“Must I summon security to make you leave?”
“No, of course not. Besides, offering to fix dinner isn’t a threat. Do you want to have a gallon of the vegetable stew you like delivered?”
“Another attempt to seduce me with vegetables?”
“I’ll use whatever I have to.” He laughed in spite of himself. “I know a place that makes the best pisto manchego and artichoke rice cakes. If you don’t feel up to going out, they deliver.”
“Are we living in the same universe?” she countered. “When we met, I was a successful model. Now with a scar, a broken leg and pregnant, I’m barely photographable. I’ll probably have to work as a hand model. I’ve also been married and unmarried with amazing haste, to say nothing of being on the fringe of a murder investigation. My life has fallen into dismal chaos, and you want to go out to dinner?”
He nodded. “It would be a good distraction.”
“You’re driving me to distraction right here.”
“I’ll consider that a vote for the manchego. I’ll let you know when the food arrives.” He walked out of her bedroom before she could insist he had to leave. She was talking to him, so things weren’t going too badly.
A savory aroma filled the condo. He hated to wake her, but she was sitting up in bed, reading or pretending to. “Do you want to eat in here or in the dining room?”
She marked her place and closed the book. “The dining room.” She grabbed the headboard to rise and get her balance and hopped along behind him. There were two places set at the table. “I’d rather not have your company.”
“Ignore me if you like. The food is so good I won’t be offended.” He pulled out her chair and pushed it in for her. Along with the rich mixed vegetable dish and artichoke rice cakes, he’d ordered green salads and ice cream he’d put in the freezer. When she stared at her plate without lifting her fork, he grew concerned. “Can you remember the last time you ate?”
She appeared confused for a moment. “Last night. My stepfather made something wonderful with eggs, mushrooms and asparagus. I’ve forgotten what he called it.”
He handed her a fork. “Take a bite. This tastes as delicious as it smells.” He watched her slowly chew her first bite and was relieved when she took another. “I’ve been researching restaurants with vegetarian choices. This one makes the blue cheese dressing fresh for each salad.”
When she continued to eat on her own, he broke apart a rice cake and put half on her plate. The cheese filling oozed out invitingly. “Other than meeting you, my life is also bordering chaos. My father loved the Ortiz Line; it filled him so completely he never needed anything or anyone else. But I see it as a malevolent force, and whenever I break free, it grabs me again, the way a cat tortures a mouse.”
She glanced toward him. “How is your father?”
“The same. My stepmother believes one of us should always be with him, but I do need to sleep a few hours a day. I’m not asking for sympathy, nor do I want to toss complaints back and forth in an effort to decide who has the most pathetic life.” He got up. “May I bring you more?”
“This is enough, thank you.”
He’d placed a generous order and scooped up another helping. When he brought his plate back to the table, he continued as though he’d never left. “When I first told you I was your husband, why did you believe me?”
She ate a bite of rice cake before answering. “I was too laced up with drugs to think clearly, and you were convincing. You always sound so sincere. Is it a struggle?”
“Not at all. I am sincere. You easily convinced me you were a photographer, remember? But there’s no point in fighting over what each of us
made up for the other. We’re going to be parents and ought to be civil.”
She pushed her plate away. “You’ve had several weeks to consider parenthood. I was already numb, and it’s too much for me to absorb easily. Will you excuse me? I’d like to go to bed early.”
“There’s chocolate ice cream for dessert. Wouldn’t you like some?”
“You are a devil.”
He finished his manchego and salad. “If you’re not going to finish your salad, do you mind if I do?”
“Help yourself.”
“Thank you. This is too good to go to waste. Will Fatima be here in the morning?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“She’ll be able to give you some support. I’ll bet she loves babies.”
She reached for his arm. “I’m not telling anyone yet. I need to work as often as I can, with what’s left of me to photograph. When the pregnancy can no longer be kept hidden, I’ll announce it, but not a moment before.”