Pregnant by Morning(55)

He couldn’t chase her around the globe like a teenager with a trust fund and no responsibilities.

“Not for me.”

It wasn’t the right answer for her, either. She’d never find the next steps in Monte Carlo, and the anguish would swallow her whole if he wasn’t around. How in the world did she think she’d survive without him?

The baby belonged with him. She belonged with him. He wanted to howl with the injustice of it, that he couldn’t make her see the logic.

She stepped out of his embrace, dry-eyed. “Then, this is goodbye.”

* * *

Matthew called a cab instead of Lucas, though he knew his brother would pick him up from the airport. Family would always be there for him, regardless of the grief he’d put them through for the past eighteen months. But he couldn’t face anyone.

Not yet. Not when he still couldn’t process that he’d left Evangeline in Venice.

The mother of his child. And he’d had to let her go.

After several more arguments, a bucket of tears—not all hers—and a bunch of slammed doors, he’d finally given up trying to reason with her. Stubborn woman. She refused to see what was best and actually threatened to disappear if he didn’t accept her decision.

Ultimately, their connection was nothing but the magic of Venice, blowing smoke and illusion to cover the truth. They weren’t meant to be together.

The cab pulled up at his parents’ house. The driver hefted the suitcases from the trunk, accepted the folded bill with a nod and drove off, leaving Matthew on the sidewalk in the middle of the suburban neighborhood he’d grown up in. The neighborhood he didn’t recognize at all.

His mother had planted something flowery and purple in the side yard that he’d never seen before, and the house’s wood trim had been painted. Maybe the brick had been power-washed. A car rushed by on the street behind him, likely only driving thirty miles an hour, but it felt more like a hundred. All of it lent to the sense of being somewhere unfamiliar.

There weren’t any cars in Venice. Boats slipped by quietly in the canal or sometimes the cheerful call of a gondolier announced its presence. People strolled the streets and enjoyed a slower pace. He’d grown used to it. Preferred it.

The front door creaked, and his mother poked her blond head out. “Now there’s a sight for sore eyes. Get in here, honey. You should have told me you were coming.”

Matthew grinned at the break in her voice. “Hey, Mama. It was a surprise.”

“It certainly is. Surprise me less or you’ll give me a heart attack.” She flew over the doorstep and into a fierce hug.

This, at least, felt very familiar. Very welcoming. He’d missed her.

Mama hustled him into the house and fluttered around, doing a bang-up job of ignoring Matthew’s protests about staying in a hotel. To stem the tide, he carried his stuff to the extra bedroom upstairs. Arguing with Mama did not ever end well.

“Sit. Let me look at you.” Mama sank onto the couch and he followed. She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Staying long?”

“Yeah.” He knew what she was really asking. “I’m home for good.”

That put weight on his shoulders. He’d thought he was ready. He was ready. But it was so permanent. And so Evangeline-free.

Her sharp gaze swept him, twice, with a combination of disbelief and hope. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

The harsh laugh scraped at his throat. “Not really. But I figured out it’s because I didn’t actually know what I was looking for. I don’t do well without a plan.”

“You never have. So what’s your plan now?”

“I’m going back to WFP. Lucas has managed to get himself into a hole, and I’m going to get him out.” First time in a long time he had a sense of purpose. A goal. It felt good. Right.

Mama shot him a puzzled glance. “A hole? Did he tell you that?”

“I know about Richards Group. It’s partly the reason I came home.” The other part had everything to do with a singular desire to be dependable, straight-arrow Matthew Wheeler again. To do something he excelled at and had ultimate control over.

“I think you should talk to him. We’ll have a big family dinner to celebrate you being home. Call your brother. Tell him to come early so you can get on the same page.” She smiled. “Far be it from me to get in the middle of my boys, but honey, you left. Lucas has been handling things. I doubt he’s going to take kindly to you sticking your nose into WFP and bossing him around. A word to the wise.”

Matthew checked the eye-roll out of sheer respect for the woman who had birthed him. But it was hard.