Bran gritted his teeth and murmured into the phone. “Yes, please. And hurry.”
As he disconnected the call, he pressed a button to unlock the door. She marched inside, complaining as she came. “First, you insist I make an appointment, just to talk to you. Me—your fiancée. Why should I need an appointment to speak to my husband-to-be? And then, when I come, you make me stand outside and wait. I don’t know what you think about our relationship, but I can tell you I’m not putting up with this kind of thing. I deserve to be treated with respect.”
Branson imagined her standing with her hand on her hips, looking down on him as if she thought herself superior in every way. He waited until her tirade dwindled to nothing, then leaned forward with his elbows on his desk, folding his hands to support his chin.
“Good afternoon, Carina. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank me for coming? I’m the one who insisted we talk. You’ve been avoiding me all week, treating me like I’m nobody, instead of your fiancée.”
He shook his head slowly from side to side. “Not sure your title is still fiancée. That would imply we’re getting married.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not at all.” He forced his lips to smile. “I’m simply explaining to the woman who lied to me and drugged me that I’m not sure she possesses the qualities I’m seeking in a wife.”
“That was only out of desperation.” Her voice went shaky. “It was all for the baby. He needs his father.”
“About that… I’ve been thinking…” Branson let his words hang, stalling for time. Hurry up, Finn. What did you find? “I’m thinking perhaps the baby needs his or her father, but that might not be me.”
“How dare you!” Carina’s outrage didn’t convince Branson of anything.
“Sorry to offend you, Carina.” He yawned and stretched as he rose from his desk and strolled to the coffee maker in the corner of the room. “Yet, I seem to remember a conversation where you expressed that we needn’t be exclusive, even if we were married. Doesn’t give me a lot of confidence in the child’s paternity. There’s that, and the fact that I took precautions.”
“Precautions aren’t one hundred percent effective,” she declared. “Hope you don’t plan to wait until your child is born before we get married.”
It occurred to Branson she might not be pregnant at all. She’d flashed a sonogram at his friends, but what proof did he have that it was hers? In his pocket, his cell phone vibrated. He slid it out and checked the message from Finn. Then his lips curled into the first genuine smile he’d worn all day.
“Carina, why don’t you sit down for a minute? You’re pregnant, so you shouldn’t be on your feet, right?”
“Fine,” she grumbled, settling heavily into the chair across the desk. “At least you’re showing some consideration… for the first time.”
“Have you seen the newest version of the prenup agreement? The one that nullifies any exchange of property in the event the child’s paternity isn’t confirmed.”
He heard the surprise in her voice. “Mark didn’t say anything—” She coughed, an awkward choking noise. “No, I haven’t seen the new one.”
“Mark? Since when are you on a first-name basis with my attorney?”
Or should he say ex-attorney. Mark Johnson had left at least a dozen messages since yesterday, urging immediate action and proposing alternate solutions, all of which involved a quick marriage.
“We’ve exchanged a lot of phone calls and emails over the past few weeks,” she defended.
Had Mark and Carina exchanged more than phone calls?
“I mentioned the paternity test, because I’ve decided I want one, immediately.”
“Now?” she squeaked. “You can’t do that. Not without risking the baby’s life.”
“Actually, there’s a simple test available. If the results say I’m the father, I’ll marry you within a week. I want my son or daughter to be legitimate.”
No sound answered him, except her rapid breaths. Then a sniffle. And another.
“It’s not fair,” she cried. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want to be pregnant.”
“The test won’t hurt,” he elaborated. “It uses a blood sample from the pregnant mother and a cheek swab from the father.”
“And I’m stuck being a single mom with a baby I never wanted.” She sniffed and took a shuddery breath. “That’s what’s going to happen.”
His chest clenched. What if this is truly my son or daughter?
“I’ll take the baby,” he blurted out. “I’ll be the primary caregiver, and you can go back to your normal life. I’ll take custody.”
“No, you won’t,” she sobbed. “It’s not even yours. I wish it was, but it isn’t.”
“You’re positive I’m not the father?” His heart flew about, beating against his ribcage.
“I’m only twelve weeks along.”
I’m not the baby’s father. An incredible feeling spread throughout his system—elation. He was free. Free to be with Stephanie. Free to love her and be loved by her. He couldn’t wait to get Carina out of the room so he could call Steph. Nothing else mattered. Not the Parker-Aston stocks or his father or the attempted takeover of his own company. Nothing mattered except being married to Stephanie.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he said, incredulous to find he meant it. Now that he was free of her, he had no desire to hold her sins against her.
“You’re a good man,” she said, her voice cracking. “If the baby was yours, I’d give you custody. I know you’d be a good father.”
“Maybe the baby’s real father will marry you,” he suggested. Perhaps, if Mark was the father, Bran could put pressure on him to marry her. The man might be on the take from Bran’s father, but he still ought to take responsibility for his actions. “Have I met this man?”
“You could say that.” She gave a bitter laugh. “He said he loved me. He made me feel special. You never did that.”
“Neither one of us was in love.”
