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“Eddie…” My heart races, knowing everything he’s about to say will only make me want him more.
“It’s just, I know I hid things from you. I shouldn't have, and I am sorry. I really wanted to know if you liked me for me. I don’t often meet people who don’t know who I am or what I bring to the relationship. But you were a breath of fresh air. You were a total surprise. Then the fact that you actually wanted to spend time with me. Not because you knew my name, not because you wanted my money, but because you enjoyed just being with me. That is something I haven’t ever experienced before. I am sorry I wasn’t honest. I should have been. I know that. But you also weren’t open about your family history either. We were just happy with each other. Taking it day by day, not wanting our history or our families to play a part in us just yet.” He is right. I wasn’t entirely honest with him about my family. Shit, he still doesn’t know about Steve.
“Your volunteer shift is over. You are free to go now,” I say, keeping things as they are. I walk inside and place my bag against the wall, standing in front of him.
“Pinkie. Please.” I can’t look at him. I hear his voice breaking a little, and I don’t want to see the pain in his eyes.
“Just hold him out, and I can scoop him up from you.” I say what I would say to any volunteer I take over from. He stands and lifts his hands out a little, passing the baby over. I scoop my arms under, our skin touching and sparks flying, but I ignore it. I grab the baby, pulling him tight to my chest as Eddie shuffles around, vacating the armchair completely. I take his spot and sit, looking down at the baby and making sure he is alright and tightly wrapped in his blanket. Eddie walks to the door and stops to look back at me.
“Bye, Pinkie. Take care of yourself.” At the sound of his voice, I know this is goodbye.
My eyes remain glued to the baby, and I remain quiet. I feel the pain in my heart as it breaks, the water in my eyes as it gathers. I hold my breath and feel like I am drowning as he turns away from me and walks out the door. When I look up and see the empty doorway, panic rises in my throat. I want to scream his name. Yell for him to come back. I want to jump up and run down the hall. But my body won’t move. My heart feels like it is pushing out of my chest, trying to get to him, yet my body is frozen. Instead, I put my head back and take a deep breath, smelling him all around me as I sink into the soft armchair. I close my eyes, imagining him holding me, and as I sit there with the little boy in my arms, for the first time since I met Edward Rothschild, I cry, without him there to catch my tears.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE - EDDIE
“Coffee?” Tennyson asks, stepping to my side and thrusting a cup toward me. I take it, grateful. The hot black liquid makes me feel right at home. Dark, desolate, depressing. Dr. Wilson called all us boys into the hospital today. Apparently, Mom had to go back to surgery, and he wanted us all to be here when she was wheeled back around.
“Thanks,” I say, not looking at him. My chest hurts. My body feels heavy. It has only been a few days since I last saw and spoke to Katie. I have apologized. I have laid out all my cards. I have ensured she has coffee and lunch every day. Tony still follows her home every night and to the hospital every morning. I have sent flowers. I have tried to make her see how much she means to me. But she isn’t budging. She trusted me, and I broke that trust, and I have no idea how to get it back.
“Still no Pinkie?” Ben asks, coming up to stand next to Tennyson, the two of them looking down at me where I sit. I see the concern etched into their brows. The room is hot with so many of us in it, but we prefer to be in the private waiting area. None of us wanted to wait in Mom’s room. The place looks like a florist. The number of young women who have paraded through this ward in the last week has been overwhelming. They are beautiful women. They mean well. But I am immune to them. I only want one, and she won’t even look at me.
“Nope,” I say, sipping the awful coffee, telling myself I deserve the bitter taste. After what I did, this hospital coffee is the least of my problems.
“You look like shit,” Tennyson says, looking me over. He is right. I have barely slept. I am not really eating. I am not sure what is wrong with me, but there is just too much on my mind for it to rest. My bed is empty, and I don’t like it.
“She’ll come around. Have you groveled?” Harrison asks from where he sits opposite me, going through his schedule for the rest of the week.
“That’s what I’m trying to do every day," I say to him.
“Have you begged?” Tennyson asks, and I look up at him. “Like actually told her what a fucking idiot you are.”
“I am a fucking idiot,” I say on a sigh, running my hands through my hair. The Rothschild name opens doors, never hearts. Maybe Mom is right. Maybe I do need to marry for convenience, not for love. Maybe love is all just a hoax.
“I think you need to do something that means something to her,” Emily says, looking at me from where she sits, Beth on one side and Willow on the other. I look at the three of them, and I know love will always find a way. Because my brothers are in love, and it all worked out for them.
“I agree. You need to think about the things that matter to her. And even though I don’t know her, from what you have said about her, materialistic things are not it. As thoughtful as they might be, I think you need to try another way,” Willow says, looking up at me from her cell, her workload now increased as she manages our family reputation, trying to stave off the intense media interest.
“I just have no idea what that is,” I mumble as the three women all stare at me, mouths agape.
“What the hell have you been doing with her for all this time?” Beth asks, her eyes narrowing. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t need to know,” she says quickly, lowering her head back to her cell.
“And here I was, thinking I was the only brother who thought with his dick,” Tennyson quips from beside me and ducks just in time as Willow throws a pen at his face.
“Media are having a fucking field day,” Harrison grumbles, scrolling through his phone.
“They have developed a fashion column each morning in the Society News,” Willows says as she taps on her laptop.
“A what?” I glance up at her, my brow crumpled.
“The who’s who of Baltimore and surrounds have been showing up here. Obviously keen to capture which woman Edward Rothschild leans on during thistime of crisis. There is actually a trending hashtag featuring all the women and what they are wearing each day as they come to visit,” she says, looking just as tired of it all as the rest of us.
“Shit,” Ben murmurs, rubbing his chin.
“They have a leaderboard and everything,” Willow adds.
“A leaderboard?” Em snorts, shaking her head. I think she would get along well with Pinkie.
“Yes, and Valerie Van Cleef is in the lead, her class and sense of style putting her front and center. She is a walking billboard for the high-fashion brands. They are probably all scrambling to dress her at this point. Not to mention, the photo making the rounds of her touching your shoulder, it almost makes me blush,” Willow says sarcastically, her eyes flicking to mine, waving her hand to her face, pretending to be flustered. I roll my eyes at her.
