Miah (Lane Brothers #2) Page 49
I can actually feel my skin shrinking as I say it, but I’m gratified when she breaks eye contact with Greg and looks over at me, her surprise clear.
“Don’t get so worked up, Hannah dear. They’re both of them stubborn as mules and impossible to manage. Ask me, I’ve lived with it for years.”
I titter quietly as Bryce Lucas wends his way downstairs and pulls his wife into a soft hug.
“Patty, darlin’, why don’t you say sorry to little Han and stop pretending you’re so full of piss and vinegar. The girl’s perfect for him, and you know it. Not to mention, she’s sturdy enough to actually give us some decent grandbabies.”
My eyes narrow at the “sturdy” remark, and I revise my opinion of the old cuss.
“Dad!”
“Bryce! Calling a woman ‘sturdy’ is the height of insult,” Patricia gasps, slapping softly at his arm.
“I didn’t mean—”
“God help me, I don’t know how I found you charming enough to marry. Honestly, Hannah, I thought I had him house trained better than this. Come along, dear, let’s go have a nightcap.”
“What?”
Am I in fact drunker than I’d assumed? Maybe I’d had more than the two glasses of wine, and I’m now hallucinating. I don’t know, I just feel like I’m suddenly in the twilight zone.
“Mom. Han’s tired.”
“Nonsense. We Lucas woman are never too tired. We’re made of sterner stuff. Now come along, dear. I want to know everything about dearest Nana’s condition, and I think I know someone who would be perfect for your friend Christina.”
She’s got my arm through hers and is towing me along so fast I’m speechless, and apparently so are the men. I look back at Greg pleadingly, and he just shrugs and smiles as he lets his mother pull me towards the messy living room and the drinks bar.
“I don’t understand.”
“Welcome to the Lucas clan. God help you.”
Chapter Thirty Six
Things go from bad to worse after that. I’ve managed to win over the dragon of the Lucas clan, my husband has morphed into the world’s most caring male, and Nana has the very beginning stages of Alzheimer’s.
So yeah, I’d had my three good things. Now it’s time to pay the piper and gird my loins for three humdingers of bad luck.
“I can’t go on a date with Fletcher Pennington!”
We’re sitting at a table close to the window of a new little café just down the street from the Lucas building, and Chris has hardly touched her lunch for the complaints and outright whining she’s decided to subject me to.
“Why not? I met him last weekend when we flew Nana down to Virginia. He’s good looking, he has enough money to buy a small country, and he’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met. What’s not to like?” I ask, chewing delicately at the crust of my sandwich.
My stomach’s been off since last weekend, and if I didn’t take the pill every morning at the exact right time — yeah, I’m still anal — I’d be afraid I’m baking a baby somewhere in there.
Chris huffs loudly and flops back in her chair, her shoulders slumping in defeat when an answer doesn’t immediately come to her. I grin and let her off the hook, choosing to be the better person here. She’s my best friend, one I’d lied to continuously about my relationship before coming clean, and I think she deserves a little help, even if she is a big fat liar.
“I know who you really are, so you can cut the crap and just explain to me why you’re being so super cagey.”
Her surprise makes the three hours I’d spent Googling shit well worth Greg’s annoyance the other night. When the man wants some sex time, he gets huffy when I’m engrossed in the art of spying on my best friend.
He’d soon gotten into the spirit of things when I’d confessed my purposes, and he’d even helped me find a lot of stuff through some private detective he knows.
Yeah, I’m not even going to think about why the guy has a private detective on his payroll. It gives me the creeps.
“You know?”
“Yup. I’ve always wondered how that shade of red could be natural. And why you hid in the kitchen on Greg’s birthday.”
“Han, I…”
I stop her with a hand over hers and shake my head. I can see how hard this is for her, and I don’t want to make it harder, but as her friend I think it’s my duty to convince her that hiding from life and pretending to be someone else is the worst possible mistake she can make. I love her enough to give her words right back to her, no matter how annoying those words are.
“You’re running from your problems, Natalia.”
My use of her real name makes her flinch, and I bite my lips against the instinctive need to soothe her. She doesn’t need softly spoken words and understanding now; she needs a swift kick up the ass and a push.
“Tell me why you left your old life behind and why the thought of dating a man who’s damned near perfect, in my opinion, makes you so afraid.”
“Han, I can’t do this here,” she whispers, and I see her eyes go glossy with tears.
“Stop running and spill it, Natalia Atkins. I want the story here and now, and I won’t stop till you give it to me. Anyway, I gave Fletch your number, and he’s a very determined man.”
He’s sweet, but being married to Greg, I recognize a will of steel when I see it, and now that Fletcher wants Chris — Natalia — I know he won’t stop till he gets her.
“Dammit! My family is a rich and so controlling I can’t move without a goddamned body guard sniffing my ass. I left and went through all this effort to stay gone. If I date that Fletcher guy, even once, I’ll end up on their radar, and I can’t…they’ll be on me like a rash,” she hisses vehemently, her red hair only a shade lighter than her cheeks.
I sigh and take a sip of iced water, battling the fatigue that hits me on and off throughout the day.
