Читать книгу Revealed: His Secret Child - Сандра Хьятт - Страница 10

Married?

Surely she had misheard him.

She’d never been good at reading his face but there was no mistaking the implacable seriousness of his voice.

And it terrified her.

But now was not the time to give in to, or even show, her fear. She thought frantically. This Max was not the man she’d thought she knew. “Maybe I owe you something.” Gillian spoke calmly, surprising herself with her composure. Deliberately, she released her grip on the table and rested her hands in her lap.

Where they clenched into fists as she struggled to find her center in a world that was spinning, threatening to spiral out of control.

“Damn right you do.”

“And yes, maybe we need to work something out but—”

“There are no maybes and buts, and there’s no we. I’ve already worked it out.”

She remembered that about him, how decisively he acted. She used to like that confidence, that absolute certainty, but what she needed from him now was compromise and recognition that there would have to be negotiation. So it was up to her to be the reasonable one.

He’d see sense.

He had to.

She stood and crossed to him. The cold fury he radiated stopped her from getting too close. But she knew there was a reasonable man inside there. Once he’d let her see glimpses of a loving side that had enamored her. “You can see Ethan as much as you want. You can have visitation on the weekends, I won’t argue with that. Of course, initially, I’ll have to be there at all times, to reassure him, but as he gets used to you—”

“You have no idea, do you?” Max closed what remained of the gap she’d left between them, drawing himself up to his full six feet, using every tactic, and none of them subtle, to dominate. “I’ve already missed out on two years and ten months of my son’s life.” He spoke quietly. “I’m not settling for visitation on your terms on the weekends. But I can be reasonable.”

Gillian dared to hope.

“I’ll give you two options. You come to Vegas with me right now and marry me—giving Ethan a father who is married to his mother.” His gaze raked over her. Such coldness where once there’d been such heat. Once just a look between them and passion combusted. “And don’t worry,” he said as though he’d read her thoughts, “I won’t be claiming any marital rights. Anything I felt for you is long dead.”

Gillian held herself utterly still, showed no reaction. If he was lashing out now, it was no more than she expected. All she needed from him was a glimmer of reasonableness. “And my second option?” She held tight to her faint hope.

Ethan’s gurgling laughter drifted through from the living room. Max glanced that way before training his hardened gaze back on her. “Or we face off in court. And it’ll be you who’s fighting to get weekend visitation rights.”

That faint hope withered. “You wouldn’t.” But she didn’t believe her own assertion. “You wouldn’t take him from me.”

“Just try me, Gillian. You had no qualms about taking him from me.”

Cold dread seized her. He would do it. He was ruthless enough and furious enough. And rich enough.

She had her salary from the newspaper, and she could sell this house she’d inherited from her grandmother, and she even had a small nest egg—for a rainy day. It was no insurance against the storm of the century that Max could call down on her shoulders. He’d use the Preston millions to fight for custody of her son. Make sure he got his way. She wouldn’t stand a chance.

He slid his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling my lawyers. It’s your choice as to whether I instruct them to start proceedings for a custody suit or to draw up a prenup and fax it through to the jet before we land in Vegas.”

Gillian stared at him. He held her gaze, unflinching, unbending. Finally, she spoke. “You know my choice.”

Max smiled. Perfect white teeth, cold blue eyes. “Pack your bags while I make the call. We’re leaving in ten minutes and won’t be back till tomorrow.”

“No. We’re not.”

“Changed your mind already?” His thumb hovered over a button on his phone.

“No. I’m providing you with a demonstration of why you didn’t, don’t, want children. Ten minutes isn’t enough. It’s not a case of throwing a few things into a bag anymore. I’ll need food for Ethan, his music, his favorite books, clothes and his blanket. I haven’t showered yet myself. I’ll need an hour. At least.”

“I’ll give you half an hour. We can buy whatever we need.”

“We can’t buy his favorite blanket.”

“That’s why I’m giving you half an hour, not ten minutes.” He pressed a button on his phone, lifted it to his ear. “Tristan.” He smiled at something the other man said then glanced at Gillian. “Yeah. It’s important.”

Dimly, she heard him talking while she made her way upstairs. This couldn’t be happening. Numbly, she showered and changed and then packed.

