Foolish Games(34)

Annabeth nearly snorted. “Oh, I’d say. Owen probably has the most well-furnished nursery in North Carolina.”

If it was anything like the rest of the house, Julianne could well imagine. She followed Will up a flight of stairs.

“There’s a second set of stairs leading up from the foyer,” Will explained as they came to a large landing. A leather chair and ottoman sat in front of a picture window, comprising a cozy reading nook, complete with baskets of magazines and a cashmere throw blanket. The entire house looked like it had swallowed a Pottery Barn catalog. “The back of the house is the master suite. You and Owen will be up front. The two guest rooms share a bath.”

Julianne did some quick reconnaissance; if her bearings were correct, the master suite would face the ocean. With luck, her and Owen’s rooms would overlook green terra firma. Will opened the door to the nursery, and Julianne had to bite back a gasp. Not only had Will gotten the crib, but he’d bought every piece of furniture and accessory on the two-page spread she’d given him as a guide. The room looked like it had taken five weeks to put together as opposed to five days.

“How . . . how did you do this?” Julianne whispered as she laid Owen in the crib, covering him with a flannel blanket one of the nurses in the hospital had made for him.

Will shrugged his shoulders as if to say, I’m rich, famous, and a good-looking athlete, need I say more? She understood the situation quite well because, up until a few months ago, she was one of those people who kowtowed to that clientele.

She walked over to the window to draw the shade, relief gripping her as she peered out to see grass and two live oak trees below. Will picked up the monitor and headed through a spacious bathroom into another bedroom. Julianne followed. The room featured a dormer window with another comfortable chair and ottoman. Julianne felt herself relaxing further as she envisioned feeding Owen in the cozy spot each afternoon. If she had to marry a stranger and spend three months living with him, she could do a lot worse. This home was perfect, providing she could avoid the front yard.

Antiques in complementing warm woods were situated throughout the room. A queen-sized iron bed took up the rest of the space, an eclectic mix of throw pillows making it look comfortable and inviting. Julianne suddenly realized how tired she was. Nap when the baby naps, the nurses had advised her. A perfect idea. Unfortunately, there was two hundred pounds of NFL badass standing between her and forty winks.

“These are the toys I ordered.” Will pointed to a box near the closet. “They are all rated as the top toys for enhancing an infant’s learning ability.”

Julianne flopped down backward on the bed. “Oh God! You can’t be serious? Owen is just over a month old and you’re already buying him toys? You have some serious daddy issues.”

Will nudged her foot with his sneaker as he stepped closer to the bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.” Julianne pushed herself up off the bed; she didn’t like the way her body reacted to him looming over her. “You grew up poor, without a father, in a town that supposedly treated you badly for it. Now you do whatever it takes to flaunt how you’ve made something of yourself, with new cars”—she spread her hands out wide—“this house, and, apparently, whatever Owen needs, whether he wants it or not.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting the best for my son.” Will stepped closer, his eyes hard.

“No, there isn’t.” Julianne trod carefully. “Owen will love you for who you are. You don’t have to prove anything to him with toys or a fancy nursery. He’s the one person in this world who doesn’t care about your crappy past.”

“You know what?” Will moved in closer so that only inches separated their bodies now. “You weren’t lying before; you aren’t on drugs. You’re just bat-shit crazy!”

“Shh!” Julianne pointed to the nursery.

“Oh no, Princess, you had your turn at psychoanalyzing me, now I get my shot. You gave yourself away when you looked at the window back there. You’ve got a bad case of thalassophobia.”

“Thala . . . lasso . . . what?”

“Fear of the ocean!”

Julianne tried to laugh, but it came out sounding brittle. “Wow, no wonder your head is so big; you’ve got a lot of useless knowledge up there if you can pull that word out. Really, when your football career dries up, you should seriously consider a stint on Jeopardy.”

“Oh, no. The more I consider this theory, the more it makes sense. You fainted when you looked out front—”