The Devastatingly Beautiful Series (14 page)

5

Tatum

Molly and I spend the rest of the afternoon planning out the three days of shooting that are rapidly approaching. She’s never shot such a big name wedding, and I’ve never shot a wedding period. I’m getting a crash course in lighting, camera use, and any other tiny tidbit that she can think of as we go through the afternoon. By the end of the night my brain is swelling with information, as well as an ever present swelling a little lower. Just looking at her move in her tiny shorts and crazy hair makes me want her. She doesn’t even know how beautiful she is, always pulling at her shirt to adjust it, or redoing her messy hair to make it look like she meant for it to be insane. I love every fucking bit of it, too. This is all so new to me, but if love really does grow like so many people say, I look forward to the future when I love her more than now, if that’s even humanly possible.

Molly has some things around the office to finish up, but it’s getting late and I can tell she’s getting hungry. Hangry’s more like it. I head back to the house, stopping by the store on the way, to make the only dinner I really know how to cook. Mom’s spaghetti. Mom’s specialty and one thing she made her kids learn before they left the house to move on into the big mean world.

On the porch is another box, much like the ones we’ve been unpacking, but it’s unmarked. Strange. Molly’s been insane with making sure my shit has labels on it. I’ve had to commission Eddie to help out at my place just to make sure things are done correctly. There shouldn’t be an unmarked box anywhere around. Alert on high now due to my father’s training to be suspicious of everything out of the norm, I look around before picking up the box and carefully taking it inside. It isn’t heavy, but I know that doesn’t matter. Sometimes the most dangerous things barely weigh anything.

I turn on the side table light, just enough to light up the room but not enough to alert anyone on the outside that I’m home, just in case someone’s watching.  I set the box on the coffee table and sit on the couch preparing myself to open it. An awful feeling is settling into the pit of my stomach and when I open the box I almost lose it.

One lone, dirty, baby blanket lie in the bottom of the box and takes my breath completely away from me.

It was his. It was in his carrier when she ripped him out of my world. So small, so helpless. Tears stream down my face and land on my arm resting on the table before I know I’m even crying. The blanket’s so soft, I still remember him wrapped up in it while he laid unresponsive in the hospital. The hole in my heart that had started to heal rips open at the awful memories the blanket brought back. It feel like I can’t breathe, like there’s something sitting on my chest, a burning that won’t cool down.

Sadness is suddenly replaced with anger; burning rage. Who the hell would do this? I was adamant that every trace of a child be wiped clean. Nothing was to be left to remind me of what I lost. Hell I left a great life because I didn’t even want the knowing stares and sympathy! Some parents that lose their child keep everything just as it was the last time their child touched it. Some never make their beds, dust their rooms, or change décor. I’m the total opposite. The therapists said everyone grieves differently, and that there’s nothing wrong with my form of grieving. I just don’t want to be reminded of it.

Now some asshole decides to pull this? Who the fuck kept my sons blanket? And why the hell did they just now decide to leave it on Molly’s front porch? What does she have to do with any of this?

Going into survival mode, I put the blanket back in the box and stash it in my office behind other boxes that I needed to unpack. Molly doesn’t need to know about this. It has nothing to do with her, and she already has enough on her plate to worry about. I make sure the doors are all locked and blinds closed, then I go about my night preparing dinner for the woman I love. All the while my brain is working it’s hardest to figure out what the fuck that was all about.

Setting the table, I notice a notecard on the floor next to the coffee table. Facing up are the words “revenge” in letters that seem to be scribbled frantically. The other side kills me:

Life only means something when you have loved ones to share it with.

The breath rushes out of me as I read the note over and over. The room no longer exists, I can’t smell the smells of the dinner I’m preparing. All that I can see are the words on the page in front of me. What the fuck? I’m trained in all types of physical contact and fighting matters, but when it comes to this psychological bullshit I’ve got nothing. Fuck mind games.

The door opens and I quickly put the note in my pocket and return to the stove to finish up dinner. Trouble seems to follow my girl around, and the last thing I need is to have her wrapped up in more danger. She already is in enough when it comes to the Delany family.

“Hey babe” she purrs as her arms wraps around me. “Smells wonderful.”

I haven’t cooked for her yet so tonight will be the test. No sane person can turn down my mother’s spaghetti. We sit down to eat, making small talk about the wedding this weekend. My mind’s racing but I have to keep my cool, there’s enough on her plate to make her worry about this. I need to call my father.

The noises that come out of her while she’s finishing up her massive plate of carbs are enough to make me need to adjust my pants. This woman can even make eating erotic. Jesus. At least I know she enjoyed it. Anyone who doesn’t like my mom’s spaghetti is bat-shit crazy.

Molly

Damn he can cook. He claims this is the only meal he really knows how to make, but I would beg to differ. I need to thank his mother if I ever meet her. Tatum’s been weird ever since I got home. I feel terrible for keeping my secret from him, but I can’t spread any hope until I know for a fact. I still don’t even know how he’s going to react, hell he could be pissed and leave me to raise this baby on my own. Not that it would make me love it any less, but I’d rather wait a little bit… wait and feel things out… before telling him.

Before my thoughts start to run away from me my work phone rings. Tatum grabs it before me and I hear him answer professionally, then his face gets tight and he holds the phone out for me.

“It’s for you,” he states, then stomps away to leave me wondering what the hell just happened.

“Hello, this is Molly.”

“Molly, wonderful to hear your voice, this is Rob.” What the hell? It’s 8pm, why is he calling me this late?

“How can I help you, Mr. Delany?” I sigh. Something tells me this man is going to be harder to please than I originally thought. Why is he so serious about his cousins wedding pictures?

