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This was the question that haunted him. What if he was wrong? What if she’d meant it when she’d said he’d only been a fling? His instincts told him otherwise, but he was all too aware of the power of self-delusion. He braced himself.
“So what?” Lucy had elevated sneering to an art form. “I thought I loved Ted Beaudine, and look how that turned out.”
He got so light-headed he could barely respond. “Yeah, but he was way too good for you. I’m not.”
“Okay, that’s true.”
He wanted to pick her up, dump her in his car, and drive off, but he doubted either she or her mother’s Secret Service detail would go for that. He dragged in some air and made himself say what he needed to. “Kristi found a counselor for me who’s a veteran. He’s seen combat. We hit it off right away. I won’t say everything’s perfect, but I will say he’s convinced me I’m saner than I thought.”
“He’s wrong,” Madam Sensitive declared. Still, he thought he detected a softening in those big brown eyes, although that might be wishful thinking.
“Tell me how you want to handle this mess,” he said, stopping just short of pleading. “You know I’ll marry you if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything for you. Just tell me what you want.”
Any tenderness he’d imagined vanished, replaced by an icy hauteur. “You’re hopeless.” She stomped through the leaves and up the steps toward the front door. She didn’t slam it in his face, so he deduced he was supposed to follow her inside for more ass kicking.
The imposing entrance hall held a sweeping staircase, impressive oil paintings, and antique furniture that shouted old money, but the abandoned backpacks, bike helmets, and single multicolored kneesock tossed in the corner spoke of younger occupants. She flung her windbreaker on a chair that looked like a loaner from the Smithsonian and turned to face him again. “What if I’m lying?”
He’d stopped trying to wipe the leaves from his shoes on the Oriental carpet that stretched across the doorway. “Lying?”
“What if I’m not pregnant,” she said, “and I’m making this whole thing up. What if I finally saw through that charade you built to protect me—as if I weren’t perfectly capable of protecting myself—and what if I really do love you and this is the only way I could think of to get you back? What would you do then?”
He forgot about his wet shoes. “Are you lying?”
“Answer my question.”
He wanted to strangle her. “If you’re lying, I’m goi
ng to be more pissed than you can imagine because, despite everything I’ve said, I want a baby with you. Tell me the truth right now!”
Her eyes seemed to melt. “Really? You really do want a baby?”
Now he was the belligerent one. “Don’t screw with me about this, Lucy. It’s too important.”
She turned away. “Mom! Dad!”
“We’re in here.” A male voice boomed from the back of the house.
He was seriously going to kill her, but first he had to follow her through the grand house into a roomy, sun-splashed kitchen that smelled of coffee and something baking. The squared-off bay window held a trestle table that looked out over the autumn garden. President Jorik sat at one end, the Wall Street Journal open in front of her, another paper folded at her side. She wore a white robe and gray slippers. Even without makeup, she was a beautiful woman, in addition to being an imposing one. Her husband sat across from her in jeans and a Saturday-morning sweatshirt. Although her hair was combed, his wasn’t, and he hadn’t yet shaved. Panda hoped like hell they were both on their second cup of coffee, or this was going to go even worse than he expected.
“Mom, Dad, you remember Patrick Shade.” Lucy said his name as if it were spoiled meat. “My guard dog.”
He couldn’t afford to be awestruck by either of them, and he nodded.
President Jorik pushed aside her Wall Street Journal. Mat Jorik closed the cover of his iPad and pulled off his reading glasses. Panda wondered if they knew about the baby … or if there even was a baby. Leave it to Lucy to toss him into the lions’ den without a clue. At least he’d been spared the presence of her sisters and brother. It was Saturday, so they must be sleeping in. He wished her parents had stayed in bed, too. “Ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Jorik.”
Lucy wanted her pound of flesh. She flopped into an empty chair next to her father, leaving Panda standing in front of them like a peasant brought before royalty. She glared at her mother. “You will never guess what he just said. He said he’d marry me if that’s what I want.”
President Jorik actually rolled her eyes. Her husband shook his head. “Even stupider than I figured.”
“He’s not stupid.” Lucy propped her feet on the wooden trestle under the table. “He’s … Okay, he’s sort of stupid, but so am I. And he has a big heart.”
Panda had heard enough. He gave Lucy what he hoped was his most menacing glare, then turned to her parents. “I’d like permission to marry your daughter.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re way ahead of yourself. First you have to tell them all the reasons you’re unworthy.”
Up until now, he hadn’t understood much of what she was doing, but he did understand this. She wanted him to rip off the Band-Aid fast.
“Would you like some coffee, Patrick?” President Jorik gestured toward the pot on the counter.
