Not Quite Married Page 2

Clara rose and held out her arms. Rory went into them. They hugged good and tight, Clara’s big belly pressed hard against Rory’s flat one, and Clara whispered, “Ice cream. Chocolate Chunk Gooey Brownie.”

  Rory said, “I’m in.”

  So Clara led her inside and dished up the treat. They sat at the breakfast nook table. They’d each polished off half a bowlful before Rory asked, “So?”

  And Clara took another creamy, chunky chocolaty bite, savoring the goodness of it, getting another shot of the comfort a girl can only get from a killer dessert, before she confessed, “Today I told my baby’s father that he’s going to be a dad.”

  Rory stopped with a bite of ice cream halfway to her mouth. She dropped the spoon back in her bowl. It clattered against the side. “Get off the phone.”

  “I did. I really did.”

  “Was it...?”

  “Awful. It was awful. He was like some stranger. It was so bizarre. I kept wanting to ask him what he’d done with the man I knew—or thought I knew.”

  Rory pushed back her chair and circled the table to kneel at Clara’s feet. “Give me your hands.” She took them and gave Clara’s fingers a comforting squeeze. “You are not only my favorite cousin in the whole world—you are the kindest, warmest, most supportive, loving friend around. Plus, you’re totally hot.”

  Clara let out a laugh that sounded a lot like a sob. “Right. Just look at me. A human beach ball. Smokin’.”

  “Pregnant or not, doesn’t matter. Either way, you are hot. If he treated you badly, it’s his loss. You have a big family and they all love you, not to mention a large number of good friends. You need to remember that you are not alone, that you only have to call, anytime, day or night, and I’m here—and so is everyone else who adores you.”

  Clara shut her eyes for a minute. When she felt reasonably certain she wasn’t going to burst into tears, she said, “I love you.”

  Rory squeezed her fingers again. “Love you, too. A lot.”

  “Now, go finish your ice cream before it’s all melted.”

  Rory rose and went back to her chair. They both ate more of the to-die-for dessert. Finally, Rory said, softly, “I have to ask...”

  “Go ahead.” Clara gave her a wobbly little smile.

  “I mean, is this it, then? Am I here because you’re finally going to tell me how it all happened?”

  Clara pushed her bowl away. “Yeah. This is it.”

  “Dear Lord. I need more ice cream. You?”

  “I’ve had enough. But help yourself.”

  So Rory got up and got more—including another giant scoop for Clara, who insisted she didn’t want it, but then picked up her spoon again and dug right in.

  Rory said, “All right. I’m ready.”

  Where to even begin? “Remember when I went on that two-week Caribbean vacation last August?”

  Rory was nodding. “Of course. Your thirtieth birthday getaway. I kind of suspected it might have happened then.”

  “You know how I was feeling then...”

  “I remember. You were talking about burnout, that all you did was work. You really needed that vacation.”

  Clara had opened her restaurant, the Library Café, almost six years before. The café was a success by any standards. And she’d put in a whole bunch of seven-day workweeks to make it so. “I wanted a little glamour and pampering, you know? I wanted to reward myself for a job well done.”

  Rory suggested softly, “And maybe a little romance, too?”

  “Oh, yeah. I had this fantasy that I might end up meeting someone amazing.”

  “And indulging in a crazy, fabulous tropical affair?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And so your fantasy came true.”

  Clara smiled, feeling wistful. “That’s right. I met him the first night. His name is Dalton. Dalton Ames. And just the sight of him—he’s tall and fit, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. I felt like the heroine of the juiciest romance novel you ever read. I mean, you know how I am. You joke that I’m hot and all. But come on.”

  “Clara.” Rory licked her spoon. “You are hot. Accept it.”

  Clara pulled her bowl back in front of her and took another melty, chocolaty, amazing bite. “ I don’t feel hot. I feel like I’m the solid one, the level-headed one. The family peacemaker. Guys tend to like me as a friend.”

  “A hot friend.”