Max said nothing when she reappeared forty-five minutes later. She stood at the doorway to the family room, two cases behind her, surveying Ethan and Max as they played trains on a completely redesigned track that now appeared to be under attack by rampaging dinosaurs.

Max scanned her from head to toe. He didn’t look at his watch and he didn’t say anything. She had no idea whether his lack of comment on her timekeeping was due to forbearance because of Ethan’s presence, or because he’d lost track of time.

“Daddy,” Ethan said, “look.”

Max’s eyes widened and he looked sharply back at Ethan.

She’d seen his shock. Felt it herself. “Daddy.” Her son had called him “Daddy.” As though for him it was the most natural thing in the world. But she knew that single word had rocked both Max’s and her world to the core.

He’d never wanted children. At all, he’d said. And now a little boy was calling him “Daddy.” Already making demands on him. It wasn’t too late for Max to back out. Gillian held her breath.

Far from backing out, Max reached across and ruffled Ethan’s curls. “Come on, tiger.” Ethan seemed to swell with pride at the power of the nickname. “Mommy’s waiting.” He watched Gillian for her reaction. She was too numb to show any.

Out on the driveway he looked from his two-door Maserati coupe to her hatchback.

“There’s not a lot of room in the back of yours for Ethan.” She stated the obvious. “And his car seat and CDs are already in my car. And wipes for sticky hands.” She wasn’t going to feel sorry for him. This situation was of his own making. The sacrifice of driving to the airport in L.A. in her car was nothing compared to what he was asking her to do.

He shook his head. Resignation? She wasn’t sure.

Lulled by the noise and the motion, Ethan was sleeping by the time the jet landed in Las Vegas. As it taxied to a halt, Max and Gillian both stood looking at him. His face and the cream leather armchair his car seat was strapped into were smudged with peanut butter, his head was tipped to one side, long lashes curling on his cheeks. Max reached for the buckles. “You take the bags,” she said. “I’ll take Ethan. If he wakes in someone else’s arms he might get upset.” Max shrugged, acquiescent now that he’d gotten his way where it counted. Or wary of getting covered in peanut butter?

Gillian crouched in front of the armchair, gently releasing the buckles. Ethan slowly opened his eyes. He smiled when he saw her and her heart swelled as it always did. “Where’s Daddy?”

Gillian closed her eyes at the stab of hurt. “He’s right here, sweetheart.” She moved so that Ethan could see Max. She looked up at him expecting to see gloating, but what she saw was worse, and she looked away from the pity in his gaze.

In the chapel’s waiting room, thoughtfully equipped with a toy box, Ethan played. Max, now wearing the dark suit he’d changed into on the jet, relaxed in one of the armchairs calmly sending emails and making and taking calls on his phone while Gillian paced the red carpet.

The door to the waiting room opened and the celebrant’s assistant beckoned them. Gillian and Ethan packed up the toys. She kept hold of a book for Ethan to look at during the service, and walked to the door. She held her son’s hand, hoping that he didn’t sense she was, for the first time in their almost three years together, the one needing reassurance from the contact.

The assistant smiled at Gillian and patted her shoulder as she stopped in front of her. “Don’t worry. Most brides are a little nervous.” Gillian wasn’t nervous so much as in shock. Just this morning she’d been deciding between cleaning the fridge and finishing her book. The fridge had been looking like the loser. Now the loser was her—marrying a man because of an ultimatum.

She squared her shoulders. She just needed to get through this. Max would have what he wanted—his name on a marriage certificate beside hers—and they could go home and get on with their lives.

“And you do look beautiful,” said the assistant.

She glanced down at the dress that at the last minute she’d decided to bring. A silver shift dress she’d bought a couple of months ago to attend a work cocktail party with her friend Maggie. If she was going to get married, then she was going to look at least halfway decent doing it. If nothing else came of this, Ethan would have a picture of his parents marrying. She wanted to create the most realistic illusion she could. Max came to stand beside her.

“Doesn’t she, sir?” The assistant looked to Max for his agreement.

“She’s always looked lovely,” he said, as though the fact bothered him.

“The two of you make a very handsome couple,” the assistant continued, oblivious to the tension between them. The other woman had to be delusional if she thought they made a good couple, but maybe it helped her get pleasure from her job.

The three of them, Max, Gillian and Ethan, walked into the chapel itself. Music, a tune she didn’t recognize, wafted from unseen speakers. Her heels tapped out her reluctant progress on the pale terra-cotta tiles as they made their way up the aisle between rows of white wrought-iron chairs.

