She pressed her hands into his chest, trying to wedge some room between them, but he didn’t release his hold on her. “This is the twenty-first century. It’s gauche to blame a woman for getting pregnant. Not to mention ignorant. We’re both responsible for what happened that night.”
“I’m not talking about what happened that night. I’m talking about your decision afterward not to tell me you were pregnant.”
“Funny, I don’t recall us exchanging phone numbers before we parted ways. Maybe you should make a note of that for the next time you decide to pick up a woman in a bar.”
The words “pick up a woman in a bar” were said with more than a hint of scorn. As well as a healthy dose of indignation. As if she were an innocent bystander to this train wreck.
“Don’t make me into the villain here.”
“Then don’t me make into the villainess.” She tugged again at her arm and this time he let her pull herself free. “I made a decision. I thought it was the right one at the time. You’re not exactly a model of upstanding responsibility. It never occurred to me that you’d want to know you were going to be a father.”
And until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to him, either. Hell, he still wasn’t sure he wanted to be a father. That was an issue that was going to take a lot more than just one day to get used to.
But he did know this: given the choice of having a five-month-old baby sprung on him versus having eight or so months to get used to the idea, he definitely would have preferred the latter.
This whole damn situation made his head pound and his gut twist into knots. And the woman before him—innocent appearance aside—was the one responsible. If that wasn’t bad enough, she honestly thought she had his whole personality—his whole life—summed up in one word: irresponsible.
“Look, you don’t know anything about me. You knew me for less than one night. If you want to judge whether or not I have what it takes to be a father, you’re going to have to stick around a lot longer than that.”
“Don’t worry. I plan to. But for the record, I didn’t base my decision not to tell you on just one night.”
“Okay, I know that’s the only time we met. Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me.”
She blanched but recovered quickly. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t exactly live a low-profile life. You’re in the gossip columns every time you’re in the country. And Messina Diamonds is in the business section when you’re not.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Ah, so that’s what this is about.”
“What?”
“Your sudden appearance on my doorstep. You were flipping through the paper one day, happened across a mention of me and put two and two together. I’m only surprised it took you this long to figure out what I was worth.”
“You think this is about money?”
“What else would it be about it?”
“Not that. I can tell you that much. Financially, I’m doing just fine.”
He looked around the generic two-bedroom condo. “Yeah, you’re really rolling in it.”
Indignation shot through her, stiffening her spine. She must have grown a full inch. “I’ll have you know I make very good money. For a normal person. If I appear to live modestly, it’s because I put plenty of money into my retirement fund and because I live within my means. But I do live very comfortably, thank you very much.”
Her indignation was so complete he might have been convinced. If his gut wasn’t screaming at him that she was hiding something.
“If it’s not money you want, then what is it?”
“I just want Isabella. That’s all. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes it is. Considering that less than twenty-four hours ago you abandoned her.”
Four
“I assume this room will be sufficient.”
Lucy looked around the elegantly appointed guest room. A room large enough that even the king-sized mahogany bed didn’t seem out of place. The classical lines of the furniture blended beautifully with the beige raw silk duvet cover and the ecru mohair throw draped artfully across the corner of the bed. The attached guest bath, outfitted with travertine tile and buff marble, was as large as her bedroom and twice as luxurious. It was all very…cream.The room was lovely in a blandly elegant kind of way. The rest of the house—that she’d seen so far—was the same: ridiculously spacious and decorated with refined sophistication. In short, the house looked unlived in. It wasn’t a home, it was a museum. And clearly one in which a baby had never spit up her iron-fortified formula. Isabella was sure to change that.
From the corner of her eye, she shot Dex a dirty look. “Yeah. It’ll do.”
It would constantly remind her that she didn’t belong here. That despite her protestations that she lived comfortably, the Messina definition of comfortable varied greatly from hers.
A reminder she didn’t need and appreciated even less.
“Shall I set up this…thing?”
He held the twenty-five-pound portacrib in one hand as if it weighed no more than a briefcase.
“No. I’ll do it. They can be tricky.”
