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Will my child be ostracized and ridiculed like I was? No mother wants that, or I should say, no loving, responsible mother wants that for their child.
Maybe it’s best to keep the paternity a secret. Things could go very wrong if the Kincaides turn their backs on this little one.
Their fingers are in everything and their influence is far-reaching, and I’m not just talking about cutting the child off financially. That would be the least of my worries as thoughts of Travis and his misfortunes stab at my heart.
My hand protectively falls to my belly, and movement from their table draws my attention. Laken cocks her head to one side and openly stares, eyes boring into my stomach where my hand lies, before flicking up to meet mine.
There’s something dark and strange, maybe even perceptive, about her gaze, and dread grips my belly. She can’t possibly know. Can she?
At most, it might look like I’ve put on a few pounds—I have even though I’m throwing up daily—but not like I’m pregnant.
I’ve got to talk to Ridge and settle things once and for all. While his financial support is sorely needed, at one point I hoped he would openly claim the child. Forget about a relationship with me, I wanted him to be a father to his son or daughter. And when I ran into him earlier, I had the sense he might be feeling the same way. Now, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.
With the last spoonful of minty chocolate goodness melting on my tongue, I tear my gaze from Laken, no longer able to stomach any of them. I need out of here.
Dumping the cup in the trash, I walk out into the blinding sun with my mind set on talking to Ridge. As if a sign, or meant to be—none of which I believe in—the man in question strolls toward me.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
He’s alone and his expression is grim. He opens his mouth, readying to say something, but I beat him to the punch.
“We need to talk.” I scan the area. People are going about their business, and so far, no one’s looking our way.
“Yes, we do.” He wipes at his damp brow and cautiously takes my elbow. “Let’s sit over here, in the shade.”
Too weary to protest or pull away, I follow him to the gazebo in the small park several doors down at the end of the sidewalk. We’re still in plain sight, but somewhat hidden from the cross streets and prying eyes.
I wonder if that’s why he chose this spot—not because of the heat or the shade. Who cares, it’s just as well.
“Look, I went about this the wrong way.” I turn to face him as we sit side by side. “I told you about the pregnancy because you had a right to know, but we need to set boundaries and also hash out a few things.”
“Boundaries?” His lips thin, as if he has a sudden distaste for where I’m going with this chat. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not sugarcoating this. I do need help financially.” My stomach somersaults at the admission. I hate this. Hate asking for help. It feels like a handout even if he’s just as responsible as I am for this child. “But if—”
He interjects, nostrils flaring, “Of course.”
“Okay. But even if you are helping to support the child, you can’t disrupt my life on a whim. Earlier today with my brother—that can’t happen again. You have no right, even if I’m carrying your child, to cause a scene because I’m talking to someone.”
“Lacy, I overreacted. But consider things from my viewpoint. It looked like you were with another man.”
“And? So what if I was? Are we together? Engaged or married? Last I checked, we aren’t anything and you have no right to act like that.”
He stiffens, pressing his lips together, and I can’t tell if it’s to keep his anger in check or because he’s at a loss for words.
“I don’t expect any more from you. I’m not demanding you marry me or even be a part of the baby’s life. In fact—”
“No, I want to be a part of my child’s life.” His words are hard and hurried, cutting me off before I have a chance to suggest we keep the paternity under wraps.
I swallow with difficulty, teeth biting at the inside of my cheek. What I’m about to say might hurt. If I were in his shoes, it would cut me to the quick, but it must be said.
“Ridge, think about this. We might want to keep the fact that you are the father a secret.” I lick my lips and his head shakes violently, eyes darkening. “You’re engaged and this child is…”
A lump the size of a boulder blooms in my throat, making my next words downright painful. “This child is a bastard. The deck is already stacked against him or her.”
“Fuck, no,” he grits out, cheeks reddening with rage. “I am the father. My child will know me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure my son or daughter has what they need. No one will treat them less than. Do you hear me?”
“Okay.” I hold up my hands and soften my voice to quell the rage rolling off him in waves. “I just thought I’d put that out there.”
