Page 119 of Cruelest Contract
“Cecilia,” booms my father-in-law. He unfolds a linen napkin and drapes it over his lap. “When your husband isn’t at home, you may occupy his seat.”
I’d rather not. Moving into Julian’s seat would put me even closer to Cass. There are still times when I catch Julian’s father watching me with a level of calculating concentration that makes me want to hide under the furniture.
Strange, because I’m convinced Cass doesn’t mean me any harm. But I’m also starting to doubt that he’s entirely sane.
Arguing is pointless. I obediently slide into Julian’s chair and feel a pang of yearning for my husband’s protective presence.
“Ladies first,” says Cass and passes a basket of focaccia wedges.
His wolfish eyes remain fastened to me as I pluck out one piece, clumsily drop it on the table runner and retrieve it as Getty snickers.
“Take more,” Cass insists, so loudly that I jump.
This time I don’t drop anything and he moves on, passing the basket to Getty. I nibble on the edge of my focaccia slice, still warm from the oven.
“And I know how much you like risotto,” Cass says and grabs my bowl before I can object. He heaps multiple ladles of creamyrisotto into the bowl, far more than I usually eat at one sitting. “You’ll want some chicken piccata too.”
Weird. Very weird. I’m starting to believe he intends to spoon the food directly into my mouth.
Across the table, Fort is too busy helping himself to a cowboy-sized feast to notice anything. But Getty observes us with raised eyebrows. I’m not the only one who thinks something is off.
Now that I have enough food for three grown men piled up in front of me, I manage to squeak out the word, “Thanks.”
Cass’s dark eyes glitter as he watches me carve out a small spoonful of risotto and bring it to my lips. This is more than awkward. This is like if awkward mated with the surreal.
It’s only when I’ve swallowed my first bite that he finally looks away and pays attention to his own plate. Elsewhere, Fort is oblivious and shovels food into his mouth. Even Getty loses interest in his father’s strange behavior and starts cutting up some chicken piccata.
“After lunch we’ll all go to my study and call Julian,” Cass says. The ice in his water glass clinks as he takes a drink.
I’m not sure he’s speaking to me until he sets his glass down and pointedly stares, awaiting my response.
“Okay,” I reply, at a loss.
The demand is odd. I’ve never been invited to participate in a conference call in his office and I’m plenty capable of calling my husband all by myself.
A sense of uneasiness, never far away, begins to swell. My left hand automatically goes to my belly. This instinct just started today and it’s powerful.
Cass, every bit as sharp-eyed and perceptive as the son he trained to be his heir, notices the move and breaks into a broad smile that sends shivers up my spine.
“On our one month anniversary, Teresa told me she was pregnant,” he muses in a wistful tone I’ve never heard before. “I’d just returned from a trip to Chicago. She was sitting behind my desk, wearing a blue and white dress. She gave me the most beautiful smile. There was a blue gift wrapped box on the desk in front of her. She was so excited and told me to open it. And do you know what was in there?”
No. I don’t know anything. I have just been flung into some bizarre parallel dimension. If it wasn’t for the aftertaste of risotto in my mouth, I’d assume this was a dream.
“A pair of baby-sized cowboy boots,” Cass declares with a hearty laugh. “Teresa was so sure we’d be having a son. She asked me if we could name him Julian. She’d always loved the name.”
He’s lost in his sentimental reverie. I’m too shocked to interrupt. But my strongest feeling is profound sympathy for this man, still broken by the loss of the love of his life.
“Finish your lunch,” he encourages me. “Then we’ll call Julian with the news.”
“What news?” says Fort.
Indeed.What news?I got so sidetracked by all the weirdness that I’ve been slow to catch onto the obvious conclusion.
Cass knows I’m pregnant. I haven’t spoken a word about it to another living soul and yet he knows.
Fort and Getty were in the store when I bought the pregnancy tests. I assumed they didn’t see. I must have been wrong.
But no, one look at their perplexed faces tells me this is the wrong answer. They are equally confused. Whatever Cass knows, it didn’t come from them.
