Читать книгу Falling For The Pregnant Heiress - Susan Meier - Страница 12

THEY WAITED UNTIL Seth and Harper left their reception at ten o’clock that night. Trent told Sabrina he would arrange for a flight crew while Sabrina said goodbye to her mom and Jake and Avery. Lighter now that she had a plan, she strode over to say her goodbyes, then Trent escorted her through the hot August night to the limo and they rode to the Park Avenue building housing her condo.

He exited the limo with her, but she shook her head. “No need to come with me. I won’t be but a minute.”

“A minute to pack?” He laughed. “I’ve seen how you dress. Everything coordinates. You’re probably going to have a suitcase just for your shoes.”

Offended because it sounded as if he thought her trite or spoiled, she strode to her building. “I’m not that picky.” She wasn’t picky. She simply had a standard to uphold. If her mother had drilled that into her head once, she’d drilled it a thousand times.

You are a lady. Act like a lady. Dress like a lady. Speak like a lady.

With a quick push of her hand on the door, they entered the climate-controlled comfort of the lobby. Trent pulled a draft of frosty air into his lungs. She couldn’t tell if he was happy for the cool air or uncomfortable about having to explain himself.

“I didn’t say you were picky. I’m just saying you always look nice.”

She worked to stifle a smile. It shouldn’t please her that he thought she looked nice or that he cared that he’d insulted her.

But it had.

Puzzled, she led him to the elevator. She took out a key card to start it. “That’s okay.”

“Are we going to a penthouse?”

“No. Just an exclusive floor. Two condos. Half a floor each. I don’t need a whole floor.”

“Nice.” He winced. “I still sometimes marvel at luxury.”

She didn’t ask him what he meant. She knew his beginnings. Her brother had told her Trent had blue-collar roots and had worked his way through university alongside Seth. Then he’d quit the job Seth had found for him to invest on his own. She admired him. It had taken guts to leave his convenient job and trust his genius. She should probably tell him that—

A funny feeling invaded her chest and brought her up short. She shook her head to clear it of the desire to figure out why she wanted to talk about that. Right now, she should be focused on throwing some clothes into a travel bag, driving to the airport, flying to France and facing Pierre—

Because she was pregnant. Pregnant. About to be a mom.

She pictured herself holding a tiny baby the way Avery had held Abby right after she was born. The sweet little thing would snuggle against her and, like Avery, she would marvel that she had created a life.

Warmth filled her, along with a sudden desire to cry. Happy tears. Now that she’d adjusted to it, being pregnant was like a dream come true. Her life was busy but established. She could take time off, create a nursery in her big condo, set playdates, take her baby for long walks in Central Park.

The elevator reached her floor. She stepped into the lobby with two doors. One to her condo. One to the condo of a nice, recently retired couple who traveled a lot. She had breakfast with them once a month when they were home, and if they ran into each other at the elevator, they chatted happily. They’d raised four kids and adored their three grandkids.

They’d be the perfect neighbors for a single mom.

She punched a code into her alarm to disable it, then pressed her key card to the lock and opened the door onto her pristine home.

Wide-plank hardwood floors ran through the open floorplan that included a white kitchen, formal dining space and living room with a long sofa in the center of three conversation areas.

She faced Ziggy with a smile. She’d already decided which room would be the nursery and that she could dismantle the third bedroom and turn it into a playroom.

“Okay. Now that you’ve nudged me, you can go. Thank you for the use of your jet. Honestly, I’ll be happy to compensate you for the flight crew and the fuel when I return.”

His head tilted. “Oh, you think I’m just going to hand over my jet?”

“You’re not?”

He laughed. “No. I’m coming with you. You’re my best friend’s little sister and you’re pregnant. I’m not letting you fly across an ocean alone. What if you get sick? Or just faint? For at least the first trimester, I don’t think it’s wise to travel across an ocean alone.”

