Secrets and Sins:Raphael(29)

And if the temptation proved too great, and she agreed because of their  baby, because the damn flicker in her chest swelled into a flame, one  day the love would break her, strip away who she was, and shred her into  pieces.

Because he didn't love her back.

No! The power of the objection tore through her like a mental slap to  the face. Images flashed in her frontal lobe in a harsh, vivid slideshow  of memories.

Her mother staring after her father's ramrod, unyielding back, crushed  as he walked away to whatever business dinner or current secretary of  the month had superseded his family.

Ethan, crumbled, devastated, as their father ordered him out of the house and the family until he "returned as a man."

Her, accepting Gavin's proposal, as relief, not joy, raced through her.  With her dependable, safe friend as her husband, she wouldn't have to  worry about an emotionally lopsided marriage like her parents'.

Her, stoic but so hurt as she sat in Raphael's office as he firmly  stated he didn't believe her about being the father of their baby.

She blinked rapidly, driving back the tears.

Damn good thing she wasn't in love with him.

"What's wrong?" She didn't turn to look at him, but she felt the weight  of his stare on her cheek like a brief but heavy touch. "Between the  sighing and the way you're strangling that bag like it called you fat,  something's up," he said.

She shook her head, returning her gaze to the window. "Nothing."

"Oh, shit," he muttered.

The women in his family must've taught him well, because he refrained  from saying anything else. Ten minutes later, he pulled the SUV into a  parking space in the lot outside her OB/GYN's office. She'd chosen this  doctor because of her proximity to Ethan's South End home. Fortunately,  Dr. Katherine Jensen had turned out to be kind, funny, and professional.  She'd soothed over some of the fears Greer had walked in with. By the  time she'd left the office, she'd breathed a bit easier knowing Dr.  Jensen would be with her when the time came to bring her baby into the  world. But now as she stepped out of Raphael's truck and headed toward  the brick medical building, she had a whole new reason for her attack of  nerves.

And he strode beside her.

"Damn." He halted, patted the front pocket of his black jeans. "I left  my phone in the car. Wait for me. I'll be right back." She nearly rolled  her eyes as he stared her down until she nodded her agreement. As he  jogged back toward the SUV, her own cell hummed in her jacket.

She removed it, glanced down at the screen. "Damn, not now," she  breathed. Her pulse kicked up, pounding at the base of her throat. She  swallowed and hated the reaction her mother was capable of eliciting  from her.

Her mother.

The last words her mother had spoken to her had been, "Oh, Greer." The  disappointed lament had accompanied a shake of the head right before her  father had bared his perfectly capped and veneered fangs and struck,  spilling his cold, burning venom into her veins. Celeste had stood by,  duplicitous in her silence as he'd called Greer a slut, an  idiot … worthless.

The ringing stopped, and the missed call notification scrolled across her screen.

She heaved a sigh, then a "damn it" as the cell trilled again. With a growl, she swiped her thumb across the answer bar.

"Hello, Mother."

"Greer." Celeste Addison's cultured voice with just the right amount of  warmth and remorse emanated in her ear. "Sweetheart. How are you?"

How am I? How am I? At best there's a malcontent against the wealthy out  there who believes I escaped justice. At worst, a deranged stalker  wants me and my baby hurt or dead. How am I?

"Fine, Mother." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "And how are you and Dad?"

Stiff. Formal. As warm as an icicle in the abominable snowman's  Frigidaire. Either her mother didn't hear the cold in Greer's voice or  she chose to ignore it. After all these years, Greer still didn't know  which option was the truth. If denial were a pageant, Celeste would win  the Ultimate Grand Supreme title.                       
       
           



       

"We're doing as well as can be expected in light of all  the … unpleasantness." Celeste sighed. "There are still a few reporters  who camp outside the house and call your father at the office. But what  can we do … ?" Her voice trailed off, and in the silence that followed,  Greer could practically feel her mother's expectation reaching out to  her, urging her to apologize for the inconvenience her actions had  brought them. Greer gritted her teeth against the "I'm sorry" that  automatically wanted to tumble off her tongue from years of habit.

"Well, anyway," Celeste continued, a slight note of nervousness entering  her voice. "I was calling because I spoke with your brother."

"Yes, Ethan told me he called you."

"Greer," she murmured, a note of hurt replacing nerves. "You should've  called us. I was terrified when Ethan told me you were in the hospital.  Just terrified."

Guilt. Her mother wielded it like Thor's hammer. And in spite of  Celeste's abandonment and her condemning silence since Gavin's death,  the tactic worked. Greer fisted her fingers, squeezing tightly as if the  action could act as a tourniquet against the oily shame worming its way  beneath her skin.

"Dad ordered me not to contact him or you. I didn't think you would want to hear from me."

Celeste's silence boomed in Greer's ear, a deafening percussion that  echoed in the heart she'd believed closed to her mother. "Well, yes."  Her mother paused, and Greer could imagine her twisting her fingers, the  nervous gesture her tell. "But that was … before."

"Before what?" she asked, the answer already clenching her belly,  leaving behind a dull ache. It shouldn't hurt this damn much. She'd  expected this call. So why couldn't her heart grow a pair?

"Sweetheart, Ethan told me about the baby," Celeste admitted, voice  husky with emotion. "Greer, come home. Now that you're pregnant, this  changes everything. Your father will welcome you-"

"It's not Gavin's."

"-back. Wh-what?" she whispered.

"The baby isn't Gavin's," Greer repeated. A subzero numbness invaded her chest, plunging her heart into a deep freeze.

"Of course it is," her mother protested weakly. "It has to be! I've already told-"

"Dad?" she finished, bitterness a sour tang on her tongue. "Sorry to  disappoint you and him again, but this proves I'm the slut he accused me  of being. Sorry to … " Tears-stupid, useless, pathetic tears-clogged her  throat, tightening around the caustic words. "I have to go."

"Wait, Greer!"

Eyes squeezed shut, she paused. Hope that stank of desperation rose up  inside her as she delayed hanging up for … what? For her mother to say, "I  don't care whose baby you're carrying." To say, "I'll stand by you." To  say, "I love you … "

"You can't be sure, sweetheart," Celeste babbled. "You can claim the child is Gavin's. No one would question-"

"Good-bye, Mother."

She ended the call, her mother's protests still echoing in her ear. Her  arm dropped to her side like a leaden weight. Disgust, pain, rage, shame  surged from her, ready to raze every organ or nerve in its path. The  rounded edges of the phone bit into her clenching fingers. Why do I do  it to myself, damn it? What she wouldn't give to anesthetize her dumb,  bleeding heart. Only an idiot does the same thing over and over  expecting a different outcome. Twenty-six. Twenty-six years old, and she  was still learning the same fucked-up lesson.

Hope is for suckers.

You can claim the child is Gavin's.

A bitter laugh bubbled past her lips. As though her child was a ticket  back into Boston society's rarefied, unforgiving circle. A pass for her  mother back into the Wellses' good graces. That's all she and her unborn  child were to Celeste. Things to be used.

It shouldn't have been possible for her to hurt more. Her mother's call  had been like ripping a sliver of skin off an exposed nerve.

"You okay?"

She didn't turn around at the low, gravelly voice behind her. Shame kept her facing forward.

"How much did you overhear?"

"Enough." His solid presence at her back was both pleasure and torment. A  pleasure because even though inches separated them, she could feel him  there. And a torment because she wanted to lean back into that strength.  Borrow some. And that would be the most stupid thing she could do. Come  to rely on someone who would not be there.