“I’m sorry,” she said, anyway, feeling his pain, as well as her own.
“I spent the first twenty years of my life pretending that I had a father, Lisa. I cannot spend the next fifty pretending that I am one.”
“What’re you saying?” she asked, feeling a chill, afraid for the baby growing inside her.
“The child you’re carrying is yours. I want no part of it.”
He couldn’t mean that! “Then why are you here? Why’d you come back? What have these past weeks been?” she cried.
“I’m here because you are my wife, and because, in spite of everything, I find that I still love you as much as ever.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. This couldn’t be happening. Never in her worst nightmares had she considered that Marcus would want her but not their baby. That he would continue to live with her, love her, but reject the child she was carrying.
“You’re his father,” she whispered, still not quite believing that she wasn’t misunderstanding Marcus somehow.
His eyes filled with a pain so intense Lisa felt it clear to her soul. “No, Lis, I’m not,” he said, his shoulders slumping as he turned and walked out of the room.
Lisa sank into a chair at the kitchen table, cradling her stomach, and the tiny life it harbored. It would have been better if Marcus had left her. Because as long as he was coming home to her, caring about her, she didn’t think she could leave him. But neither could she bring her baby into a home where he wasn’t wanted, where his own father could ignore him as if he didn’t exist.
“It’s okay, little one,” she whispered, rubbing her stomach soothingly. “Your daddy’ll come around.” Please God. “He’ll love you more than any daddy ever loved a child.” He will. I know he will. “See, there’s something about your daddy I haven’t told you yet. He’s never had much love in his life, so the one thing he’s always wanted more than anything is a family to love. And you’re it, little one. So hang in there. And don’t worry, your daddy never stays angry for long.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“DAMN!” MARCUS SWUNG the Ferrari around and headed back toward home. He’d forgotten the marketing textbook he’d promised to bring with him when he met with George Blake later that day. Impatient with his lapse, with the lack of concentration that had been plaguing him all week, he pulled around the circular drive to the front of his house, barely looking at the lushly landscaped lawn in front of him. Although fall used to be his favorite time of year, this year the leaves had changed colors without him even noticing. The crisp October morning was wasted on him.
Work had always been able to distract him, if not heal what ailed him. But ever since Lisa had asked him to accompany her on her first prenatal checkup, he’d been eaten up with corrosive emotions. All of a sudden the pregnancy was a reality, something he could no longer ignore.
He hated the anger that burned within him—and the panic. Lisa was going on with her life without him, and there was nothing he could do about it, no way for him to catch up. He knew it and she knew it. She watched everything she said around him these days, choosing her words so carefully it made him ache. He could feel their closeness deteriorating, knew they were in danger of becoming nothing more than wary housemates and yet was powerless to prevent that from happening.
Because he couldn’t involve himself in Lisa’s changing life. He was already so plagued with if onlys he wondered sometimes if he’d ever again know peace of mind. He might just as well have gone with her to the damn doctor’s appointment the day before. He’d done nothing but sit in his office and torture himself with wasted dreams the entire time he’d known she was there.
Lisa’s pregnancy had become a constant reminder to him of everything he’d always wanted, everything he could never have. He was so damn envious he couldn’t think straight.
And he was scared to death that Lisa’s baby was going to look nothing like Lisa.
Unlocking his front door, he hurried into the office he shared with his wife, hoping to be in and gone before she heard him. He made it a practice to leave the house before she was up and around these days. It was just easier that way. Easier to keep his emotions under wraps, easier to ignore the changes in his wife’s body, his wife’s life.
He hadn’t made love to Lisa, either, not since the day she’d told him she was expecting a child. He didn’t trust himself to touch her. He was afraid of what might happen if he let his guard down, if he let himself be vulnerable, if he let himself feel everything he always felt when he made love to her. He wasn’t sure what other emotions might be unleashed or what he might do if they were.
He was also unsure how much lovemaking she could do in her condition, and he didn’t want to ask. It just seemed better not to talk about that.
Grabbing the textbook from a shelf behind his desk, he was on his way out the door when he heard the sounds of retching upstairs. Lisa was sick.
Taking the stairs two at once, he made it up to the master suite just in time to hear Lisa throw up a second time. How long had she been suffering like this?
Without thought, Marcus dropped the textbook on his dresser, tore off his jacket and hurried into the bathroom. He wet a washcloth at the sink, then crossed to her and hunkered down, wiping her face and forehead, holding her hair back when the spasms came again.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, tears wetting her lashes. She took the cloth from him and buried her face in it.
Marcus rubbed her back, admiring her strength. He knew how frightened she was of being sick to her stomach. “Shh. You don’t need to apologize, Lis. It’s me, remember?”
She nodded, saying nothing, only looking at him. He hated the uncertainty he read in her eyes.
“This happen often?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not so far.”
But maybe later. As her pregnancy progressed. There it was again. The wall he slammed into every time he was with his wife these days.