She was surprised he even knew the word trimester, let alone that that could be a scary time for a woman, but she let that go in favor of her real concern. “I don’t need help.”

“Never said you did. My coming is more of a just-in-case thing. Just in case you get sick. Just in case you faint.”

She wanted to argue, but she wanted to get to Paris more. It was night. She and Trent were both tired. They’d undoubtedly fall asleep for the entire seven-hour flight. When they woke in the morning, he’d be in a tux and she’d be in jeans and a shirt, suitably dressed to find Pierre.

Before Trent could buy proper clothes for a morning in the city, she’d be at Pierre’s apartment, telling him about the baby. He’d undoubtedly say he didn’t want to be a dad and she’d say that was fine. She’d just thought he had a right to know he was about to be a father. Then she’d go back to the airport to fly home.

There was no point in arguing with Ziggy because she could make the timing work for her.

“Fine. Come to France with me, but all you’ll be doing is sleeping on the jet. We won’t even talk.”

“I know the drill. I always fly at night.”

“Great.” Without another word, she walked to her bedroom to throw enough into an overnight bag to get her through a flight and a day in Paris.

When she returned to her main room a few minutes later, Ziggy stood by the wall of windows, staring at the twinkling Manhattan skyline. He’d removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows, revealing strong forearms peppered with black hair. He’d also taken off his bow tie and opened the top few buttons of his shirt. Now he was just a guy in black trousers and a white shirt. He could go with her to Pierre’s condo.

It didn’t matter. Even if he begged, she wouldn’t take him to Pierre’s. Surely, he could keep himself busy for a few hours in the most glamorous city in the world.

He took her overnight bag. “Ready?”

She slid the strap of her purse over her arm. “Ready.”

She’d chosen jeans and a peach-colored T-shirt with brown wedge-heel sandals for the flight and had combed out her long hair. Because of the curls of the up-do, it flowed in gentle waves to her shoulders.

Ziggy’s gaze traveled from her hair down her T-shirt and along the line of her jeans to her sandals. When his eyes met hers, a little jolt of electricity zapped her.

Now she knew what was going on. She was attracted to him. Sort of. The man was good-looking. But electricity? Sparks? She didn’t believe in those. Never had.

Forcing herself to ignore the firestorm rolling across her nerve endings, she smiled her most professional smile at Ziggy and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”

“Sure.”

They drove to a private airstrip and boarded the jet. The front of the cabin had four cream-colored leather seats. Behind those were two rear-facing blue leather recliners angled toward an enormous TV. It wasn’t the kind of luxury she was accustomed to. Her family’s biggest plane had two bedrooms, a kitchen and a formal dining room. But Ziggy’s little jet was obviously expensive with plush carpeting, lush leathers. And it was convenient. With no unnecessary bells and whistles, it was almost cozy.

“All the seats recline.” He pointed to a cabinet tucked behind the television. “Blankets are in there.”

She tossed her bag into one of the empty chairs and got herself a blanket. “Great. I’m exhausted.”

“Me, too.”

But when she sat on one of the pale seats, he walked back to the blue ones in front of the TV. Glad he hadn’t sat beside her—she didn’t care to feel the crazy jolt of electricity she got when he was too close—she reclined the seat, snuggled into her blanket and almost instantly fell asleep.

She slept deeply and eventually dreamed she had twins who sometimes morphed into triplets, and every time she took them to the park, Ziggy followed her, walking a big, furry dog on a leash that sometimes got caught in the wheels of her babies’ stroller.

The chaos of it jolted her heart. She woke with a start to discover they had landed in Paris, and decided her dream was an extension of Ziggy’s following her around all day at the wedding. With a long drink of air to wake herself completely, she rose from her padded seat, grabbed her overnight bag and turned to go to the private area of the small aircraft.

Rushing to the door in the back, which she assumed was a bathroom, she didn’t look right or left, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with Ziggy. Or worse, wake him. The sooner she got out of here, the better her chances of leaving alone. All she needed to do was change her shirt, refresh her makeup and maybe take a minute to think about what she’d say to Pierre—

She opened the bathroom door and gasped.