“It’s time to stop running and make a stand. You told me so just weeks ago, Nat,” I say, using her name not only for myself but for her.
I want her to be herself, not some cooked up illusion she’s created to escape her poor little rich girl life. If I can come out of the shadows and claim a badass exec like Greg, Natalia Atkins can stop hiding and start dating guys who actually have jobs.
“Fine, but if he gets all weird on me I’m out. Jesus, I hate your mother-in-law, you know. She made me the minute she saw me, and I don’t even know why I’m fighting it, because by now she’s called my parents and sent out the rich-girl-gone-ghetto alarm.”
I snort at her dramatics and shrug.
“She’s not so bad, actually. Sure, she calls me like twice a day and keeps dropping hints about fertile ground and shit…”
I can’t even finish the sentence. Good ol’ Pat has taken to me so well I can’t stand it. To add insult to injury, my husband now plans to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas in Virginia, and Nana and Pat are trying to convince me she should stay there permanently.
Apparently they’re soul buddies and can’t even contemplate the thought of not being together daily. Even with the bread roll incidents and Nana’s memory slips.
“Look, Han, I have to run. I’ll call you later and let you know what happens with that stuck up rich boy. And for God’s sake, go to the damned doctor. You look like shit.”
She’s up and gone before I can return her compliments, and I force myself to stand and toddle back to the office. I feel like shit warmed over, and my mind keeps racing to pregnancy, despite my precautions.
I’ve been here before, and I’m not opposed to the thought of a baby; I’d just like a little more time with Greg before a baby sucks up what little freedom I have.
When I get back to the office it’s to find him pacing while Kim wrings her hands and throws me a commiserating look that tells me everything I need to know before he says it.
“You left your fucking phone in your desk.”
I ignore the anger in his tone and sit down with a huff that’s not as silent as I’d meant it to be.
A pair of hands lands on my desk with a thump, and I jump, looking up at Greg with a frown.
“What’s the big deal? I wasn’t even gone a full hour.”
“The big deal is that I have to leave for Singapore for an emergency at one of the docks, and I couldn’t reach you. Jesus, I can’t leave you alone if I can’t trust you to think about safety. Anything can happen, and you’re stranded without a phone.”
I refrain from reminding him we live in a city with enough phones and cops that I will never be without options, and stroke his cheek instead, apologizing with enough sincerity that he finally stops glaring and straightens.
“Kim has arranged a car for you. If you don’t want to drive yourself she can get a driver—”
“No! That’s fine,” I rush to say, getting overly excited at the prospect of getting behind the wheel and being independently mobile.
It’s been a battle, but he’s finally cracked and agreed that I need my own car, which means I get to go places myself without asking him or calling a service.
Being married to a tycoon has definitely got a few advantages that I don’t mind. An hour later, and after a really intense make-out session in his office, I watch him leave.
I’m not happy or sad or anything that really matters. I’m used to this, and though I know I’ll miss him tonight and won’t get to sleep very easily, I have to admit a small relief.
The first thing I do is call the doctor, who insists that I come in right away. The car, a rental, thanks to his insistence that I get a top of the line tank if I’m driving in the city, is harder to manage in the traffic than I originally thought, but I make it to my appointment in one piece with only the smallest scratch to the bumper.
“Well, you’re definitely pregnant,” I hear forty minutes later as I lie on the exam table waiting for a diagnosis.
“But—”
“The birth control the obstetrician prescribed is a pretty effective one, Mrs Lucas, so I’m a little flummoxed. But the test is a hundred percent positive.”
I feel the bottom drop out from under me as he pats my shoulder gently and leaves so that I can dress.
It’s… It should be impossible for me to be pregnant. Like the doctor says, when I’d spoken to the OB I’d been sure to get birth control that would nix the pregnancy scares right in the bud.
And here I am, pregnant.
Well there goes the honeymoon, I think, stomping to the car with a snort that makes me feel guilty. I should be really happy right now, and not in the least annoyed at the little cell currently nesting in my womb, and yet I am sooo annoyed.
I don’t want a baby. I want long nights of making love. Getting tipsy at New Year’s. Lazy Sundays in bed — okay, till maybe seven — with relaxation and a little romance.
“Shit.”
It’s just past four, so I call Kim and tell her I’m heading home instead of fighting traffic back to the office. I should call — no, he’s in the air right now, and I hate cell phones and airplanes together.
I’ve watched Air Crash Investigation. A lot.
My phone dings, and I smile when I read Nat’s message telling me Fletcher’s got the green light and will be taking her out tonight. Go, matchmaking Han!
I dial her number and glance back at a dark SUV that’s tailgating me.
“Slow down, asshole,” I mutter just as Nat answers.
“Nice. Should I be apologizing for something?”
“No. Sorry. I’m driving, and there’s a road pig on my ass. So, date?”
“Wait! You’re driving? He finally caved on the car?”
“No. He hired me a car and insists on taking me to pick out Lord only knows what indestructible thing. He was supposed to shotgun my first drive, but he had to fly to Singapore, so I’m foot loose and fancy free tonight. So, date?” I hint again, keeping an eye on the SUV behind me.