In truth, it wasn’t that difficult. But she didn’t want him feeling comfortable with any of Isabella’s things. Besides, after the visit to her condo, she needed a break from him.
He looked from her to the ExerSaucer, where Isabella sat gurgling happily while she spun one of the chair’s many doodads. Lucy took little comfort in how nervous he looked. But, she supposed, a little comfort was better than none.
“Well, then. I’ll let you get settled. Dinner will be served at seven.”
“Dinner will be served?”
“While you were packing, I called Mavis, our housekeeper, and arranged for her to make a full meal. Normally, she just leaves something in the fridge for Derek or me to heat up. But with Isabella here I figured she’d need something more.”
She stared at him in confusion for a moment, trying to make sense of his words. “Isabella is five months old. She doesn’t even eat baby food yet.”
“Oh.”
“You didn’t try to feed her real food when you were alone with her, did you?”
“No. There were two cans of formula in the bag you left. I fed her those.”
“Thank God.”
But the way his lips tightened made her wonder if he tried the formula before or after trying to feed her a hamburger or something absurd.
“Dinner will be served at seven,” he repeated. “Even if she won’t eat it, presumably you will.”
“Of course.” He was already out the door when she muttered, “But I could have just cooked my own food like a normal human being.”
He stuck his head back through the doorway. “What was that?”
“Sounds great.” She smiled brightly in the face of his suspicious glare. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought you said.” Though his expression made it clear he didn’t believe anything of the sort.
This time, she followed him to the door, closed it behind him and then collapsed against it with a sigh. Across the room, Isabella sat in her ExerSaucer.
“Look at the mess your momma has gotten us into this time.”
Isabella’s head tilted to the side, a slightly puzzled expression on her face.
“Don’t you worry, though,” Lucy said, crossing to the bed where her purse lay. “I’ll fix this. I promise.”
Lucy dug through her purse and pulled out her cell phone. When her call was shuffled over to Jewel’s voice mail, she spoke low into the phone.
“Damn it, Jewel, I need to talk to you. Still. I’ve got Isabella. She’s fine. But I’m staying at Dex Messina’s house, so don’t bother trying me at home.” She almost hung up, but then at the last moment added, “And by the way, I’ve got over a dozen books on how to take care of babies. You couldn’t have stuck one of those in the diaper bag for Dex?”
As she dropped the phone back in her bag, she noticed the thin sheaf of papers she’d gotten from her lawyer just last week. Papers that would give her full custody of Isabella. Papers she hadn’t yet gotten Jewel to sign.
Pulling her suitcase behind her she crossed to the dresser. She quickly unpacked her clothes into the top two drawers, carefully burying the bundle of papers beneath her stash of bras and panties.
How in the world had she found herself in this mess? And here, she’d always tried so hard to do the right thing. To be the good sister.
Sure, she’d been cleaning up her sister’s messes all her life. She usually did it in her own way—logically, without lies or deception. But this? This desperate scheme to get Isabella back seemed almost like something Jewel would do. Living in Dex’s house for two weeks while she pretended to be Isabella’s mother? The plan was farcical. No, scratch that. It wasn’t a plan at all. It was a series of irrational decisions held together with nothing more than hope and luck. It would never work. Except it had to work.
She rubbed her fingers over her forehead, wishing she could rub away the tension gathering there. Unfortunately, that was as futile as trying to coax some warmth out of Dex.
“I’m not going to let that awful man raise you.”
Isabella looked toward the door and cooed. Almost as if she knew exactly which awful man Lucy was talking about. Lucy frowned. Isabella’s coo hadn’t sounded nearly as traumatized as Lucy would have expected, given all the poor girl had been through.
“Okay, honey, you’re just going to have to take my word on this. That is not the kind of man you want raising you. He’s cold and emotionally unavailable.”
Not unlike her own father. After their mother had up and walked out on them, he had left them to be raised largely by nannies and sitters. They had both suffered from his neglect in their own way.
Lucy had often thought things had been worse for Julie—this was back when she was Julie, before she’d legally changed her name to the more sophisticated Jewel.