Since the Reynauds had been given no explanation for why Tatiana and Jean-Pierre had kept their baby news quiet, she knew without question his family would blame her for keeping César a secret. Surely they all believed that if Jean-Pierre knew about the baby before now, he would have told them. And, no doubt, he would have.
So even as they passed around the sleeping newborn in his cream-colored footie with a velour shawl collar, they must have guessed that Tatiana had been the one keeping secrets.
But what Jean-Pierre had failed to share with them was her reason for not including him in their son's birth. He had called their union a mistake. He'd walked out on her the morning after their one-night stand, making it clear that he'd only been on board for one night.
What was she supposed to do when that first pregnancy test had come back positive? How could she share such incredible, life-changing news with a man who might view their son as...another mistake? She swallowed hard, reminding herself that her fear had passed. Seeing Jean-Pierre hold César so tenderly now, and hearing the obvious pride in his voice as he talked about their son, it was almost inconceivable that she'd once feared early on that Jean-Pierre might have suggested she terminate her pregnancy.
But with the way they'd parted, she had most certainly feared the worst.
"Excuse me," she said to no one in particular, backing away from the crowd around César. She needed a moment to herself, the ugly thoughts spinning so fast she felt dizzy. "I'll be right back."
Hurrying inside the house, she rushed through the beautifully appointed spaces, passing a server on the way who told her where to find a powder room.
"Tatiana?" She heard Jean-Pierre's voice and quick footsteps behind her, and slowed down before she could reach her destination.
She ducked into a nearby doorway, a den she had noticed vaguely when she'd first arrived tonight. The powder-room visit would wait since she didn't want to have this conversation over the sink. Here, leather club chairs and a small bar flanked a darkened fireplace, while books and football memorabilia lined the walls. A banker's desk lamp glowed softly over a masculine expanse of polished oak.
"Are you all right?" He followed her into the den, taking her hands in both of his. "We don't need to stay for dinner if you don't feel up to it. Everyone will understand you're tired from the travel and still recovering from having a baby."
Had she felt a warm connection to him earlier today on the boat? It was difficult to remember now with her stomach in knots.
"I will not let your family think even worse of me than they already do. I don't want them to assume I'm ignoring them." She allowed him to draw her down to a buttery soft leather settee, but then withdrew her hands from his. "I am staying for dinner."
"No one thinks poorly of you." Tipping his head to one side, he considered her. "And I guarantee everyone out there is sympathetic to the fact that you gave birth less than six weeks ago."
"Are they?" She folded her arms across breasts that felt more functional than attractive lately. She ached to hold her child already. Sharing him with this large, charismatic family was tougher than she'd expected.
Not that she should care about that right now. But this man had always called to her on the most fundamental level; not even her anger with him could diminish that. As they'd discovered last winter.
"Of course they are." Seated beside her, he stared at her as if she'd lost her grip on reality. "In case you haven't noticed, Erika is very pregnant with twins. Gervais can't be there for her enough, doing everything in his power to make her life easier so her strength goes toward nurturing their children. Do you honestly think anyone would begrudge you recovery time after delivering my child?"
"Our. Our child." She did feel exhausted suddenly, but she didn't know if it had to do with postpartum tiredness or the stress of negotiating her role in parenting with this man. "I am not here to hand him over to you, Jean-Pierre, or to your family, so don't get in the habit of claiming him as yours alone."
"Of course. My God, of course I know that. I would never deny our child his mother." Even in the darkened room, his gaze burned with a tangle of emotions she couldn't interpret. "Tatiana, I understand this isn't easy on you, but I thought it best to come straight to the point with my family."
Unlike the way she'd done in telling him about their child? She couldn't help but note how differently they'd shared the news.
"But we both wanted to tell our families and now those closest to us know the truth," he continued. "Next, we can focus on carefully unveiling the story we want to share with the media."
"You know what?" She smoothed nervous hands over the short silk skirt of her dress. The brush of the fabric against her skin was the most sensual touch she'd felt on her legs in months. "I disagree that our families learned the whole truth. All your brothers have found out is that I kept your son a secret from you."
"I never said that." His jaw flexed, the shadows falling across his face in the dim room.
She sprang up from her seat, unwilling to sit so close to him with this restless anger churning in her blood.
"Maybe. But by not saying anything to explain our belated revelation, you allow them to think the worst of me and that starts us out badly when our families already have issues."
"And what would you have me say?" He rose from the settee as well, but he moved in the opposite direction from her. They faced off on either side of the study, backs to the walls of books. "Because I'm fairly unclear on why I got scratched from your contact list while you gave birth to our child by yourself."
"Then let me be very clear." Frustration simmered and her patience snapped. "The last words you said to me before I found out I was pregnant was that you would never repeat the mistake of being with me."
"That's not fair."
"You asked. And while it might not feel fair to you, it didn't feel fair to me that you could hold me in contempt for doing my job in the courtroom." She braced her back against the bookshelves, needing the support of something-anything-in her life right now. "After we...had sex that night, I foolishly assumed you realized that you were wrong to find fault with me for winning my case. I woke up happy. Did you even know I was making you breakfast when you stormed out of that room? I had the concierge find me fresh eggs and a pan so I could make them myself in that tiny kitchen."
She hadn't meant to share all that, dammit. It was far too revealing.
For a moment, he didn't speak. When he did, he cursed softly.
"I didn't hold the verdict against you." He pounded his fist gently against the bookshelf closest to him. "I just thought you might want to know what I'd seen as Marcus's friend. His assistant was-is-an untrustworthy woman."
"I can't choose the clients my firm takes on, and I won't argue that with you again." She'd heard as much as she wanted to hear of his side during the case. "When I thought we'd put that behind us, I was all the more hurt to discover you regretted being with me."
"So you didn't tell me about César to punish me?" The gaze he leveled at her made her wonder how they'd ever find common ground to raise their son.
Some of the fight leaked out of her and she raked a hand through her hair.
"I didn't tell you because I couldn't bear to hear that having César was a mistake."
* * *
Two hours later, Jean-Pierre walked out of the most uncomfortable meal of his life. Knowing what Tatiana thought of him-that he'd been denied the early weeks of his son's life because she assumed he was the worst sort of human being-had made it damn near impossible to choke down food and pretend everything was all right in his world.
He'd quietly walked back to his home with Tatiana, making sure she was safely inside before he left again. After their exchange in the den, she'd had little to say to him anyhow, and their quick stroll back to his house had been devoid of conversation save an agreement to speak again tomorrow when cooler heads prevailed.
Before then, he needed a plan for how to proceed with her, something he wasn't going to accomplish until he could blow off some steam.
He headed to the three-bay garage on one side of the house and hit the button for the closest door. The reinforced steel retracted silently to reveal the BMW M6 he kept registered in Louisiana. The silver Gran Coupé wasn't as flashy as the Aston Martin he used in Manhattan, but it would get him to the Hurricanes' training complex in a hurry. Slipping into the driver's seat, he nailed the accelerator and left the family compound behind.