Having Jay's Baby (Having His Baby #2) (17 page)

“We’ve been married for less than a year and we have a
prenup
,” I said, unable to suppress a smile at the choice of words. “This is all very dramatic, but can we just cut to the business end of the discussion?”

I checked my watch. Stella had said she was going to take a walk through the park with Nina this afternoon and stop by her offices, and I wanted to go with them.

“I don’t contest any part of the prenuptial agreement,” I added for good measure. “I’m happy for both of us to leave the marriage with exactly what we brought into it, and I think we can all agree that Ms. Benson came into it with significantly more than I did. Her trust fund alone should see her right for the rest of her life. We’re splitting the proceeds of the apartment down the middle. What else do we need to discuss?”

There was a subtle shift at the other side of the table. The lawyers shared glances; Elizabeth, however, remained as oddly still as she had when she’d entered the room. She was staring out at the view of the city from the windows. I wondered for a moment if she was even listening. Was she on some kind of medication? 

“There is the matter of emotional distress and fraud,” her lawyer said carefully.

I stared at the man, repeating the words in my head but not quite registering them. “There is?”

“Ms. Benson’s of the impression that your marriage to her was simply a business strategy.”

At a loss, I glanced at my lawyers for some kind of cue. They looked blank.

“It’s clear that your wife’s father—Mr. Harold Benson—and your father—Mr. James Fitzsimmons—were colluding to defraud both the government and a large number of private investors,” the man went on as though he were reciting a well-worn fact, “as had been proven in court. It’s Ms. Benson’s impression that your marriage was simply another arrangement put in place to mask those goings-on, and that you were in collusion with both your father and your father-in-law on this topic.”

I laughed. It was inappropriate but it had been a long time since I’d been so entertained. This greasy lawyer only heightened the sense that I was stuck in a film noir.

The lawyer frowned heavily at me. “Ms. Benson further asserts that you were not emotionally invested in the marriage at any point, to the degree that you were involved in a relationship with the mother of your child, a…” He paused, holding up a piece of paper. “A Ms. Winters, in the months just preceding the marriage.”

I froze. So, she knew. I wondered who’d told her. Her lawyer? A private investigator? “What does this have to do with anything?” I almost snarled the question.

“Do you deny the child was conceived during the time you were officially betrothed to Ms. Benson?”

My lawyer leaned in with a whispered instruction not to comment, which I had no intention of. My jaw was clamped shut with anger. Damn them for bringing Nina into this!

Elizabeth’s lawyer was impassive to my emotions. “Now that the business arrangement is no longer relevant,” he went on, “you’ve chosen to liquidate your partnership with Ms. Benson and pursue a relationship with the mother of your child. Is that not correct, Mr. Fitzsimmons?”

The humour had died somewhere during that last statement. I stared at Elizabeth. “You’re not serious?” I asked her. She remained fixed on the view, with not even a flinch to suggest she’d heard me.

“Did you or did you not halt the divorce proceedings during Mr. Benson’s trial so as to protect the interests of your firm?” the lawyer insisted.

The cold, icy fingers of doubt encased my spine. I kept watching Elizabeth, daring her to face me, daring her to ignore me.

The lawyer refused to be sidelined. “Only to reinstate the proceedings after Mr. Benson was successfully prosecuted and your business was no longer under investigation?”

“That’s a blatant lie,” I roared. “We were all under a lot of stress. No one needed the additional burden of a divorce at the time. Your client was fully aware of this and agreed to postpone the proceedings until the situation with her father was resolved one way or another.”

The lawyer went on matter-of-factly. “Ms. Benson plans to petition the courts for divorce on the grounds of emotional distress equalling cruelty, and fraud,” the lawyer said. “As a separate matter, Ms. Benson also feels that the prenuptial agreement was presented and signed under false pretences. Presuming the accusation of fraud is upheld by the court, we would, of course, seek to request damages in excess of fifty percent of your net worth at the time of your marriage to Ms. Benson, on the basis of the fact that the dissolution of your business is related to the fraud itself.”

I turned to stare at Elizabeth again. I hadn’t made a lot of mistakes in life, but I recognised the feeling when I realised I’d made one. It hit me now with the force of a tsunami, knocking the mental wherewithal from me.

“Did you plant those bugs in the apartment?”

This knocked her out of her reverie. She stared at me in outrage. “No.”

“Then what is this about?” I asked her. “You don’t have a case, and you know it.”

Like a wolf woken from slumber, her eyes flashed and her voice came out like a snarl. “A case,” she said, dismissing the notion with a limp hand. Her blunt gaze narrowed. “Don’t be such a fool.” Her features settled into an ugly mask. “You owe me, and I expect to be recompensed.”

Good God … as I watched her, recoiled from the antipathy in her gaze, I realised this wasn’t even about the money any more. She just wanted to bury me.

#

The hospital was buzzing with people when I arrived. Unsettled after the divorce mediation, I called ahead to Stella and let her know I wouldn’t make it to the park. I was in no shape to be around my daughter, and I had nothing approaching the foresight it might require to deal with Stella. I went to the bathroom first, splashing water on my face to wipe away the effects of the double whisky I’d drunk on the way here. A brisk walk through the park had cleared my head a little, but not enough. I was tired—I was so damned tired that I could have lain down on the floor and just gone to sleep.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror; had I aged in the last few months? Wetting my hands again, I tidied my hair and then straightened my tie. It didn’t help.

My father was asleep when I entered the private room. It wasn’t until I’d closed the door that I noticed Elizabeth sitting by his bed. Her eyes widened on me like saucers.

“What are you doing here?” I growled.

“I’m visiting Abel.” The eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” The look she gave me said everything that needed to be said about my relationship with my father.

