"You mean cooped up inside here, drowning in your own thoughts?"
"What would you have me do?"
"Let me help you," she glares at me.
"You have." I sag against the sofa, "You know, I couldn’t have come this far without you. It’s thanks to you that I found this apartment to house-sit for the next year… and within walking distance of the hospital too.
She shuffles her feet, "Seriously, it’s not a big deal." She waves a hand in the air, "I wish you could tell Saint about the child."
"You haven’t heard him speak about how much he hates kids."
"That’s only until he realizes you are about to have his." She plonks her palms on her hips. "A man like him will do anything to protect his own flesh and blood."
"He sure did a slap-up job of taking care of me."
"Only because you hid things from him."
"What about the secrets he held back from me?"
"Did you ask him about it?"
"I did," I swallow. "He didn’t want to reveal them to me. We have no common meeting ground."
"Except one," she, once more, looks down at my belly.
I redden, "Seriously?"
"Marriages have been built on less, and the sexual chemistry between the two of you is clearly off the charts. I mean, you’re pregnant with his child."
"No kidding."
"So, you’re going to give up on the two of you?"
"He’s the one who gave up on me."
"Give him one last chance?"
"No."
She throws her hands up in the air, "You’re so stubborn."
"Guess that’s how I’ve gotten through the shit life has thrown at me, huh?"
"You sure you won’t let me come to the hospital with you?"
I shake my head. "It’s a routine check-up, I’ll be fine."
46
Saint
"You’re a dickhead."
Weston’s voice comes through loud and clear over the phone.
"Why you had to break up with her and then send her divorce papers, without trying to at least make up with her one last time..."
"Look who’s giving me relationship advice," I snicker. "The man who can’t hold down a single woman for more than week."
"Out of choice, bitch. The more the merrier, as they say," Weston retorts. "More than what I can say for you. Did you manage to, at least, get to the office today?"
I take a sip of the whiskey, then wince at the taste. Shit, not even good old Macallan fine malt seems the same. Face it, nothing compares to the taste of her cunt, her mouth, her lips… Fuck, fucking fuck?
"You okay, ol' chap?"
"Why the fuck are you calling me anyway?"
"Why do you think?"
"I think I am going to hang up, dickwad—"
"Hold on, I’m getting another call."
"Don’t you fucking put me on hold, Weston—"
The call goes silent. Then classical music drifts over the line. "The fuck?" He has Mozart playing while he puts me on hold? I hang up, then begin to pace. Is he right, should I have tried harder? But this is what she wants, right? A clean break. Neither of us needs to look back. I had made sure she came out of the entire incident with her identity concealed. It had cost me thousands to track down every single paparazzi in that room, and pay them off enough that they would leave out all mention of her. I may have had to lean on one or two of the errant ones to ensure they destroyed all evidence of that day. But it had been worth it. The event had faded away from public memory. The next scandal had surfaced and we were yesterdays’ news.
Like me and her—
Fuck. I rub the ache in my chest. —Except for the emptiness that crawls in my guts and the thoughts that crowd my mind. Not to mention the nightmares that seem to be never too far away when I sleep—the voice asking me questions, demanding that I answer them. Fuck. I rub at my temples. This is insane.
I had let her get under my skin... That’s the only reason I am beginning to unravel this way.
Once she signs the divorce papers, I can walk away, and have nothing more to do with her.
So, we are no closer to finding out who was behind our kidnappings. Antonio? Well, the man had disappeared. I’d had my PI on his tail and Antonio had given her the slip. He hadn’t been seen or heard of in the last three weeks since the party…
And that message. Why doesn’t that reassure me in the least? The hair on the nape of my neck rises. Shit, I am simply imagining things. The man is long gone. He’d gotten what he wanted—the USB which had been sent to me.
He can keep it, for all I care.
If it leaks on the internet… Well, it would only lead to more speculation—not that I care—but it would be easy enough to suppress it.
If it were to happen, which it won’t. Clearly, the man had wanted to get his hands on it. For what, though? Why was it so important to get a hold of it?
The phone buzzes in my hand. Fucking Weston. I silence it. It rings again, I switch it off. The phone on my desk rings. I walk to it and snatch it up, "What?"
"It’s Weston."
"Tell him to fuck off."
"He says it’s urgent." Meredith’s voice is patient, "I think you should take this call."
"Fine," I glower at the receiver.
"Asswipe," Weston drawls back.
"Jesus, can’t you fucking go away to a place where there are no phones—preferably no means of communication—so I don’t have to hear from you?"
"Same to you, with knobs on," he snickers. "Listen," his voice turns serious, " I called you because I've gotta come clean to you about something."
"What?"
"Promise you won’t go all apeshit when I tell you."
"Shit." My heart begins to thud, "Just say it."
"I don’t know, I promised her I wouldn’t."
"Who?"
"Victoria."
"You and she spoke?"
"At the hospital that day, and I’d been hoping for the two of you to come to your senses. Hell, I’d hoped she would tell you herself. Not that I should be