“I was hoping to meet with you. I need to speak with you and you alone about something that I’m not comfortable speaking about over the phone.”

Ugh.

“Can it wait until tomorrow? It is late and we have a busy week.”

“No.”

Wow, that’s it. No explanation.

“Well then, okay. Where are we meeting?”

He rattles off an address, a 24 hour coffee shop, and hangs up promptly. Shit, I really wanted to go to bed. This nausea’s been eating at me all day.

“Tatum!” I yell up the stairs.

He comes to the top, not speaking, obviously trying to calm himself. What the hell has gotten into him tonight? Maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving him alone tonight. Maybe I’ll pick him up some Midol on the way home, which should help his man-period symptoms that he’s been stalking around house tonight with.

“Hey, that was Rob. Something came up and he needs to meet to talk about something urgent tonight. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’m going with you.” He decides without asking and starts to walk down the stairs. I could feel the nausea rolling through my stomach, damn nerves. Damn baby. NO… not damn baby. Happy thoughts.

“I’m not sure that’s what he meant when he called me. He made sure to mention he needed to talk to specifically me. Something’s going on that he’s uncomfortable with, and I can’t lose this client because they aren’t comfortable with me. Please, stay here and I’ll be back soon.” Come on stomach, why always in front of him?

He stops at the bottom step and glares at me. I stand my ground, unmoving. I’m going to win this battle. I will.

Right after I run to the bathroom and spill his mother’s spaghetti into the toilet. Damnit.

“Babe I’m worried about you. I think you’ve caught something, please reconsider leaving tonight,” he says as he rubs my back while I kneel on the cold floor of the bathroom. If he only knew what I have….

“I’m fine, my nerves are shot. I’ll do this meeting then be home before you know it. If it makes you feel better we will work from home tomorrow, okay?”

That seems to help, though I can tell he isn’t happy about me leaving. Well, me neither buddy but duty calls!

The café is practically empty, other than some teens hanging out in the corner. I wait at a table near the bathroom, just in case my stomach decides to disagree with the awful smell coming from the kitchen. Ugh.

He walks in and heads straight for me, like he owns the place. The polo shirt, the shorts, all make him seem so carefree and harmless and absolutely gorgeous. If it weren’t for the pitch black eyes he’d look like he was transplanted here from Malibu. Something about the darkness in them tells a different story, though.

“Thank you for meeting me so soon, Molly.” He sits in the chair next to me and relaxes back, crossing an ankle over his knee. Jesus, why’s he so good looking?

“All a part of the job, Rob. What’s up?” Hopefully this goes quick. My stomach really is not agreeing with the smells in this place.

“Ah, well. This is awkward, but it needs to be said. I’m not comfortable with your relationship with… Tatum is it? Your ‘assistant’. I’m not sure my cousin would appreciate your relationship with a coworker. The display I saw in your office makes me worried that your mind will not be on the wedding if he is tagging along.”

My eyes are huge, I’m sure, and I think my mouth is open. What the hell is he saying? Oh God… it’s coming up. My mouth starts to water but I push it back. Mind over matter, right?

“I’m sorry you feel that way. I can assure you we will be professional for the shoot, Rob. There is no need to worry.”
Mind over matter. Mind over matter.

“We are Delany’s, Molly. There is always reason to worry.”

“I’m sorry y-” nope, it’s not going to wait.
Fuck me
. I practically run to the bathroom and slam the door before I start puking what was left in my stomach out in the nasty toilet. Dear lord it was not this bad the first time… this sucks! Taking a minute to clean myself up, I wash my face, my hands, my arms, and wait until the puffy eyes recede before returning.

I sit back down and before I can get another word out he speaks.

“How far along are you?” His eyebrows are raised and he’s wearing an amused expression. So smug.

“Excuse me?” All of the men in my life have officially lost it tonight.

“Your complexion is perfect and glowing, you’re only drinking water, and your urge to run to the bathroom can only be matched by an equally pregnant woman in the midst of morning sickness. By the looks of it, however, you have more than just morning sickness. I’ve seen my share of them. Don’t lie to me.” He glares at me like I owe him something. I don’t owe him shit.

“You know what Mr. Delany. You are my client. I will respect your wishes when it comes to the wedding that is rapidly approaching. However, don’t think you can meddle in my personal life. I draw a very bold line between my personal and professional lives, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Well, at least I used to.

He chuckles and looks at me like it’s cute that I’m trying to stand up for myself. The smug attitude would normally set me off, but at this rate, my hormones take anger and turn it into lust every chance they get. God why?

“Does he know?” His face falls and eyes narrow.

Damn him.

“No,” I state simply. It’s implied by my look that I don’t want him knowing, either. He nods and looks away for a minute, as if thinking carefully about this next words.

“Then Ms. Ward,” he slyly adds. “You will leave him at home during the wedding. End of discussion.”

No fucking way
.

“I understand you’re worried, but without an assistant I’m completely unable to shoot this wedding. And I don’t appreciate you attempting to manipulate me like that, either,” I snap. Maybe it isn’t really worth the money. He acts like everyone here owes him something. Kind of like my first impression of Tatum. Expect more broody and mysterious. And built.  He’s staring at me, stone-faced, unmoving. He lowers his voice and practically growls the next words at me.

“Ms. Ward you don’t have a choice in the matter. You do the shoot with one of my assistants, or you lose the contract, you lose the trust you had from your boyfriend, and you put your unborn child in danger. We wouldn’t want that again, now, would we?”

I should just slap him, and the twitching palm sitting on my water glass really wants to, but something tells me he’s the type of man to hit a woman. Money is money, there will always be money. There won’t always be my second chance at happiness, though. He could ruin everything, and he knows it.

Son of a bitch.