The guy’s on my ass in a big way, and I have no option but to speed up a little, even though it scares me to drive this fast.
“Yeah, he called, and I laid it all out for him. Nothing glitzy or…”
I stop listening for a second when the SUV comes closer, and curse, halting her enthusiasm.
“God, this guy,” I mutter.
It’s while I’m glancing back that a truck cuts in front of me. I swerve and tap the brake lightly. When nothing happens I slam my foot down hard and gasp when it hits the floor, leaving me frighteningly aware that I have no brakes, a truck a few inches in front of me, and absolutely nowhere to go but into oncoming traffic.
The last thing I hear as I smack head-on into the truck is Nat screaming and the sound of twisting metal as the car flips and starts rolling.
Chapter Thirty Seven
I don’t wake slowly like I assumed I would, but burst back to consciousness with a frantic panic that steals the air from my lungs. My first thought is for the baby I’ve just learned I’m carrying, and I go to grab my stomach and shove a hand between my trapped legs.
When it comes away dry and blood-free I sob and allow myself to look around. Twisted metal and glass fill my vision, along with the smell of gasoline.
I’m trapped in the car, smashed up against the seat and the door, and my head is pounding so violently it takes me a while to realize I’m hanging upside down.
“Han! Hannah! Jesus, what the hell is going on!”
I hear frantic screams, Nat’s frantic screams all around me.
“Nat.” It’s a choked whisper, a croak of pain, and I realize everything on me hurts, especially my right arm where it’s trapped between my body and the mangled door. “Call…Greg. Accident.”
It’s all I get out before the black spots swirling in my vision become a pall of unconscious.
***
“I should never have let her drive, but she was so excited, and I didn’t… No, they said everything’s fine… Concussion and broken… Don’t tell her yet…”
I’m swimming through fog, a thick soup that keeps dragging me under just when I think I’m finally reaching the surface. I’m not complaining, not when I feel no pain or fear, but every time I hear his voice it makes me fight harder to resurface.
When I finally do I feel achy and groggy, and I open my eyes to see a golden head resting beside my thigh and a strong hand cupped around the fingers of my right hand.
“Greg,” I moan, and he springs to life like a live wire, his sherry-colored eyes bloodshot and panicked before they land on me and freeze, tearing up.
“You’re awake.”
My hand is heavy when I try to lift it and swipe at the moisture rimming his eyes, and I look down to see a vivid white cast surrounding it from above my elbow all the way to my fingers.
“No, no, lie still. It’s broken in two places but—”
“Oh God, the…”
My hands go to my stomach in a frenzy before he stills me with a kiss and a tired smile that shows just how worried he’s been.
“You’re fine. The baby is fine,” he murmurs softly, his eyes glowing fiercely with a joy that steals my breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I answer only after he helps me sit up and cradles my head as I sip at a glass of tepid water. It helps with the rawness in my throat but sets up a queasy swirling that tells me better than anything that the fetus is still in there.
What? I just found out about the baby. I haven’t had a chance to name it yet. Plus, I like “fetus.” It has a certain ring to it that my dorky side can’t resist.
“I was on the way home from the doctor when that…did they get that asshole in the SUV? He pushed me straight into the truck in front of me,” I growl, groaning when my head protests the volume.
My words upset him, ruining the moment, and I wince guiltily when his face loses that glowing joy.
“The police are pulling up the footage. They think one of the highway cameras may have caught the accident,”
he says, and I can see just how upset he is when he pulls away and starts pacing.
I kinda think this is how he stays in such great shape, because he hasn’t been to the gym once since we got married. Honestly, I don’t know where he’d find the time.
“I want you to tell me exactly what happened, from the moment you left the doctor’s office. Exactly, Han,” he barks.
I really don’t feel up to a replay of the accident, and I say so, leaning over to get the water cup. All I want to do right now is lie back and hope the jackhammer in my skull stops trying to realign my brain tissue.
“Han, please.”
“Fine. I got onto the highway and Nat — Chris, oh this is so goddamned confusing. Natalia texted me, so I called her, and no, Greg, the phone was on the speakers like you told me, so don’t even start yelling at me,” I warn. “But the whole time I kept seeing this idiot in a dark-colored SUV pushing me. I sped up a little because I was scared he was going to hit me.”
“You should have skipped over.”
“I was going to, when the truck swerved in front of me. I tapped the brake a little to avoid it, and that’s when the SUV sped up.”
“After the truck cut you off?” he asks suspiciously, and I scowl.
Swear to God, if he tries to go back on getting me a car because some bozo can’t drive properly, I’ll scream.
“Yes. After. I couldn’t go anywhere but into oncoming traffic, and the brakes weren’t working right.”
So I’d ended up hitting the truck and flipping the car. Shit, the rental company is not going to be pleased. I can guarantee there’s nothing much left of the little hatchback.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I hit them as hard as I could. I figured him rear-ending me was a whole lot better than hitting a truck, but when I stood on the pedal it hit the floor like a limp noodle.”
I want to state for the record that I’m not telling him how fast I was going when the brakes failed because I’m smart and I actually want a car of my own before my ninety-fifth birthday.