  A snort of laughter escaped her. “Stop.”

  “Seriously, Clara. I know whereof I speak.”

  Clara purposely did not roll her eyes. “Anyway, when Dalton looked at me...I cannot tell you. It was like a sizzling shiver went all through me. He saw me as hot, I could see it in those heart-stopping baby blues of his. The sexual chemistry was immediate, unexpected—and like nothing in my life before. We danced and flirted. He said he was from Denver.”

  “Ah. Both of you from Colorado.”

  “Yeah.” Seriously, what an idiot she’d been. She ladled on a little irony. “Like it was meant to be.”

  “Don’t make less of it,” Rory chided. “I can tell from the way you talk about him that it was beautiful and special, that you felt a real connection with him.”

  “Ha.”

  “Tell me the story, Clara—and stop judging yourself.”

  Clara sighed. “He told me the trip was a getaway for him, that his work was demanding and he wanted a chance to live in the moment for a change.”

  “Just like you.”

  “Um-hmm. I told him that I was ready for an adventure, to live out a fantasy, to forget reality for a while. He said that sounded great to him.”

  “Okay, now I’m wondering...”

  ‘What?”

  “You weren’t suspicious that it was all just a little too perfect?”

  Clara shrugged. “Yeah. But only a little. The resort was like a tropical fairy tale, the beaches pristine, miles and miles of gleaming white sands. Not a cloud in the sky and the ocean went on forever. It all seemed so magical. And then I met this dreamboat of a man. I was kind of swept away—but at least I did have sense enough to ask him if he had a wife at home.”

  “Good for you. And?”

  “He said he was recently divorced—and then he wanted to know if I had someone special. I told him there was no one. And then, feeling beautiful and wanted and thrilled to be getting a taste of exactly what I’d been dreaming of, I went to his suite with him and spent the night.”

  “Bold.”

  Even with all that had happened since then, the memory of that first night—of all the nights on the island—remained wonderfully sweet. “I thought so, yes. And it was the best, that night with him, better than anyone or any time before. In the morning, we agreed to spend the next two weeks together. We decided we would live completely in the now and not talk about our ‘real’ lives. And when the fantasy was over, we would go our separate ways.”

  Rory was chewing her lower lip. “Reality always intrudes, though, doesn’t it?”

  “Sadly, yeah,” Clara admitted. “But for two incredible, perfect weeks, we were lovers. We were open and tender and passionate with each other—in the moment only, I mean. Mostly, we managed to keep our real lives out of it. The sex was just beautiful. And we climbed a volcano, went parasailing and scuba diving. Even bungee jumping. At night, we danced under the stars by the light of the moon. By the end, I knew I was falling in love with him.”

  Rory asked in a whisper, “Did you...tell him?”

  Clara put her hand on her belly, rubbed it slowly and gently, feeling the love well up, the gratitude, in spite of everything. Her baby might not have a daddy. But she would be a good mother. Clara would make sure her child had a great start in life, with love and happiness to spare. “On the last night, I finally worked up the nerve. I told him I wanted to keep seeing him when we got back to Colorado...”

  “Oh, my darling. And?”

  “My fantasy crashed and burned.”

  “Oh, no...”

  “Yeah. He told me that he’
d had a beautiful time with me and he would never forget me, but he would only mess things up if we tried to have more.”

  “Mess things up? But why? I don’t get it.”

  “He said it was different, that he was different, there with me, on the island. He said he wanted to remember me that way, remember us that way. That his marriage had ended not that long before, and it was his fault. And he wasn’t ready to try again. He didn’t think he’d ever be ready. He wanted to stick to the agreement we’d made.”

  “That’s just so sad.”

  “Believe me, I wanted to argue. I wanted to ask him why he couldn’t at least give it a try. But then, I was pretty much reeling that I’d put myself right out there for him—and gotten instant and total rejection. Plus, well, he was right that we did have an agreement. It wasn’t as if he owed it to me to change everything up just because I’d decided I wanted more. So I went home and tried to forget him. Unfortunately, a few weeks later, I realized I was having his baby. I agonized for another few weeks.”

