Her Mate’s Secret Baby(29)

Although, they did usually send for me at Christmas, dress me up like a princess and parade me through a string of children’s parties with fat, rosy-cheeked Santas with the other rich, pampered children.

I’d looked at each of those children in turn and wondered if their lives were like mine. If their parents actually cared, or if they, like me, were simply ornaments to be displayed at certain times of year.

“Stop it.” I spoke the order to myself and glanced at the monitor. My little one still slept, his normal two-hour nap the only time I had to do anything for myself. I refused to allow the staff to care for him, to hold him, feed him or bathe him. He was mine and he was loved.

And he was going to feel that love every moment of every day of his life. I was going to be the one constant in his life. He would never wonder about his parent’s love as I had. He might only have one, but I had enough love for him.

With a sigh, I stood and carried my plate and empty bowl to the giant white porcelain sink. Susan, the cook, nodded her thanks from where she stirred tonight’s supper, a delicious-smelling, homemade, chicken noodle soup.

I thanked her for lunch and grabbed the monitor, heading for my bedroom. I had a stack of Noah’s clothes in a basket on my bed, waiting to be folded. Miranda, the maid, said she would do them for me, but I had declined.

I liked to bury my nose in his little clothes, hold them to my face and inhale the sweet baby scent of my son. He smelled like home to me. Like love.

Walking out of the kitchen, I passed the adjoining room without even glancing inside. I had no need to see the formal dining room where I’d taken so many meals alone. The table beyond was long, polished mahogany, and large enough to seat twenty. An elaborate chandelier hung low over the center. The chairs were high-backed and stiff, just like my parents.

I wondered how they ever got down and dirty enough to have a child in the first place. I couldn’t fathom it. Perhaps I was the product of in-vitro fertilization. I could imagine my mother in a sterile doctor’s office more than in the throes of passion, opening her body to her lover, taking what he offered, demanding more.

And just like that, my thoughts went up in flames. Roark. Always, when my mind drifted to my mate, my body would grow hot and needy, the ache between my legs very real. But nothing compared to the immediate ache that overtook my heart.

He was dead. He had to be. I’d waited for him for a long time, hoping. Hope had kept me going through the pregnancy. Hope that he’d come for me, as he’d promised. Hope that he’d survived the brutal Drover attack, even after Warden Egara told me otherwise.

But days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months, then a year. Our son grew in my womb and came into the world, screaming and fighting. And still, my mate was gone.

Warden Egara’s inquiries turned up nothing new. Outpost Two was lost. No survivors.

Roark was gone. Warden Egara said she could go to the Interstellar Coalition, to someone called The Prime, on the planet Prillon, the guy in charge of the whole Coalition, and ask for an exception for me and Noah. Ask for another mate on Trion.

I didn’t want another mate. My heart was broken enough. Roark had been mine, my perfect match. My one true love. I’d felt the bond between us instantly and I’d given him everything, heart and soul and body. I had nothing left to give another mate. Noah was the only thing that mattered to me now. I had nothing left for a new man. Nothing.

But, luckily, I didn’t need a mate to survive. I didn’t need, nor want for, anything. When my parents heard about the baby, they’d deeded this property to me within forty-eight hours. I had unlimited access to multiple bank accounts filled with more money than I could spend in three lifetimes. For me, they said. So I would be secure, they insisted.

But we all knew the truth.

The house wasn’t in the heart of Boston, where my parents’ main residence was. The country home was more than a hundred miles outside the city, with fresh air and horses and none of my parents’ friends, colleagues, country club acquaintances, or business associates within miles. An illegitimate grandchild—and they’d not accepted my mating as a true legal joining—was one thing.

An alien’s offspring was another.

Better to keep me and little Noah—a grandchild they’d yet to meet—hidden from the rest of the world. If I had all the money I needed, a place to live, I wouldn’t rock the boat. I wouldn’t complain. I’d remain invisible as I always had.

I hurried up the stairs, my bare feet and loose hair a freedom I’d given myself since my time with Roark. My mother would not approve, insisting shoes be worn at all times, unless one was in bed. But I no longer cared what my mother thought, what she did or where she went. I only cared about my son.