a minute. I scrolled back to the last month, and then the month before that. There was the red dot I always put on the cute calendar app to signify my period, but there wasn’t one last month. I was normally really good about that, hating to be taken by surprise by Aunt Flo.
There was the tiny sparkling star I put after the first night I lost my mind and fell into bed with Mik.
It was probably stupid and childish, but the app was kind of like a secret diary to me as well as a calendar.
Nobody knew what any of my virtual stickers meant, but me, and it was a nice reminder of good and bad days as well as keeping my appointments.
So there was the star, but then no red dot.
The phone fell out of my hands, and I stared straight ahead, my mind casting back, trying to remember.
No freaking way. There was no freaking way.
Except now all of a sudden I had a reason other than encroaching depression for being so tired lately.
I pressed on my chest. Did my breasts feel tender?
Google wasn’t helping me out at all, because I was seeing all sorts of symptoms of early pregnancy applying to me. I hadn’t really been nauseous lately, right? Just wracked with guilt and worry.
I didn’t run, but my step was harried as I found the driver hanging around outside with a gardener I had been beginning to suspect also doubled as security staff.
“I need to run an errand,” I said.
“It’s after nine,” he said.
“Twenty-four-hour pharmacy,” I replied, pressing my hand against my stomach in a warning not to argue with me. I’d pull the Mrs. Fokin card if I had to.
With a shrug, he complied, and at the nearest pharmacy, I bought a couple of pregnancy tests, trying not to puke while I prayed and paid. I kept the bag clutched in my hand the entire way home, and this time I was running as soon as I got out of the car, forgetting to thank the driver.
The first one was only supposed to take a minute, but that seemed like an hour, and damn it, I was almost too nervous to pee. It didn’t take ten seconds before the line appeared, bright and bold. No way to dispute or question it. It was exactly like the positive example on the back of the box.
Pregnant.
If I wasn’t a responsibility to Mik before, I certainly was now.