The Last Mrs. Parrish(58)

“I don’t want to talk about Daphne,” he whispered.

She giggled. “She likes to talk about you.”

He sat up, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just little wifely complaints. No big deal.”

“I want to know. What did she say?” There was a hard edge to his voice.

She slid back so she could see his face, her finger tracing a pattern on his chest as she spoke. “Just stuff about how she’s at a point in her life when she wants to chill out, and you’re always pushing her to socialize. Said she’d rather stay home and watch old Law & Order reruns. I told her she was lucky to go places with you, but she just shook her head and said she was getting too old for all these dinners and galas keeping her out late.” It was a total lie, but so what. He’d never know.

She watched his face to see how he reacted, pleased to see his jaw clench.

“I don’t appreciate the two of you discussing me.” He slid from the bed and threw on his silk robe.

Amber went to him, still naked, and pressed herself against him. “We don’t talk about you, I promise. She just complains and I defend you, then change the subject. I adore you, you know that.” She hoped he believed that.

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t look convinced.

She changed her approach. “I think Daphne’s out of her element. You’re so brilliant and accomplished. You know all about art and culture, and she . . . well, she’s just kind of a simple girl. It’s hard to keep up the pretense.”

“I suppose,” he said.

“Come back to bed. I have a surprise.”

He shook his head. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go to the living room. I have a present for you.” She grabbed his hand.

He yanked it back from her. “Stop telling me what to do. You’re starting to sound like a nagging wife.”

She felt tears of rage spring to her eyes. How dare he talk to her like that? She swallowed her anger and made her voice sweet. It wouldn’t do to let him see how pissed she was. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Would you like a drink?”

“I’ll get it myself.”

She didn’t follow him, but sat down and forced herself to read a magazine, then another to give him some time to cool off. After about an hour, she retrieved the small gold bag with the bib from inside the closet and carried it into the living room. He was sitting in one of the dining room chairs, still brooding.

“Here you go.”

“What is it?”

“Open it, silly.”

He moved aside the tissue paper and pulled out the bib. He looked up at her, puzzled.

She took his hand and put it on her belly. “Your baby is in here.”

His mouth dropped open. “You’re pregnant? With a boy?”

She nodded. “Yes. I couldn’t believe it myself. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. There’s something else in there.”

He rooted around and found the sonogram picture.

“That’s our son.” Her smile was victorious.

“A boy? Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

He stood up, grinning from ear to ear, and picked her up. “This is wonderful news. I’d given up on ever having a son. Now you have to let me get you a place here.”

Was he serious? “A place here?”

“Well, yes. You can’t very well stay where you are now.”

The blood was pounding in her ears. “You’re right, Jackson. I can’t. And I don’t want my son to grow up wondering why his father has him hidden in some back alley. He needs to be with family. Once he’s born, we’ll go back to Nebraska.”

She turned and stomped from the room.

“Amber, wait!”

She threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and began packing a bag. Did he really expect her to go on being his secret now that she was giving him an heir? He was crazy if he thought she’d let Daphne continue to reap the benefits of being Mrs. Parrish while she worked in his office like a slave and he snuck in visits to his son. The hell with that.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving! I thought you loved me. What a fool I’ve been. I don’t see Daphne giving you a son, although she looks more pregnant than I do.”

He grabbed her hands. “Stop. I was insensitive. Let’s talk.”

“What’s there to talk about? Either we’re going to be a family, or we’re not.”

He sat down on the bed and ran his hand through his hair. “I need to think. We’ll figure this out. Don’t even think about moving away.”

“She doesn’t appreciate you, Jackson. She told me she cringes when you touch her. But I love you so much. All I want to do is take care of you, be the wife you deserve. I’ll always put you first—even before this child. You’re everything to me.” She got down on her knees, the way he liked, and showed him just how much she adored him. When she finished, he pulled her to him.

“How was that, Daddy?”

He gave her an inscrutable smile and stood up, picking up the sonogram picture again. His fingers traced it.

“My son.” He looked up at Amber. “Does anyone else know? Your mother, your friends?”