“Oh? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, they were both polite and friendly.”
“Were they still polite and friendly when you told them who you were?”
She gives me a wry look. “They knew who I was—Iwasn’t wearing a wig. Edward obviously isn’t violently opposed to some kind of deal with us or he wouldn’t have agreed to meet us on Friday. Marcus was a little cooler, but not nasty or anything. I think it’s just the older brother who’s hostile. What’s his name? Caligula?”
“Caesar.” Although I’m totally going to call him Caligula in my head from now on.
“I knew it was one of the Roman emperors. Anyway, I don’t blame him for being against a takeover. He’s the heir, and it’s his job to safeguard the family legacy. But he’s the one we’re goingto have to win over. We’ll have to turn our charm up to eleven on him.”
I feel a sudden, fierce surge of jealousy at the thought of Brielle flirting with Caesar. She’s so much better at it than I am, and she’s much prettier and more confident. Men always respond to her. The idea of her batting her white eyelashes at him, and him responding, makes me clench my fists.
“I’ll leave that to you,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll be able to win him over.”
She obviously picks up on the odd tone in my voice because she frowns at me. “Is everything all right? You’ve definitely been off the past few weeks.” She tips her head to the side. “What happened at the ball?”
“Nothing.”
“It was a great evening. I’m sorry I left you alone for a while. I honestly thought you’d feel more confident in your disguise. I wish you’d stayed. I’d have introduced you to some of my friends. We had a lot of fun dancing into the early hours.”
“I had fun with my book and a cup of Milo.” It’s a New Zealand hot chocolate-malt drink.
Brielle opens her mouth to reply, but she’s interrupted by one of our uncles and turns to talk to him.
I get up and wander over to the window. I lean on it and rest my temple on the cool glass.
The risk of recognition isn’t the only reason I’m reluctant to attend the meeting. I’d hoped to avoid Caesar because I’m carrying a secret. It’s about the size of a raspberry. I found that out at the dating scan I had yesterday.
I’m eight weeks pregnant with Caesar Ashford’s baby.
At first, I didn’t worry that my period was late. Caesar used a condom, so I reassured myself that I couldn’t possibly be pregnant.
It turned out to be a mistake, because by the time I took a test and discovered it was positive, it was too late to take the morning-after pill.
At the dating scan, the doctor gently told me that if I choose to terminate within the next two weeks, they’ll give me two types of pills to induce a miscarriage. After that, I’ll have to resort to surgery.
So basically, I’ve given myself two weeks to make up my mind whether or not to keep this baby.
It’s not a baby, I remind myself. It’s an embryo. I’m definitely not picturing my Little Raspberry in a yellow onesie with a duck on the front.
If I do decide to keep it, I’ll never be able to tell anyone who the father is. My father would probably march me down to the Ashford offices with a shotgun and demand that Caesar take responsibility for his actions, and that would only make him hate me even more.
No, it’s not Caesar’s fault. I made the move on him. I initiated sex. He used a condom, and it’s not his fault that it must have split or something. None of this is his responsibility. I try to tell myself it’s no different from Wren Carter asking him to donate sperm, except that we had a bit of fun in the process. But if I keep the baby, it’ll be my decision and mine alone.
Now all I have to do is sit across the boardroom table from my baby’s father and make sure he doesn’t find out who I am or that he’s knocked me up.
Chapter Six
Friday 5thFebruary
Caesar
“Are you going to behave?” my brother asks.
I scowl at him. “I’m not a fucking dog.”
Marcus’s lips curve up. “There’s a joke about a bone there but luckily I’m too mature to make it.”
