Page 50 of Coerced Wife

Whatever. I let him think what he wants. The only reason I don’t smash that dainty teacup in his face is because I don’t want to spoil the day for Anya. She deserves the fuss everyone makes about her. It’s about time she’s the center of attention, and I don’t meanmyattention. Despite my urge to walk into that room and pull her onto my lap, I want her to have what her mother nevergave her. Every girl needs to be fussed over a little in her life. Livy is good at that. Women in general are. They’re natural nurturers. Well, some of them at least. The fact that Anya’s mother isn’t here speaks volumes. The woman did never ask to see her daughter after the day I left her with my threats. Just as well. Anya is better off without her.

Just as Richard opens his mouth to spew something else that’s no doubt going to make me gag, my phone rings. I take it from my pocket. It’s Dante.

“Excuse me.” I walk to the door. “I have to take this.”

I answer the call when I’m far enough down the hallway to be out of earshot. “You better have a good excuse for interrupting Anya’s baby shower.”

Dante’s voice is terse. “There’s been a raid at After Dark.”

What the fuck? “I thought we had an understanding with the cops on that beat.”

“DEA.”

Bristling, I gnash my teeth. “Who the fuck authorized it?”

“Luigi is looking into it.”

They wouldn’t find any drugs on my site. The only reason they’d search the club is to ruffle our feathers.

I hang up with, “I’m on my way.”

When I get back to the lounge, Richard is reading a newspaper.

He motions at the stack that’s neatly fanned out on the coffee table like a deck of cards. “Want one?”

He finally accepted conversation isn’t going to work between us.

Not bothering to answer, I lean a shoulder on the door frame and study my girl. She takes the gift that Livy hands her and smiles so beautifully my heart fucking aches. She shakes the parcel wrapped in white paper and tied with ayellow ribbon, presumably trying to guess what’s inside. She says something at which everyone laughs. It strikes me then how rarely I see her like this. Happy.

“Still like what you see?” Richard asks, his tone either teasing or mocking—I can’t be sure, and I don’t care.

“It’s going to be a boy,” I muse.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve read if a woman carries low, it’s a boy. Plus, I’ve got this feeling.”

“What does she think?” he asks.

“She thinks it’s a girl.”

“It’s a girl for us.”

“Yeah, Anya told me.”

“It makes the preparations easier. At least we know what colors to buy.”

See, there’s another gender tradition I don’t believe in. Who decided it’s blue for boys and pink for girls?

“When is Tersia’s baby shower?” I ask.

“She doesn’t want to have one. She’s happy to do this for Anya, but it’s not her cup of tea.”

My reply is a grunt.

I push off the door frame and walk to the sunroom. The women look up when I open the door. With the first wet snow coming down outside, the flower beds and the lawn are mucky, but the picture is still pretty. Despite the cold outside, the room is nice and cozy. Warm.

I go over to Anya and press a kiss on her forehead. The smile that tugs at my lips when I straighten feels a lot like the room—soft and warm. It’s a foreign sentiment for me, but I don’t show her how much that scares me.

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