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The only way she could guarantee that no child of hers would ever go through that was not to have any children. She tucked away the sudden, jagged longing for a life that would never be.
Fran’s friends wandered toward the dance floor, the wife clutching the business card Lucas had retrieved from a hard, silver case, and another well-dressed couple looking for a real estate broker promptly replaced them.
“This is my wife, Cia Wheeler,” Lucas said.
“Robert Graves,” the male half of the couple said and shook Cia’s hand. “Formerly Allende, right?”
“Right. Benicio Allende is my grandfather.”
Robert’s eyes grew a touch warmer. “I thought so. My company does the advertising for Manzanares. It keeps us hopping.”
“Oh?” Cia asked politely.
It never ceased to amaze her how people loved to name-drop and rub elbows because of her last name. Former last name. Robert Graves was no exception, prattling on about Abuelo’s shrewd negotiations and then switching gears to announce right then and there that he’d like to do business with Lucas. It wasn’t said, but it was clearly implied that he’d decided because of her.
She made Lucas stable. Connected. Exactly as they’d hoped this marriage would do.
The room spun. Was that why Lucas wanted to blow off the divorce? Because he didn’t need the Manzanares contract to save his business anymore but he did need her?
Not possible. A few paltry clients couldn’t compare to the coup of Manzanares. She’d done exhaustive research. She’d considered all the angles.
Except for the one where she worked hard to be an asset to her husband and succeeded.
No. He’d keep his word. He had a high ethical standard. Surely he’d return to form before too long. Lucas excelled at racing off to the next woman—his brother had even warned her of it.
Lucas didn’t want to give up sex. Fine. Neither did she, and compromise wasn’t a foreign word in her vocabulary. They could keep seeing each other on the sly after the divorce.
The idea loosened the clench of her stomach. She didn’t have to quit Lucas cold turkey, and, as a bonus, she would gain a little extra time to shut off all these unwelcome feelings she’d been fighting.
As soon as the Graves couple coasted out of earshot, Fran signaled a waiter, and Andy Wheeler joined the group in time to take a champagne flute from the gilded tray.
“A toast,” Lucas’s dad suggested with a raised glass. “To all the new developments and those yet to be born.”
Cia raised her glass and took a healthy swallow.
“Oh, you’re drinking,” Fran said with obvious disappointment. “I guess there’s no news yet.”
Lucas flashed a wolfish smile in Cia’s direction. “You’ll be the second to know, Mama.”
“Why do I feel like you’re talking in code?” Cia whispered to Lucas.
“I might have casually mentioned we’re trying to get pregnant,” Lucas whispered back. “Don’t worry. It’s just window dressing.”
“Window dressing?” Cia said at normal volume, too startled to rein in her voice. “What kind of window dressing is that?”
“Excuse us for a moment, please.” Lucas nodded at his parents and dragged Cia away by the waist to an unpopulated corner of the room.
“Pregnant? Really?” she hissed and blinked against the scarlet haze over her vision. “No wonder your mom stopped by for tea and chatted me up about identity and being called ‘Mama.’”
“Well, now. I guess I don’t have to ask you how you feel about the idea.” Lucas tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, and it took supreme will not to slap his hand away.
“It doesn’t matter. We don’t have a ‘trying to get pregnant’ marriage and never will. Should I say it again? In Spanish, maybe?” She stuck a finger deep into his ribs. “Why did you tell your parents something so ridiculous? We don’t need any more window dressing. In fact, we should be taking the dressing off the window.”
“Since several people are at this very moment watching us argue, I believe dressing is peeling away rapidly with every finger jab,” Lucas responded. “Simmer down, darlin’. Matthew’s gone. I’m the only Wheeler who has a reasonable shot at producing the next generation. It’s Wheeler Family Partners. Remember?”
She swallowed, hard, and it scraped down her throat as if she’d gargled with razor blades. “So I’m supposed to be the factory for the Wheeler baby production? Is that the idea?”
“Shocking how people leap to cast my wife in that role. One might wonder why you’re having a meltdown about the mere contemplation of bearing my children, when you’ve been so clear about how our marriage is fake and we’re divorcing, period, end of story.” He stared her down with raised eyebrows. “Mama was upset when Matthew left, and I told her we were trying for a baby to soften the blow. Not because I have some evil scheme to start poking holes in the condoms. Okay?”
