“I was thinking maybe she had, and I failed to recognize her. I mean, look at you. You’ve scored a showing with a premier gallery. I heard they’re offering to represent you. You’re back on track. I think we’d make a great couple—a successful lawyer and a successful artist. Unconventional, but in an interesting way.”
Wow. The right connections and suddenly she’d been upgraded to marriage material. “I don’t know, Mitch. I think I may still be too unconventional for you.”
He took the statement as a challenge and smiled his confident lawyer smile. “Try me.”
“I’m pregnant.”
The smile disappeared. He paled and backed up a step. “That’s impossible. You were on the pill, and we always used a condom.”
Jeez. “It’s not yours.”
“Oh.” For a moment she thought he might pass out from relief, but he pulled himself together. “Okay, well, then—” He trailed off awkwardly. “I guess you’re involved with someone else.”
“Guess again.” Now she was just being mean, but some wicked part of her wanted to watch him squirm out of this hole he’d dug for himself with his version of a romantic, When Harry Met Sally New Year’s Eve grand gesture. She stepped closer to him, crowding him a bit. “Still up for being part of an unconventional, yet interesting couple?”
“We should take some time to think this through. I mean, it’s New Year’s Eve, and we…I…got swept up in the excitement, but—”
“Relax, Mitch. I’m not interested. Nothing’s changed for me. If anything, this baby cemented everything I always believed about love. I’m not after a relationship that makes sense on paper, or one that qualifies as unconventional, yet interesting. I want a soul mate, partner, and friend. I want a man who loves me for who I am, as I am. Who appreciates my strengths, and accepts my weaknesses…and…and…”
Oh my God.
She’d failed her own test. Beau had scars—weak points in his otherwise formidable strength. He’d shared them with her right from the start, and she’d claimed to understand, but when they got right down to it, she hadn’t accepted him scars and all. She’d rejected his love as too damaged, and demanded he fix it. He’d asked her to stay, but she’d walked away because he hadn’t been able to ignore his fears and paste a smile on his face. She needed to find him, talk to him, right now.
“I have to go,” she mumbled, already in motion, fighting her way through the shifting kaleidoscope of shapes and colors to find the exit. She had it in view when the door opened and a man walked in.
Savannah skidded to a halt and let her greedy eyes feast on Beau for a moment while he scanned the room. For her?
He still wore his uniform, and stood out in rugged contrast to the polished suits and dresses surrounding him. He held something in his hands. People parted to let him through, all the while looking around to see who needed his attention.
Me. It’s me. I need him.
But for some reason, her feet remained glued to the floor. She’d become performance art. Woman Paralyzed with Regret.
She knew the moment he saw her. His eyes locked onto her face, and her nerve endings tingled. Slowly, he approached. “I need a minute with you.”
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, and immediately started crying. Damn pregnancy hormones.
“No, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the right time or place. I’m the last guy you want to see, and I’m showing up like a selfish jerk and ruining your big night. Timing’s not my strong suit, but I need to speak to you before you leave for Italy.”
She had to talk around the lump in her throat. “I canceled the fellowship as soon as I learned I was pregnant. I didn’t want to have my baby half a world away from home.”
“Thank you,” he said, and had the grace to look genuinely relieved. “Thank you for that, even if you had your own reasons for doing it.”
She didn’t know what to tell him about her reasons, so she stayed quiet.
“I want to introduce you to some people you should have met a long time ago.” He held a book out to her. She took it and looked down to see a pink photo album. Her heart prepared to run, but she found her voice.
“Y-you don’t have to…”
“I do.” He flipped the book open, and a picture of a sweet, tiny newborn in a little pink hat filled the page. Two deep, all-seeing eyes stared back at Savannah. Miniature versions of Beau’s. “This is Abbey.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” he agreed, and turned the page to a photo of a pretty, young brunette in a hospital bed, holding the baby and smiling a smile that radiated pride and adoration. “This is Kelli.”
“Also beautiful,” she managed, but the lump was back with a vengeance, and she couldn’t say more.
He flipped through a few pages and opened the album to a picture of a younger Beau with one arm wrapped around his baby, and the other wrapped around his wife’s shoulders. They stood in the shade of a big green maple tree. His smile reflected an unrestrained joy she hadn’t seen from him since he’d been a little boy, chasing her around the swing set with his silly rubber snake.