It made sense.
I couldn't let the Winston family suffer because of Natalie's impulse, and I didn't want Natalie on some trashy gossip rag. So I went, suffered through thirty minutes of shopping hell with Olivia. Honestly, listening to those old board members drone on was more interesting.
When Natalie called, I clearly saw a paparazzo's camera angle. I knew I couldn't leave, or those thirty minutes would've been wasted. I never make bad deals. So I had David handle it, texted asking which hospital, she didn't reply. I assumed she could handle it—Natalie was more independent than people thought.
But something in Nick's tone made me uneasy.
"Christ, Richard, I'm not her biggest fan, but congratulations. Though I can't imagine what your kid with Natalie would look like. Honestly, if the kid inherits most of Natalie's genes, the Winston family business might be screwed. Bottom-tier genetics and all..."
What was Nick talking about?
My kid with Natalie?
Natalie was pregnant? When did this happen?
Whatever Nick said next, I didn't hear a word.
A surge of almost savage joy shot through me.
I was going to be a father.
God, I was going to be a father.
But the next second, that joy froze solid.
News this huge, and Natalie hadn't told me.
She knew I wanted a child.
Nick's voice droned on. "But Richard, you should probably worry—kids who needed progesterone shots sometimes have genetic defects..."
Progesterone shots.
Something slammed into my brain.
Natalie went to the hospital for progesterone shots? Why? Was something wrong with her?
A sharp, unfamiliar emotion crawled up my spine and wrapped around my throat.
Christ, what had I done? I'd abandoned my wife who needed those shots to play a PR charade with some irrelevant woman?
Was this guilt?
Hell, guilt wasn't in Richard Winston's vocabulary.
I hung up on Nick, grabbed my car keys, and bolted. David shouted something about "meetings" behind me. Screw the meetings. I needed to see Natalie. She owed me an explanation.
On the drive back to Blackwood Manor, I ran two red lights, sped the whole way, my head full of Natalie.
I thought about the last few times we'd had sex—how she'd refused, which wasn't like her. Had she known about the pregnancy? And last night when she said she had something important to tell me—was that it?
And I'd told her to wait.
The car slid through the estate gates as darkness fell. The grounds were quiet, only the porch lights on.
I slammed the car door and strode into the foyer.
What should I say to Natalie first? Damn it, I had no idea. Irritated, I threw my suit jacket on the sofa, yanked off my tie, and headed upstairs.
