Making Up (Shacking Up 4)

“Who was that girl?” Imogen asks, a sour expression on her face.

“I thought I told you to stay put,” I snap.

She purses her lips and rearranges her face into a disapproving smile. She steps in front of me and puts her hands on my chest, making a show of smoothing out my lapels. “We have an audience, Griffin, and that little girl just made a scene, so I expect you, as the father of our child, to show some contrition. We obviously need to talk. In private.”

I blow out a breath and resist the urge to brush her hands away. “You’re right about the talking part.” My stomach churns as she links arms with me and I numbly let her lead me back into the hotel.

“Shall we go up to your suite?”

“Absolutely not.” Cosy’s things are still up there, including several changes of clothes lying in a pile on the floor after her fashion show prior to breakfast, and I doubt housekeeping has been by to clean up the rose petals, or the sheets that smell like sex. “You have your own room booked? We can go there.”

“I don’t, actually. I assumed I’d be staying with you, circumstances being what they are.” She pats her swollen belly and smiles up at me.

I don’t think I’ve ever hated another person, but right now the emotion I’m feeling seems a lot like loathing. “That’s not a good idea. I’ll have concierge set you up with your own room.” I lead her down the hall to the conference rooms and call Nancy, requesting that she reschedule my meetings for the rest of the day. I usher Imogen into an empty conference room and hold out a chair for her.

“A conference room, Griffin? Really?”

“You wanted private and this is private.” I close the door and pour two glasses of water, setting them on the table. I settle into the chair beside her and shift away to give myself more space. “How far along are you?”

“Twenty-six weeks.”

I do the math in my head, going backward through the months. Twenty-six weeks ago, I was in New York. There’s a strong likelihood that the night she conceived is also the night before she broke off the engagement, which is the most epic kick in the balls ever. “And you’re just telling me now? Jesus, Imogen, why wait this long?”

“I didn’t realize I was pregnant at first. I’m tall, and I was stress eating, so I thought that accounted for the weight gain.”

“But clearly you’ve known for quite some time. So why drop this bomb on me now?”

She makes a tsking sound and rubs her belly protectively. “It’s not a bomb; it’s a baby. Our baby, Griffin. And I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn’t return my calls, and when I suggested we try to reconcile, you shut me out. I was in a fragile state, alone, dealing with the pregnancy on my own. I worried the stress would be bad for the baby, so I waited. But then I went for my six-month checkup and I found out we’re having a boy, and I knew I needed to make you sit down and listen to reason.” She reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away. “I made a mistake, Griffin. I shouldn’t have broken off the engagement. I was lonely and scared that I’d be a married woman with a husband who was never there.”

“You could’ve come with me on every single damn trip if you’d wanted.”

“You know how sensitive I am to changes in environment. It would’ve been so difficult on me, on us. But now, I realize how wrong I was to end things the way I did. I miss you, Griffin. We have so much history together. I know I hurt you, but we can work it out, for our baby.”

I think about the way she broke off the engagement. How we’d had wine with dinner, followed by sex. How the next morning she’d told me over coffee and egg whites that she couldn’t see a future with me anymore. She’d been cold and detached and matter-of-fact as she’d explained how I was incapable of providing her with stability, that my projects overseas and my charity work with Lincoln always took precedence over her. I didn’t want her enough, love her well enough. I wasn’t enough for her. She’d followed it up with a twenty-page list of things I should work on for future relationships.

And as I sit across from her, I realize that as painful as it was to hear at the time, she was right. I would never be enough for her, but she wouldn’t be enough for me either. She wanted me to settle down and stay put, and I was never going to be that person. Not with her, and yet, now I was tied to her for the rest of my life.