“Mommy, you’re holding too tight.”

She eased her hold on her son’s hand. “Sorry, sweetie,” she whispered. If she had a bouquet she could squeeze the flowers instead. Max reached for her free hand, held it firmly. She flicked a glance in his direction, saw his frown, saw a muscle working in his jaw. But oddly, there was a strange comfort in his clasp.

She’d never been the sort to dream about her perfect wedding, but if she had, this certainly wouldn’t have been it.

The marriage celebrant, a dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties, stood at the front of the room between wisteria-twined columns. “At least she’s not an Elvis impersonator,” Gillian murmured. The corner of Max’s lips lifted.

At the front of the chapel she sat Ethan on one of the chairs, crouched in front of him and whispered for him to be good and very quiet for just a few minutes. “Why?” he asked loudly.

“I’ll explain soon, okay?” She patted his knee and straightened. Her heart thudding, she walked back to Max, standing facing him. At a signal from the celebrant, the music quieted. And into the silence a little voice piped up. “Mommy, I’m hungwy.”

Gillian looked at Max. The glacial blue gaze thawed to reveal suppressed amusement. “We’ll get you something to eat real soon, tiger,” he said. And that was enough. If it had been Gillian, the assurance would have been questioned. What? When? But I’m hungry now. Ethan’s attention shifted to the small board book in his lap.

“We are gathered here today …” As the celebrant began to speak, Gillian tuned out the words. They meant nothing to her. She trained her gaze on the column beyond Max’s shoulder.

“… on her left hand and repeat after me.” Those words cut through snapping her attention back to Max.

He reached for her hand and slipped a wedding band on to her finger. He’d had the ring sent out to the jet. Born to privilege, he was the sort of man who made things happen the way he wanted.

For example, her presence here.

He passed another ring, similar but larger, to her. This ring was one of her few victories today. If she could call it that. When Max had paused during a phone call that she’d been paying no attention to, to ask her if she had any preferences in rings, she’d insisted that if she was going to wear a ring then he ought to, too. With a nod, he’d ordered two rings. A small concession on his part, but a concession nonetheless.

She repeated the words the celebrant spoke and slid the ring in question onto his finger. A part of her recognized her relief at the fact that he would be wearing a ring, too. He’d be marked as married. To her. It wasn’t all one-sided.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

For the first time since he’d realized Ethan was his, the hard edge of tension that had seemed to grip him softened.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Max’s gaze met hers. Met and held. Her husband. The thought threatened to overwhelm her.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Holding her hands, he leaned forward.

Too numb to do anything else, she accepted the gentle brush of his lips across hers. The memory of his capacity for tenderness surfaced.

And for just a second she closed her eyes and her own tension eased.

It was done.

His wife and son.

Max walked with Gillian and Ethan from the chapel and out into the Las Vegas sunshine.

A wife he’d married only to give their son a lawful family and to guarantee an instant part in their life.

A wife he’d expected to feel nothing for. A wife whom he’d had to restrain himself from taking in his arms and holding, because Gillian—always confident, always certain—had looked so … lost.

They crossed the cobblestone courtyard to the limousine. She held the pictures taken by the chapel’s bored photographer loosely in one hand. Neither of them had looked at the photos.

He prided himself on his efficiency, on how much he managed to achieve in any given day. But finishing the day with a family, when he’d started it as a footloose, career-focused bachelor, was a major accomplishment even for him. And one he wouldn’t have seen coming in a million years. He’d never intended to have a family of his own. He’d wanted to avoid the commitments and bonds that came with family. But just because it wasn’t what he wanted for himself didn’t mean he didn’t absolutely believe in its importance.

And Ethan—his son—would have it.

He looked at the boy trotting at his side.

Without a long drawn-out battle, he’d secured a permanent and legal place in his son’s life. And he’d served notice to Gillian that he wasn’t going to let her shut him out.

A driver stood at the waiting vehicle and handed Gillian and a chattering Ethan into the back. Max followed. She eased herself over to the far side of the wide leather seat. The bulky car seat between them provided a physical barrier, Ethan’s presence a barrier of another kind. It was probably for the best.