Standing in the middle of the compact room, wrestling a shirt over his head was Ziggy—Trent.

A broad chest with well-defined muscles that led down to six-pack abs?

That was Trent. Adult. Sexy. And oh, so male. She’d never be able to think of him as her brother’s college friend Ziggy again.

She spun away, her heart doing something that felt like a samba in her chest. “Sorry.”

“No, wait. I’m done.” He slid out of the room into the main cabin and tossed a duffel bag onto one of the empty seats. “Didn’t want to be wearing a wrinkled tux around Paris.”

“How’d you get an overnight bag?”

“There’s always a go bag in my office. Had one of my assistants bring it to the plane while you were packing.”

She worked not to glance down at his chest, now covered by a gray T-shirt. But the vision of his pecs and abs was firmly planted in her brain. “I didn’t think you would be going to Pierre’s apartment with me.”

“I told you. You’re my best friend’s sister. I’m not going to let you go to some guy’s house alone and tell him you’re pregnant. God knows how he’ll react.”

“He’s not going to hit me.”

“You’re damned right, he’s not. I’m not going to let him.”

The electricity she’d felt the night before came back with a vengeance as his dark eyes held hers. It took all the strength she could muster to keep her breath from stuttering when she said, “No. Really. You can’t come with me. This is private.”

“Oh.”

The disappointed expression on his face knocked the electricity off her nerve endings but it tugged at her heart. This was a man who took his responsibilities seriously.

“Look. It’s okay. He’s going to say he doesn’t want to be a dad. And I’m going to say fine, then fly back to New York and raise my child alone.”

He gaped at her. “You don’t want your baby to know his dad?”

“I do want my child to know her dad. But Pierre’s not going to want to be a big part of her life. I won’t be cruel. Pierre can visit anytime he’s in New York. But I doubt that he will.”

His forehead puckered. “He’s not going to want his child?”

“Pierre’s a narcissist. His parents had a marriage as bad as my mom and dad’s and he vowed to make up for that by giving himself everything he’d wanted but didn’t get as a child. I have to be practical. And honest. He told me he didn’t want to have children and my being pregnant probably won’t change that.”

Trent shook his head. “You can’t know that. You saw what happened to Jake. He about went crazy when Avery didn’t want anything to do with him after she learned she was pregnant. Now he’s so smitten with Abby it’s almost funny. Then there’s Seth. A confirmed bachelor until Harper walked into his life with Crystal.”

“There was hope for Jake and Seth.”

“No, there wasn’t. Your dad had soured them both on relationships and made both wonder if they could be good dads...yet they pulled through.”

“Neither one of them is a flighty artist like Pierre.”

“But you loved him?”

“We had a relationship, based mostly on our common love of art. We also had the same kind of childhood. Pierre’s not the kind of guy a smart woman falls in love with.”

His eyes widened. “Wow.”

“I’m just saying that Pierre and I had a lot in common and we had a great couple of years together. But we never wanted anything serious.”

“Okay. I get that. But don’t write him off.”

She sighed. “Trent, I’m a planner. I teach other people how to look down the board and see the future. I’ve already played this all out in my head.”

“I’ll bet not all of it. You’re going to want to get married someday. And when you do your baby’s going to have a stepfather. I had a stepfather. He was a wonderful dad to my half brother and sister, the kids he had with my mom, but he never seemed to warm up to me. I was the boy my mom had with another guy. The one who came into the marriage. I wasn’t blood.”

Gobsmacked by the admission of something so personal and saddened for the lost little boy she pictured him to be, she said, “That’s terrible.”

He pulled in a breath. “Not really. The truth is he tried. I tried. We just never seemed to bond.”

She stared at him. She’d always had the impression he’d come from one of those perfect, close-knit blue-collar families. “But now you get along?”

