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“He’s been managing his own cooking and laundry for years. Why does he need a helpmate now?”
Brea dropped her silverware on her plate in frustration. The clatter lent her bravado. “What do you want, Daddy? We’ve decided to move forward together because we’re both lonely, we trust each other, and it makes sense. I was hoping you’d be happy for me. There’s no groom on the planet I can imagine you approving of more, yet you’re still questioning me?”
He held up both hands. “You’re right. I love Cutter like a son, and I hope he makes you happy. But your heart is tangled up elsewhere, and I want to be sure you’re not making this decision to please me or Cutter—or anyone else—at your own expense.”
Her problems were so much bigger than that. “We’ll find ways to be happy together.”
“I want that for you more than anything. And I don’t mean to question you.” He leaned forward. “You know the problem fathers have?”
She shook her head. “What?”
A faint smile crossed his face. “They never want to admit their little girls have grown up. And despite what you may think, I’m proud of you.”
He wouldn’t be proud of her if he knew this conversation was built on so many lies…
“Thanks, Daddy.” Brea tried not to get choked up, but it was hopeless.
“Hey.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Don’t cry. Weddings are a happy occasion. Once that boy comes back from California and asks me for your hand, we’ll have a celebration.”
“He will.” They hadn’t talked about it specifically, but Daddy wanting to give his blessing wouldn’t surprise Cutter.
“So when’s the big day? We have to start planning, after all.”
“We haven’t decided.” But they couldn’t afford to wait long.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll get all the details worked out.”
She nodded, but she couldn’t stop feeling as if she wouldn’t be planning her wedding so much as burying her future.
Friday, November 14
Brea gripped the toilet and retched again. Blasted morning sickness. She was nearly in week fifteen of her pregnancy. When the devil would it end?
This morning, she’d turned on her music in the bathroom, hoping it would disguise the sounds of her sickness, but Daddy was likely awake. What if he could hear her? How many more well-meaning lies would she have to tell him to keep her secret?
It was already too many.
After rising weakly from the floor, she flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and rinsed her mouth. The nausea wasn’t done with her yet; she knew that from experience. But after so much upheaval, her body felt weak.
She stumbled back to bed and grabbed her phone off her nightstand along the way. Five forty a.m.
Tears stabbed at her eyes. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d seen Pierce. She so badly wanted to call him, hear his gruff voice, confess how much she missed him. Tell him she still loved him. In her fantasy, he would say he loved her, too. Then she would confess they were having a baby, and he would be so happy, apologize for everything, propose instantly, and sweep her away to their happily ever after.
Brea shook her head at her own absurdity. Pierce had played her, and she’d loved him so much—or at least the man she’d believed him to be—that she had let him.
Finally, she’d ripped off her rose-colored glasses and resolved to face her future with eyes wide open.
She scrolled up from Pierce’s contact and dialed Cutter instead. She couldn’t put this off anymore.
He answered on the third ring. “Bre-Bee? You okay?”
“Hi, Cutter.” She could hear her own voice shaking, but she was determined to forge ahead.
“What’s going on?”
“I haven’t heard from you. Everything all right there? Your starlet a problem child?”
“No. Her situation is more complicated than I thought at first glance, but…” There was such a long pause, Brea wasn’t sure he actually intended to finish his sentence. Finally, he sighed. “I’ll figure it out.”
Something was troubling him. Since he almost never let a case get to him, whatever he was dealing with in California must be deeply problematic. “You always do. But I’m worried about you. You sound so tired.”
“Pacific time is two hours behind Central.”
“Oh, my gosh.” It wasn’t even four in the morning there. “I’m so sorry. I always mess up time zones…”
“What’s going on?”
In other words, why was she calling so early.
Though Cutter had offered to marry her, he probably wasn’t braced to hear her accept in the middle of the night. On the other hand, she’d already awakened him, so why hang up now? “Daddy is suspicious. I’m scared.”
“Tell me everything.”
She paraphrased her conversation with her father over supper the previous night.
Cutter didn’t sound at all surprised. “So you’re still having morning sickness?”
“Like crazy. Sometimes it lasts until evening, then suddenly I’m ravenous and eat everything in sight. It’s like my body isn’t my own anymore.” Same with her emotions. She’d read online that her hormones were irregular during pregnancy and might make her behavior unpredictable. That was certainly a nice way to put it.