He was still in no mood to make nice to the woman who had deceived him, but he was getting there. There were moments, even aside from the kiss, when he forgot what lay between them and remembered the connection they’d shared, saw a glimmer of possibility for something new.

They were in this together now, and he was going to make it work.

On his terms.

She pulled a small box of raisins from her handbag and passed it to Ethan along with a slice of cheese. She looked up and caught him watching her. “You want some? I have more in my bag.” She almost smiled.

Worse, he almost smiled back.

They’d had good times once. “Do we need to stop somewhere for food, or can Ethan wait till we’re on the jet? There’s a fully stocked galley on board.”

“This will tide him over. And, Max.” The way she spoke his name brought back memories. “Thanks for asking.”

Max lifted a shoulder, feigning indifference. “I’ve only had close-up experience of one child’s meltdown due to hunger and tiredness. But it was more than enough. Trust me, it’s not something I’m in a hurry to repeat.” For the time being he would have to take her lead on all things relating to parenting. He adapted quickly to most any situation, but this one was so far out of left field that it was going to take some time.

Max pulled his phone from his pocket. He’d taken the first step to ensure he’d be a part of their lives. And now he had to integrate them into his.

There was one call he had to make.

He pressed speed dial. “Hi, Mom. Are you home this evening?” She started to tell him about her day. But there’d be time enough for that tonight. “If you don’t have plans I thought I’d stop by for dinner.” She always said he didn’t come by enough, especially that he now lived back on the west coast after a stint in New York. They claimed they still barely saw him. An exaggeration. They also claimed that they didn’t know what was going on in his life. Maybe not such an exaggeration.

He glanced at the seat beside him. “Oh, and I’ll have a couple of people with me I want you to meet.” While his mother gushed at the prospect of him bringing guests and mused over possible menus, he watched the boy studiously picking raisins from the box and chewing them one at a time. Surely it would take hours to eat that way. His gaze found Gillian, watching him, her eyebrows raised. “Don’t do anything too fancy, Mom. At least one of them likes his food fairly plain.” Gillian did smile then, albeit briefly. “Oh, yeah, and the other one’s a woman. And yes we’ll be staying the night.” He finished the call.

“Staying the night? With your parents? That’s not a good idea, Max.” In fact, she looked like the prospect terrified her.

“We’re going to be in L.A. anyway. May as well stop in and meet them. And let them meet their grandson. They’re set up to have kids from all the times my sister brings her two over. And it saves Ethan an hour and a half more in the car today getting back to Vista del Mar.”

She opened her mouth then closed it again. Whatever she’d been about to say, whatever excuse she’d been about to come up with, she’d realized it wasn’t going to cut it. That any grounds she thought she had for protest were shaky. Instead, a few seconds later she said, “You didn’t warn her. Tell her who, or what …” she lifted a shoulder in a shrug “… you were bringing.”

Ethan held a raisin, which looked suspiciously like it had already been chewed, toward Max. Possibly in child etiquette, if someone offered you some of their food the correct thing to do would be to accept it. Max wasn’t going there. Instead he smiled at his son. “You have it. I’m not hungry.” At which, Ethan offered it to his mother and when she shook her head, popped the mangled raisin back into his mouth.

Max returned his attention to his wife. The one he was going to have to introduce to his family in almost no time at all. “It was enough that I said I was bringing a woman. She’ll already be on the phone to my brothers, ordering their presence tonight. I thought the ‘wife’ news might be best done in person. Besides, if I wait till tonight when Dad and my brothers are there, I’ll only have to explain it once.”

“And how will you explain it?” She looked pale and tense. But he was not going to let himself care.

“Ethan’s not going to need a whole lot of explaining. They’ll know as soon as they see him that he’s my son. There’s a picture of me and my brother at about the same age hanging in the hallway. He’s the spitting image. The hair, the eyes. Although I’m fairly sure I never offered people my half-eaten raisins. And as for you, I’ll think of something.”

She twisted the gold band on her left hand. “I never met your family when we were dating. You scarcely even talked about them.”

“I know.” The omission had been deliberate. He liked to keep the different areas of his life separate. Introducing a woman to his parents could lead to her getting the wrong impression. And vice versa. He’d never brought any of the women he’d dated home to meet his family.