“Depends on what you mean by get along. When I left home, my mom, stepdad and half sister and brother became a tight little unit. I’d see it every time I came home for a holiday and feel more left out. When I became wealthy, I bought them a house and insulted my stepdad, who refused it and accused me of thinking I was better than they were now that I was rich.” He shrugged. “So I kind of stay away.”

She absolutely did not know what to say. Particularly since he’d just confirmed her decision to never marry. Even if her parents’ marriage hadn’t warned here off, she’d heard enough horror stories from her friends at private school, whose parents had gone through divorces. From middle school through high school she’d heard tales of wicked stepmothers and grouchy stepfathers. Having a child just guaranteed she’d never marry. She would not put her son or daughter through that.

He caught her gaze. “What I’m telling you is, if I had a choice between being raised by my real father or my stepfather, I know which one I’d choose.”

Sabrina stared at him. He wasn’t upset, more like resigned, but to Sabrina that made his situation all the sadder.

When she didn’t respond, Trent turned her toward the small dressing room again. “Go. Change. Fluff out your hair. Do whatever it is women do to get ready. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

She almost pivoted to face him again. He’d shifted gears from his own troubles to hers so easily it was as if his didn’t matter.

With her problems being the ones in the forefront, she supposed they didn’t. At least not now. At some point she’d circle back, ask him if he really was as okay as he sounded. But right now, she had to get dressed to tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.

She walked into the bathroom, splashed her face and slipped into her clean clothes. Though she knew what she intended to say, there were three or four ways she could approach Pierre. Strong and confident. Soft and loving. Matter-of-fact. And even strictly professional, like a lawyer stating the facts.

All the options had merit. Even after a few minutes to think them through before she left the bathroom, none of them stood out.

Trent’s staff had a limo waiting. The driver opened the back door for them, and she told him the address of Pierre’s apartment. As they drove along the streets, she only got glimpses of the Eiffel Tower. But it didn’t matter that she couldn’t see the usual sights. She loved the everyday hustle and bustle of Paris. Brick and stone streets. Tourists studying maps or ogling buildings. And the scents. Croissants. Madeleines. Éclair. Wonderful crusty bread. And that rich, dark coffee she loved so much.

But she couldn’t have coffee. She wouldn’t drink coffee for nine months.

When they reached Pierre’s apartment building in a residential section of the city, Trent followed her out of the limo.

She stopped him with a hand to his chest. His very solid chest. She almost groaned at the whoosh of attraction that rolled through her. Instead, she shook off the woozy, fuzzy feeling and said, “This part is private.”

“I’ll tell you what. You let me walk you up to the door and see what kind of mood he’s in. If he seems okay, I’ll let you talk alone.”

She wanted to argue. She wanted sexy, handsome, electricity-inspiring, nice guy Trent to disappear so she could tell Pierre he was about to be a dad.

Except, what if Trent was right? What if Pierre reacted badly? It wouldn’t hurt to have tall, buff Trent in the loose gray T-shirt and nice-fitting jeans at her side.

“All right. You stay for a minute or two. Then the rest of the discussion is private.”

He grinned. Her heart tumbled. How had she not noticed before how gorgeous he was with his unruly hair and seductive smile?

“Absolutely.”

They entered the building and climbed the two flights of stairs to Pierre’s apartment. It wasn’t the best building in the world. But Pierre didn’t make as much money as she did from her art. And that wasn’t a lot. She lived on her salary from the nonprofit and an extremely generous trust fund.

Still, her leg muscles became rubbery when she remembered how angry he’d been when her art had outsold his at their last showing. Her steps faltered.

“You okay, there, Skippy?”

She pasted on a bright smile as she turned to face Trent, who was on the step below her. “Yes. Fine.”

“If you want to turn and run, just let me know. I’m up for that, too.”

Surprisingly, she laughed. For such a smart guy, with such a sad past and a serious way of making money, he had a great sense of humor.