  “You should have called me. I would have come running.” At the time, Rory was still living in her family’s palace in Montedoro on the Cote d’Azur.

  “I couldn’t. I felt that I should tell him, tell Dalton, first of all, before anyone else.”

  “Well, fair enough. I can understand that.”

  “So I started trying to figure out how best to reach him...” Clara stared out the breakfast nook window. It was already dark. All she saw was her own reflection, a reflection that blurred as pointless tears rose. She swallowed, hard, and brushed them away.

  Rory got up again and circled the table. This time, she just stood by Clara’s chair, looping an arm around her shoulder, then smoothing her hair so that Clara gave in to the comfort she offered and rested her head against Rory’s side. “I take it you found him.”

  “It wasn’t hard, really. A little searching online and I learned he was a big shot from a Denver banking family.”

  “Wait. ‘Ames’ of Ames Bank and Trust?” There was a branch right there in town.

  “That’s right.” Clara tipped her head up and caught Rory’s eye. “And the supposed ex-wife? Maybe not so ‘ex’...”

  Rory gasped. “You’re kidding. He lied? He had a wife the whole time?”

  “No. They had been divorced. But there were recent pictures of the ‘ex’ on his arm at some big charity event. She’s gorgeous, by the way. Beauty-queen gorgeous. Blond. Willowy. Perfect. In the pictures she was smiling at him in this teasing, intimate way. The gossipy article that went with the pictures hinted that maybe a remarriage was in the offing.”

  Rory stroked her hair some more. “So that’s why you put off contacting him?”

  “Yeah. I kind of lost heart, you know? I didn’t want to mess up his reunion with his ex—really, I didn’t want to deal with him at all by then.”

  “Completely, one hundred percent understandable.”

  “I decided there was no real rush to tell him about the baby. At that time, I wasn’t due for months and months.”

  “I get that.”

  “But then those months went by. I continued to put it off, kept avoiding the moment of truth when I would have to face him. And in the middle of that, there was all that frantic planning for the wedding to Ryan that ended up not happening. And, well, now it’s April and my due date is six weeks away. I couldn’t put it off anymore.”

  “So you’ve done it. You’ve told him.”

  “Yep.”

  “And...what next?”

  “What do you mean, what next?” Clara stiffened. “I’ve told him, that’s it.”

  “But what does he plan to do now?”

  “How would I know what he plans?” Clara pulled sharply away.

  Rory took the hint and stepped back. Gently, she suggested, “Well, I was thinking he might want to—”

  “I said I don’t know.” Clara got up, grabbed their empty bowls and carried them to the sink. “We didn’t get into any of that,” she added without turning.

  Rory, still standing by the table, asked, “So you have no clue whether or not he wants to be involved with the baby?”

  Clara put the bowls in the sink and flipped on the water. “It’s not like we had a real conversation. I told him that I was pregnant and that I didn’t expect anything from him. I gave him a card with my numbers on it, so he can contact me if he wants to. That was it.”

  “But—”

  “Look.” Clara left the water running and whirled on Rory. “How would I know what he’ll do next? Probably try to figure out a way to tell his wife that some woman he boinked last summer on Anguilla is having his baby.”

  Rory marched over and flipped the water off. “Sweetheart.” She pulled Clara close. “It’s all right. You’ve done what you had to do and you were brave to do it. I’m not getting on you.”

  Clara stiffened—and then let her defensiveness go and wrapped her arms good and tight around her cousin. “God. I hate this.”

  “I know.” Rory gave her another good squeeze, then took her hand and led her past the breakfast nook to the sofa in the great room. They sat down together. Rory asked, “So he is remarried, then?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Well, you just mentioned him telling his wife about the baby.”

  “I don’t know, all right? I’m just assuming he married her again, from what I read in that article.”

  “Today, when you told him about the baby, did he say anything about a wife?”