His parents had a good marriage and were keen for their children, and particularly Max, to have that same emotional closeness with someone else. So keen that Max had learned at an early age not to even let on when he was dating someone. Particularly when he’d never had any intention of making it serious. Because as fervently as they wished he’d find that bond, he avoided it. They wouldn’t like the fact that he’d just married a woman that not only had they never met, but who he didn’t love. It would only upset them. “They’re not to know why we’ve married.”

“You mean your ultimatum?”

“Or your willful deception.” That took the wind out of her sails. She looked out the window, seemingly intrigued by their approach to the Las Vegas airport. “I want them to think ours is a real marriage.” He watched the back of her head. He’d always liked her hair, liked running his fingers through it. “A marriage based on love.” Her spine stiffened.

She turned back to him. “And what you want, you get?”

She’d always challenged him. Apparently, unwillingly, he still admired that about her.

“Mommy?” Ethan’s voice was plaintive.

“It’s all right, honey.” She stroked their son’s curls back from his forehead. “Don’t worry, Max,” she said quietly. “You’ll get no argument from me. At least not in public. But just so you know, I’ll be doing it for Ethan’s sake, not yours.”

“I expected nothing more. You’ve made it clear that my feelings aren’t something you take into consideration.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Max, I …”

He waited, curious to see whether she’d go on the offense or defense. He was ready for either.

She took the cheese wrapper Ethan held out for her, took her time folding it up and tucking it into a small plastic bag from within her handbag. She looked back at him, her composure regained. “If your parents are going to think we’re happily married then I need to know something about them. Like, for starters, their names.” She opened the shoulder bag that he was beginning to view as something akin to a magician’s hat. “Because if our marriage is based on love then we’ll have talked about our families.” As she rummaged in its depths, her hair swung forward, glossy and inviting, curtaining her face, hiding the lips he’d so recently kissed. He wanted to brush it back.

Ethan, his thoughts in sync with Max’s, reached for her hair. Ethan’s execution, though, was somewhat different to what Max had been thinking. His little fist closed around a handful of hair and he pulled as he giggled.

“Ethan, no.” Gillian tried to turn her head but Ethan held firm and giggled louder. “Ethan. Let go of my hair.” He giggled some more, his fingers now well and truly tangled.

Max reached over and held his laughing son’s wrist steady while he unwound Gillian’s hair from around his fingers.

“He’s not usually a hair puller,” she said when she was able to straighten. “Thank you.”

“A pleasure.” And it had been, touching her hair again, every bit as soft and silky as he remembered. “Except for the raisiny bits.”

She smiled as she ran her fingers through the recently pulled hair, smoothing it back into place, and something tenuous and beguiling shimmered between them as she held his gaze. He remembered so much more about her than just her hair.

Returning her attention to her bag, she produced a small plastic car for Ethan and then a notebook and pen. She held her pen, poised above the paper. “Your parents’ names?”

“Stephen and Laura. My sister’s Kristan, and my brothers are Daniel, Jake and Carter.”

She looked up, her face paler than it had been seconds ago. “Are they all going to be there?”

Was that apprehension in those earnest green eyes? “Surely the formidable Gillian Mitchell isn’t worried about meeting a few people?”

“Of course not.” She lifted her chin. “It was a simple question. Are they all going to be there? It impacts how much I need to know now.”

“All except Kristan and her family, and Daniel.”

“And your other brothers, are they all like you?”

“In what way?”

“Career-focused, forthright, suspicious, emotionally shut down?”

“You could be describing yourself.”

She frowned and then the creases vanished. “Maybe that’s how I used to be. But I’ve changed, Max. I had to.”

He wasn’t going to ask if the intervening years had been hard for her. Not when she’d denied him the opportunity of helping, of even being there. But he’d noticed some of the changes in her. There was a softer edge to her, a nurturing side he’d been unaware of. Even physically she looked softer, curvier. And he would not think about exploring those changes. Just this morning he’d told her she’d killed any attraction he could have ever felt for her. And he needed that to be true.

He’d married her because he was determined to be a part of his son’s life and that his son would grow up with a father who was married to his mother. And despite his threat to win custody of Ethan, he wouldn’t have been able to do that to the boy. Or even to Gillian.

She shifted in her seat, crossed one leg over the other then tugged the silver skirt of her dress down from where it had ridden up her thighs.

But it was turning out that the attraction he’d once felt was far from dead. Contrary to his efforts and intentions, a heartbeat, faint but steady and insistent, was registering.