I approached the window, putting some distance between us. The heart monitor beeped at regular intervals. I heard Elizabeth cross and uncross her legs. “What do you want?” I asked, turning to face her.

Her expression was guarded. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“So, that performance this morning,” I said, “what was that about? You’re going to tell me you’re not out for my blood?”

She stared at me for a long time. It occurred to me that we hadn’t met each other’s gazes in months. It felt uncomfortable to do it now.

Her laugh was acidic. “You think you’ve got it all worked out, don’t you, Jay?” she asked. “You can just toss me aside, and start up with some other woman.”

I could have reminded her that I’d started the divorce proceedings way before things had gotten complicated between me and Stella. I could have reminded Elizabeth that she had no say at all in my life now. As well as I knew my erstwhile wife, though, I knew that she didn’t want to listen to logic. She wanted to say her piece, and she wanted me to listen raptly.

“I’m still your wife,” she went on. “A fact you seem to have conveniently forgotten. That woman might have had your baby, but you’re still married to me.”

“Not for long, Elizabeth.”

“For as long as I say so,” she countered. She was amused now. “You don’t seriously believe you can just get up and leave all of this—leave me, do you?” She paused for effect. “We don’t have that option?”

“We?”

“People like us,” she said.

“And what does that mean? I’m nothing like you.”

“Oh, don’t be childish!” She came to her feet in a flash. “You know perfectly well what I mean. We’re people of consequence; we have responsibilities. We’ve inherited this life and our families expect us to continue their legacy. You’re a fool if you think you can walk away from that.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I don’t know why I’m even listening to this.”

“I had to ask them to sedate your father, did you know that?” She bristled, colour touching her cheeks for the first time. “Your mother hasn’t been here in days. His best friend is in jail. Everyone else is terrified to show up.”

“They probably should be,” I said.

“This is your family!” 

I took a step back from her. She was trembling. It wasn’t anger, exactly—more like fear, but it had all the strength of anger. I was shocked; I’d never seen her like this before. The uneasiness from this morning returned.

“I’m your family,” she went on. “When you married me, you became my family. You can’t change who you are, Jay, any more than I can.”

“I can do whatever I want to do, Elizabeth,” I said, though I kept my tone careful.

She made a disapproving sound with her tongue. It merged into dark amusement. “You never really had the balls for this kind of life, did you?”

Humour cracked across my consciousness in return.

“You might have been born to it, but you never really had it in you,” she said. Her gaze assessed me like she might assess a horse in her father’s stables, finding it wanting. “You look the part, I’ll give you that.” Her gaze focused. “But I see you for who you are now, Jay. Your father was right; you’ve been trading on the Fitzsimmons name all this time, and you really don’t have the goods to back it up.”

“It doesn’t surprise me to hear you agree with my father.”

She laughed at this. “Oh, darling, please. I’ve been defending you since day one. Not that it’s done me any good.” Her lips thinned. “Accidentally knocking up some—journalist. I expected a little more refinement.”

The sheer disgust in her tone made me stall. The derision had died; there was genuine hostility in her expression now. I watched, plagued by discomfort, as it morphed into what looked like grief. I’d been wrong to marry Elizabeth. She had every right to resent me for Nina.

“Elizabeth—what do you want?” I asked.

“What do I want?” she shrieked. She trembled visibly for a moment before she resumed control. “I was supposed to be the mother of your child, you bastard. I was supposed to carry a Fitzsimmons, not some no-name journalist. You had no business marrying me if you didn’t intend to honour it.”

A million responses erupted in me; defending, attacking, reasoning with her. None of them made it past my lips. In the end I said, “I’m sorry,” and the feeling behind it was too layered, too complicated to understand.

Her gaze burned with incipient anger. “Are you?”

Hesitating only for a second, I nodded. “Of course, I am. None of this was ever about you.”

She laughed volubly. “Oh, I know that.” For a moment I wondered if she’d veer into tears, but she seemed to drag herself back from the precipice. “You might think you’re sorry, but you’re not.” Her voice was chillingly light. “You just feel bad because I won’t go away. I’m a reminder of who you are, and you hate it.”

There was a truth to her words that I couldn’t deny. The only difference was, she was a reminder of who I had been—not who I was. How could I hold her responsible for that?

I glanced away, my reluctant gaze clashing with the bed and my father’s sleeping form. “This isn’t the place, Elizabeth,” I said.

“Well, then, where?”

I straightened as she got to her feet. Her movements were jerky but oddly controlled, echoing the shrill stillness of her presence in the meeting this morning. I searched for an alternative to—this, but couldn’t come up with anything. The marriage was over. I didn’t want to discuss it anywhere, but least of all here, in my father’s hospital room.

She smoothed down her fitted skirt. She took a measured step towards me. Her gaze crumpled with painful humour. “I still love you, you know,” she said.

Regret echoed through me like deep, heavy noise.

“Did you ever love me?”

I opened my mouth to offer some kind of reassurance. The intention clogged in my throat.

“I was supposed to be the mother of your children.” Her voice caught on the last word. “You had no right,” she said, anger vibrating through the last two words, “no right at all to give that someone else.”

If I could have melted into the wall and slid away somehow, I would have. I wondered for a moment if this was how Stella had felt yesterday, in the kitchen while I’d grilled her about her living arrangements. Momentarily overwhelmed, I paced towards the bed and away from Elizabeth.

“You never loved me,” she said.

I glared at her. “You married me because I’m a Fitzsimmons, and you know it. Don’t try to deny it now.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she cried.

“That’s not love,” I said.

“You traded on your name as much as I did,” she threw at me. She breathed heavily. “How dare you reduce me to—to this! I could have married anyone.”