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Then there are the facts. Gavin’s name starts with a G, not a T like the one on the handkerchief that man left me. His last name doesn’t start with a T either. Besides, Mandy said- well, Kate said, or at least someone told her- that the man I was with at the party was Thompson or Townsend and that he was married. Gavin isn’t married. Besides, wouldn’t he recognize me from the party? Yes, I was wearing a mask, but he could still see my eyes and…
I stop in my tracks as I catch my reflection in the glass pane.
Right. I’m wearing contacts. My eyes aren’t blue. They’re gray. And my hair is way shorter. Plus my cheeks are all puffed up now. Even if Gavin was that man from the party, he probably wouldn’t recognize me.
And me? Would I recognize him?
I close my eyes. I can barely remember his face now. They say pregnancy is bad for one’s memory. I recall that he had dark eyes and hair, though.
Just like Gavin.
I open my eyes and shake my head as I continue pacing the room.
That man didn’t have a beard. Gavin does. Then again, beards can be grown in weeks.
And what about the fact that he’s single? Yes, I know that for a fact. But did Kate- or whoever told her- know for a fact that the man I was with at the party was married? Mandy said the men who attended those parties are usually married. That doesn’t mean they all are. And the name I was given- Thompson or Townsend- that could have been a mistake, too. Kate’s friends could have been mistaken, and once I acknowledge that, then it’s very possible that Gavin could have been the man I was with that night.
I rub my chin. The more I think about Gavin being the father of my child, the more I find it possible. He’s about the same height, same build… I think. He’s rich. Does he go to masquerade parties? I don’t know. But if that party was thrown by someone from Ambrosia, and I’m beginning to think it was, then he could very likely have gone. I wouldn’t put it past him to seek some fun, either, even fun with a stranger. He does seem to have a healthy sexual appetite, after all.
Most importantly, he has the same scar on the back of his neck. Well, I don’t know if it’s the same scar, since I’ve never actually seen the scar, but how many men have scars on their napes? It’s too much of a coincidence.
There’s just one piece of the puzzle that still doesn’t fit- the handkerchief. Gavin and Scotsfeld simply don’t begin with T.
I walk to my closet and open the drawer where I keep my underwear. I remember finally finding that handkerchief while I was packing my things at Mandy’s apartment. I decided to bring it with me, and when Giselle was unpacking my things, I placed it here.
It’s still here.
I pick up the handkerchief and run my fingertips across the monogram. I thought maybe I’d been mistaken, but it really is a T.
Maybe Gavin’s middle name begins with a T?
I quickly check on the internet, only to find myself hitting another dead end.
His middle name is Benedict. Gavin Benedict Scotsfeld. Nope. It doesn’t start with a T.
But what if it’s a gift from someone? A woman, maybe. Or what if the letter stands for the company that made the handkerchief, not the owner?
I rub my temples as I lie on top of my bed. This is turning out to be so mind-boggling. And the problem is I can’t stop thinking about it. Now that my thoughts have started running in that direction, they won’t stop. Now that my brain has sunk its teeth into this, it can’t let go.
I have to know. I won’t be able to rest easy until I do. But how?
I stare at the handkerchief again. What do I do? Show it to him? Will that really prove anything? If the T stands for the handkerchief maker, then the handkerchief could belong to anyone. Still, if he admits to owning one of them…
I sit up with wide eyes. That’s it. If I can only confirm that Gavin owns another handkerchief like this, then it will prove that Gavin is the father of my child.
After all, that and the scar can’t both be a coincidence.
I clutch the handkerchief in my hand and draw a deep breath.
I know what I have to do.
~
The next day, after Gavin has left for work- thank goodness he seemed too busy to notice that I was trying hard to keep myself still even though I’m raring to accomplish my task- I sneak into his room.
I would have done it last night but I didn’t know what time he was coming home- I forgot to ask when I was at his office- and I didn’t want to get caught. I didn’t want to have to explain something I wasn’t sure of. So I forced myself to sleep- with little success- and waited until he was gone.