  “No.”

  Rory offered gingerly, “So, then, maybe you’re jumping to conclusions a little, don’t you think?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “Not to me.” She wrapped her arms around her belly and her precious unborn child. “I don’t care what he does. He’s nothing to me.”

  “Clara—”

  “No. No, don’t do that, Rory. Don’t look at me like that, all tender and patient and sorry for me. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. I’m fine.”

  “I know you are. Darling, I love you and I can see how hard this has been—how hard this is for you, that’s all.”

  Clara let out a moan. “Oh, Rory...”

  “Come here. Come on.”

  So Clara sagged against her cousin again. And Rory held her close and stroked her hair and whispered that it was going to be all right. Clara cried a little. And Rory dried her tears.

  And Clara said, “I’ll probably never see the guy again, you know? And that’s okay. I can live with that. I don’t like it. It’s a long way from my fantasy of how things would go. It’s just...what it is. I’m having my baby and we’re going to be a family, the two of us. I have a whole lot to be thankful for in this life, people I can count on, people who have my back, a successful business and a beautiful home. I may not have a man to stand beside me. But I have everything else, and that’s plenty for me. I’ve done what I needed to do, told Dalton Ames about the baby. And now I’m going to buck the hell up and get on with my life.”

  Rory left an hour later.

  Clara went to bed and slept the whole night without waking up once. She felt...better. Calmer. More able to cope. She’d done what she needed to do; then she’d shared the whole long, sad story with someone she trusted, and she’d had a good cry over it.

  Now, at last, she could move on.

  Two days later, Dalton Ames knocked on her door.

  Chapter Two

  It was a busy day at the café, with every table taken and customers lined up to get a seat.

  The lunch rush went on and on. They turned the place over four times before things started easing off. Between eleven and three, Clara never sat down once. It was exhausting, especially in her pregnant state. Also, fabulous. More proof that the Library Café was a bona fide success.

  After the rush, she had meetings with salespeople, scheduling and ordering to deal with, followed by a trip to the bank. It was almost six when she finally
walked in her front door.

  She headed straight for the shower, shedding clothes as she went. Twenty minutes later, barefoot in her softest, roomiest lounge pants and a giant pink shirt with Mama Needs Ice Cream printed across the front, she had a light dinner. Then she stretched out on the sofa to veg out with a little mindless television.

  Her head had just hit the sofa pillow and she was pointing the remote at the flat-screen over the fireplace when the doorbell rang.

  What now? She wasn’t expecting anyone, and her tired, pregnant body had zero desire to get up from the comfy sofa and walk all the way to front of the house.

  However, she just happened to be one of those people who answered phones and doorbells automatically. It could be something important and you might as well deal with it now as later. So she put down the remote, dragged herself to her feet again, shuffled to the front door and pulled it wide.

  And there he was. Dalton. As tall, dark and wonderful to look at as ever. In a suit even more beautiful and pricey-looking than the one he’d been wearing two days before.

  Her hopeless heart gave a leap of ridiculous, giddy joy just at the sight of him. The rotten SOB.

  He said, “Hello, Clara.” And those eyes, which were a deep crystal blue surely not found in nature, swept from the top of her head down over her giant pink shirt all the way to her bare feet—and back up again.

  And she said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “May I come in?” Stiff. Cool. So completely unlike the man she’d once been idiot enough to think she loved. “We need to talk.”

  Oh, did they? She braced a shoulder against the doorframe and folded her arms on top of her baby bump. “About what, exactly?”

  He looked vaguely pained. “Not on your doorstep. Please.” It came out more like a command than a request.

  She stayed right where she was and just stared at him for a long, hostile moment. “I thought I gave you all my phone numbers.”

  “You did.”

  “Then why didn’t you call? A little fair warning isn’t that much to ask.”

  “I apologize.”

  “You don’t sound sorry in the least.”

  The blue gaze swept over her again, rousing a thoroughly uncalled-for shiver of excitement. “Let me in, Clara.”