But I knew who he was. I can’t hide from that. I feel like a spider poked with a stick—I just want to curl into a ball. It’s no wonder he feels betrayed. He thought it was two strangers having a fun one-night stand. Now that he realizes I knew his identity, it takes on a much more sinister tone.
I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I just let Brielle take him to Blackridge? But once again, as I think about my sister and Caesar alone together, jealousy grips me in her big green hands and squeezes.
I’m carrying his child. Even if he doesn’t know it, I can’t act as if I’m okay with him sleeping with other women. He might already have done so. The thought almost makes me retch.
I want to run down to the lobby and never see him again. But my briefcase is in the boardroom, and I can’t go without it.
And besides, I’m not a coward. I got myself into this mess. I’ll have to try to explain to Caesar as best as I can that I wasn’t sent to seduce him, and if he doesn’t believe me, well, that’s his problem.
I go out and walk slowly back to the boardroom. He’s standing over by the window when I push the glass door open, but he turns as I walk back to my seat.
“Everything all right?” he asks, frowning.
I nod and clear my throat. “I apologize. I have a migraine, and they make me nauseous.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” To my surprise, he gets up, walks around the table, and holds my chair. “Please, sit down.”
I lower into the seat, and he helps me tuck it in. Next, he goes over to the window. “Brielle mentioned you have photosensitivity,” he says as he fully closes the blinds.
He walks to the fridge and takes out a bottle of water, and opens it, reminding me of the night of the ball in the hotel room, when he gave me a bottle after we’d had sex. His eyes meet mine for a moment, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.
He drops his gaze and retrieves a clean glass, then pours the water into it. “Here, have a drink.”
I sip the cool water thankfully. “Thank you.”
He hesitates, then pulls out the chair next to mine and takes a seat. I sip my water again, my hand shaking.
Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he links his fingers and studies them. It gives me the opportunity to look at his face, the first time I’ve had a really good look at him without his mask. He’s so handsome. I feel a wash of sadness. Aguy like this would never choose the real me. He was attracted to Cupcake, not vanilla-flavored Maddie the Weirdo, who’s had children point at her in the street. I’ve tried to be like Brielle and embrace my uniqueness, but I don’t have the personality for it.
This whole episode has been a disaster from start to finish, and it’s left me with an impossible decision that makes me emotional every time I think about it. I can’t have this baby. For a start, what if it also has albinism? It’s unlikely, as Caesar would have to be a carrier of the gene too, and even then there would only be a one-in-four chance of the baby having the condition, but I can’t risk it. I don’t want to curse Little Raspberry before he or she is even born. I don’t want them to experience what I went through.
Tears well up inside me, and before I can do anything about them, they spill over and run down my cheeks, which is the opposite of the strong and sassy image I wanted to portray to the man who clearly already thinks I’m a master manipulator.
Oh God. Why am I so useless at absolutely everything?
Chapter Eight
Caesar
I lift my head and blink as Maddie wipes her face. Her eyes are red and watery, and guilt tugs at me.
“Hey…” I take my pocket square out of my top pocket and hand it to her. “Come on, don’t cry. I’m sorry I got angry. I felt blindsided, that’s all.”
“I know.” She wipes her eyes on the square of cloth and blows her nose. Then she holds it out to me.
“Please, keep it,” I say wryly. What’s upset her? Is it just because I got cross? I didn’t yell, and it could be argued that she deserved a dressing down after what she did.
But my father brought me up to believe a real man never shows his temper with a woman. “If you’re ever angry with a girl,” he told Marcus and me when we were teens, “turn and walk away until you feel calm again.” If I can’t be civil to Maddie, I need to end this conversation.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I still can’t believe she’s the girl I met on the night of the ball. She looks so different with her white hair and complexion. And yet… her unusual looks are also somehow perfect for her. She’s unique… fascinating. I’m having trouble tearing my gaze away from her.
But she’s still the woman who seduced me and lied to me. And she’s still the granddaughter of the man I detest with every fiber of my being. I mustn’t forget that.
I should keep our conversation strictly business, but her betrayal feels like an elephant in the room who’s holding a flag and waving it in my face, and I can’t ignore it.
“Why did you do it?” I ask.
She blinks. “Do what?”
