“Are you sure? I can come with you.”
There was an easy intimacy between the two of them that made the edges of my vision tinge red. The way he touched her, the soft look in her eyes when she smiled at him…my fists clenched, crinkling the forgotten envelope I held.
“No. It’s fine. I’ll tell you if I need you.” She squeezed his hand, then stepped out of his embrace toward me. “Let’s go talk.”
If she hadn’t picked up my hand and given it a tug, I wasn’t sure I would have moved from the spot I’d become rooted. But I walked beside her, toward the cottage at the back of the property. I had a thousand questions, but I couldn’t stack them in any certain order. They all rushed to get out, to be asked, clogging in the funnel of my throat.
Her little cottage was cool inside, a reprieve from the summer heat. It was decorated just like the main house, with porcelain tiles on the floor and white, textured walls. There wasn’t a whole lot to it. The small kitchen and living area were one compact room, while the bedroom was only separated by a screen.
“Sit. I’m going to put some clothes on. I’ll be back in a second.” She rushed off down the short hall and disappeared behind the screen.
I threw down the envelope and exhaled. I had no fucking clue what was going on, but I was pretty damn sure Michaela was pregnant. Either that or she’d eaten a giant taco this morning.
She reappeared a minute later, curls piled on top of her head, a white tank top covering her bikini, and loose, black shorts on the bottom. She smoothed her hand over her stomach, confirming my suspicion.
“I guess I know why you wanted a divorce,” I said. “Fuck, Michaela, couldn’t you have just told me you’d met someone else? Even if it had to be through lawyers, a note telling me you were firmly with some Viking would have been real fucking nice.”
Her face went through five different emotions in under ten seconds. Her eyes widened, then her brows pinched into a tight line. Then her eyes widened again, and her mouth curved until she let out a throaty laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You think Ansel is my boyfriend?” She snorted like a damn pig, holding her little belly as she kept right on laughing.
“Come on, Mic...I realize I said something stupid, but you gotta enlighten me. I’ve been waiting for months to finally get to see you again, and now...don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re pregnant, right?”
That sobered her. Her nose scrunched, and despite the situation, I found it fucking adorable. Hell, even her little round belly was adorable, and it was stark evidence she’d never belonged to me.
“Yeah, Moses, I’m pregnant. It was a pretty big surprise.” She moved over to the couch, tucking herself against the armrest. She patted the cushion beside her. “Come sit down and let me tell you a story about genetics.”
My knees were feeling pretty damn weak, so I did as she asked, leaving a cushion between us. Twisting to the side, I faced her. “Guess I’m ready.”
“Okay. So, once upon a time, a man named Lars Ashwood married a woman named Astrid Karsten. Lars was tall, blond, and Viking-like. Astrid could have passed as one of those Swedish bikini models from the eighties. They reproduced once, thirty-seven years ago, before divorcing. Then Lars fell in love with Gabrielle Ellis, a stunning R&B singer from New York. Lars was still Viking-like, and Gabrielle was a curvy, gorgeous black woman. They reproduced once, thirty-four years ago. Lars’s first child looks a lot like him, but with his mother’s white-blonde hair. Lars’s second child—the superior one, if I do say so myself—looks a lot like him too, but with her mother’s coloring and fantastic ass.” She slapped her legs twice. “That concludes today’s lesson. Do you get it?”
I rubbed the line between my eyebrows. That line had not been there before all this bullshit began, but since I hadn’t stopped frowning in months, it was permanently etched into my skin. “The guy...Ansel…?”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s my brother. This is his house. Those kids out there are his. The woman chasing the naked baby is his wife, Rosa. I can say, with one-hundred percent certainty, he was not the one to knock me up.”
“How many months are you?”
Reaching out, she let her fingertips brush my hand. “I’m fourteen weeks. A little over three months. It’s yours, Mo.”
“What?” The air evaporated from my lungs. I need more. More words, more information, just more to make me understand. “What? Tell me, Mic.”
“I found out about two weeks ago, when I got back from the tour. I was in full-on denial, I think, because when I look back on it, all the symptoms were there. Also, I did take emergency contraceptive, but I guess I waited too long. Anyway, it took me a while to track down your new number, and then a few days to get the guts to use it. I had planned on telling you last night, but then everything happened.”
“When were you going to tell me then?”
“I hadn’t worked that out, but I wasn’t going to keep it from you. I thought maybe I’d send a letter through my lawyer.” She chewed on her bottom lip, and her eyes went shiny. “I know you’re probably in shock right now and that’s fair. I made the decision on my own to go forward with this pregnancy. You don’t have to be involved at all, if that’s your choice. Nothing has to be decided today.”
I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye. A tornado of emotions and feelings twisted inside me. Nothing was clear. How to proceed, what to say, how I could have made such a massive mistake with a woman I barely knew.
A woman who didn’t want me.
A woman I’d mistaken for my home.
“How long did it take you to decide?” I asked.
“To keep it? Not long. That doesn’t mean you can’t think about what you want your role to be, if any. It’s not a competition.”
I exhaled and steepled my hands beneath my chin. “I need a minute, okay? Not to decide. I have a kid coming. I’m going to be its dad. That’s not in question, so please don’t doubt me. I just need a minute for this to settle in.”
“Okay. I’m going to get a snack. Let me know when you’re ready.”