They finally reached Pierre’s floor and walked to the third door on the right. Forcing her fingers to stop shaking, she pressed the doorbell.

No answer.

After a few seconds she pressed again.

Trent sent her a confident smile and thumbs-up.

She hit the bell a third time. Pierre’s door didn’t open, but the one next to it did.

Pierre’s short, dark-haired neighbor, Danielle, whom Sabrina had met a few times, came out of her apartment, smoking a cigarette. “He’s not here.”

Speaking French, Sabrina said, “Oh. Where is he?”

Danielle brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaled and blew a long stream of smoke. “He’s at his house in Spain.”

“Spain?” Confusion rippled through her. “He has a house in Spain?”

“He goes there at the end of every August. Pretty much spends the winter there.”

Trent put his hands on her shoulders, reminding her of his presence to reassure her. “You wouldn’t happen to have the address?”

Because he’d spoken English, Sabrina repeated the question in French. Danielle held up one finger. The universal symbol for “wait one minute.”

She returned with the address written on a scrap of paper.

Trent said, “Thanks,” took the paper, then turned Sabrina toward the steps again.

They walked down the thin stairway, her optimistic hope of telling Pierre and getting it over with, vanishing. Still, it wasn’t like she had to wait forever. She just had to get to Spain.

When they reached the street, she took the slip of paper with the address from Trent’s hand. “I can get a commercial flight. I don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother. Besides, I have a condo in Barcelona. We’ll fly there, buy a change of clothes, eat a nice dinner and head to Pierre’s tomorrow morning.”

A weird kind of relief poured through Sabrina. Calm, cool and collected Trent had a plan.

Still, she didn’t want to get accustomed to depending on anyone. Not ever. Her mom had been so dependent on her dad that she’d lost the biggest part of her life. Now that Sabrina was in Europe, away from her family’s curiosity, she would have the privacy to do what she needed to do. She could go on without Trent.

“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re mad. The guy has a house in Spain that you clearly didn’t know about. You dated him, probably told him everything about yourself but he had a house in Spain and apparently spent lots of time there, yet he never thought to mention that. How much did you guys date anyway?”

She drew in a breath. She was mad. “We didn’t date date. We spent weekends together, took trips, did exhibits together.” She paused long enough to think through how to phrase her explanation. “Our homes were on two different continents. Our relationship was long distance. So there were stretches of time in the winter when we didn’t see each other.”

“Okay. I get it. That’s how long-distance relationships are. You see each other when you can.”

Once again, his answer relieved her. Most of her anger with Pierre melted away. But that didn’t mean she needed Trent to fly her to Spain. “Thanks. When I tell Seth and Jake about being pregnant, I’ll also tell them how much you helped me these past two days.”

Trent’s brows drew together as he frowned. “You do realize that what you’re saying is that when Seth hears I brought you to France, I’ll have to explain to my best friend why I dumped his little sister in Europe.”

“It’s not like that.”

“That’s exactly how a man would hear it. Especially when your brothers find out you didn’t see Pierre in Paris. You saw him in Spain.”

When she said nothing, he sighed. “Look, I’m offering a plane and some companionship. You could catch a cab to the airport and then wait two days before a seat opens up on a commercial flight. My jet’s just a few miles away.” He caught her hand. “And once we get to Barcelona I have friends, a condo, a club I like to go to. I might just ditch you.”

She laughed. Again. He seemed to always say the right thing to make her feel better. He did have a plane. Here. Waiting. He also had somewhere for them to crash overnight. If he’d owned his condo in Barcelona for any length of time, he probably did have friends he’d want to go clubbing with.

And she’d have a few hours alone tonight for a bubble bath. She could chill and get her perspective back.

Because it had hit her all the wrong ways that Pierre had a home in Spain and in their years together he’d never mentioned it.

She needed some time to unwind and Trent was offering it.

How could that possibly go wrong?

“All right. Let’s go.”