To Have It All(11)

“Anyway,” I added before he could argue. “I’m wiped. Night. Love you.” I waved as I exited the kitchen.

“Night,” he called. “And try not to worry, Waverly.” My eyes teared up, but he didn’t see because I had already walked in the hallway outside the kitchen. I hated that Max could still do this to me; could still hurt me. Seeing him that night, begging him to sign over rights to our daughter had been more emotionally trying than I had thought it would be. Though I fought like hell to stop it, it came anyway—the memory. The first one in a painful series. The beginning of one of the worst times in my life.

Everything looked perfect.

The entire apartment was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, a bottle of champagne sat on the counter beside the two Waterford crystal flutes Max’s boss had given us upon news of our marriage, and the decadent aroma from the lamb I’d prepared wafted in the air. The setting was perfect. My tummy grumbled in hunger as I checked the clock for the ten-thousandth time. I was starved, and he was an hour late. His new job was requiring him to stay later as he worked hard to impress his boss and peers.

So I understood his tardiness, and I would wait.

This was a special occasion.

When he finally arrived, I greeted him at the door wearing my red fitted dress that bared my shoulders. It was a favorite of his.

“Max,” I beamed as he slipped off his suit jacket, his gaze darting around the apartment.

“What’s all this?” he asked as I took his coat and hung it for him.

“This,” I preened as I took his hand and led him forward, “is for us.”

Cutting his eyes to me, he let them rove up and down my body, one side of his mouth quirking up. “And who’s that sexy dress for?” He knew exactly who I was wearing it for, but he enjoyed hearing me say it.

With a playful wink, I bit my lower lip. “The dress would be for us, but what’s underneath would most definitely be for you.”

Grabbing me, he yanked me to him and kissed me hard. Harder than I enjoyed, but I took it as passion; that his desire for me made him aggressive. And thinking of it that way made it romantic . . . At least, in my mind his urgency was sexy. He smelled like cigars and had the faintest taste of brandy on his tongue. He hadn’t come straight home from work, apparently. The thought bothered me, but I refused to let it spoil our evening. Tonight was a celebration, and I wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that. Pushing it aside, I met his kiss and embrace with equal gusto.

“I have to get the lamb,” I mumbled against his lips as his fingertips glided up my sides, making me squirm. I was ticklish and hated it, which made him love tickling me all the more.

When he released me, I rushed to the oven and popped it open.

“I’ll pour us a glass of champagne,” he volunteered.

“Just a little for me please,” I called out to him after I heard the cork pop.

After a few minutes, I had our plates prepared and set on the table. Max pulled my chair out for me as we sat, something he rarely ever did, before taking his seat.

“This looks excellent,” he noted as he rubbed his hands together.

I beamed a bright smile, a warmth spreading over me from his compliment. “Before we eat, I have a present for you,” I announced, my tone edged with nervousness.

“You didn’t knit me another scarf, did you?” he began. “I appreciate the thought, Waverly, but knitted scarves just aren’t my style.”

My face heated with embarrassment. Max was a wealthy man, and wealth was something I’d never had. Gift giving with him was a nightmare. His gifts for me were always extravagant and expensive. When I couldn’t afford to give him nicer gifts, I tried heartfelt ones; gifts with thought that involved time and effort. It took me two weeks to knit that damn scarf, and I was so proud of it. Of course, the moment he opened it, I could tell he hated it. The lame attempt he’d made to appear like he liked it could hardly be classified as an attempt at all.

“No,” I said, as I darted my gaze down at my plate, brushing away the hurt feelings. “I think you’ll really like this gift.” Handing him the small square box I’d wrapped in beautiful silver wrapping paper, I smiled.

Slowly, he untied the ribbon and unwrapped the box, giving me a wolfish grin as he popped the top off the box. When he looked inside, his grin fell, and his features went slack.

He was surprised. Smiling, I said, “Surprise, Daddy.”

Nothing.

He said nothing.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t move.

Okay, that didn’t go as planned, I thought to myself. Clearing my throat, I decided to clarify a few things. “That’s the first ultrasound photo. I’m about ten weeks. The baby is due in February.”

Tossing the box on the table, he grabbed his glass and chugged his champagne down. Standing, he took the champagne bottle and poured himself another glass before chugging that down too.

Every ounce of excitement and happiness I’d felt moments before had evaporated.

Max wasn’t happy.

He was pissed.

“I thought you’d be happy,” I managed after a beat.

He laughed haughtily. “About what? That the woman I’ve known for five seconds and married in front of an Elvis impersonator is pregnant? Are you serious?”