Page 11 of Tarek

“Sir, you have a guest in the study.”

I send my gaze out into the ballroom. Everyone that is here should be here.

“Send them away, Higgins,” I reply.

“Sir, it’s Ms. Miranda, and she is upset.” Higgins squeezes my forearm as if to emphasize the urgency of the problem.

Without a second thought I rush through the door down the halls. I haven’t seen Miranda in almost a month. God, I missed her. To have her here in my home, my legs are carrying me faster than I even knew they could.

I skid to a stop, my shoes screeching against the floor and grab the doorknob; I slam the door open.

Miranda gets up slowly from the chair she is sitting in. Her eyes are wet and puffy.

“Block the door Higgins,” my eyes never leaving Miranda’s.

As the door closes, her long fingers fidget with the handkerchief in her hands.

I stretch my arms open to her, and within seconds she rushes into them. Tension drains from my body as relief travels through me. I squeeze her tightly, smelling the sweet oils in her hair, rocking her on my chest. Her tears are seeping through my shirt, and I don’t even care.

“I missed you so much,” I whisper, pressing my lips against her forehead and she quiets down.

“I missed you too. Dereck we have to talk,” she says her voice reeks of desperation.

I take her hand and lead her to sit on the leather sofa near the arched window. Slowly, I rub my finger between hers, taking my time, feeling the softness of her delicate hands, studying the contrast of her smooth dark skin against my own.

“You thought about it, I know I have. I spoke to my lawyer; we can have the apartment ready for you. In five years, I will be out of this marriage we can get married and?—”

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers her eyes catch my gaze.

Everything freezes. Her words echo in my mind “I am pregnant.”

PREGNANT! What the fuck? No this can’t be happening. Not now.

Instantly her fingers weigh down my palm. Slowly I pull my hand away from her and jump to my feet. A high pitch sound whistles in my ear. It’s sharp and relentless. Shit. The collar is so tight. My fingers claw at my neck as I try yanking at my bow tie for air.

Cupping my mouth, I begin to pace the study. Pregnant? She can’t be pregnant. I’m too young to be a father.

Raking my hand through my hair, she’s fucking pregnant. We only had sex once and I haven’t seen her for a month. Did she let another man touch her? Another man’s hands on what is mine? My ire rises. “Whose child is it?”

She stands slowly, as the soft crescendo of ballroom music invades the room. “Come again?”

“Whose child, is it?” I ask, knowing that it’s mine, hoping that I’m the only man that touched her.

Her fists ball to the side of her. “I’m willing to give you a second to correct yourself.”

“Fuck, sorry.” I know the child was mine. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to keep it,” she whispers, looking at me to agree.

Keep it, of course she wants to keep it. A little boy with my eyes and her face. I can see it. I walk to the large oak desk. It’s a perfect copy of the Resolution Desk in Washington. A desk like this, only men with power has sat behind it.

My fingertips caress the grooves of the desk. I think about the secrets that bind me. The debts that have been paid since my engagement to Ilyana. The clubs I have been welcomed into; I rub my finger against my Quarter Master ring.

The power that is now within my reach. She can’t keep the child, it will destroy what I am trying to build for her, for us.

I set my gaze upon the only woman I have ever loved. She is wearing long bell-bottom jeans and a grey t-shirt. Her hand covers her stomach, as if she is protecting the child from me. But what kind of father would I be if I can’t provide or protect my kin?

Opening the desk, I reach for my leather-bounded file. With a sigh I write my solution and tear it out of the book and stand in front of her.

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