Billionaire Stepbrother: Spring (Our Forbidden Year Book 4) (5 page)

Well, if you’re going to be sick, might as well do it in style, I thought.

After a few dry heaves and several sips of bottled water from the mini–bar, Phoebe slumped down into my lap and groaned.

“Feeling any better?” I ventured as I smoothed her forehead, trying my best to comfort her.

“You’re taking the piss aren’t you? I don’t think I have any stomach lining left after that. How on earth am I going to get through another six or seven months of this?”

“Shh, you’ll do fine,” I soothed. “If it’s what you truly want.”

Chapter Six

P
hoebe and I spent the next few days hopelessly confined to our suite. The morning sickness had hit Phoebe hard, like a cement truck pounding away relentlessly, and she barely kept anything down. She refused to step out of the hotel or to go more than 50 feet away from the bathroom.

I was dying to get out and explore, but there was no way I was going to leave her alone in her state, even though being cooped up with countless questions was driving me batty.

But at least we had the private balcony where we could relax and watch the world go by, luxuriating under a blue sky. And it wasn’t all bad, we had special spa treatments in the room, too. I imagined this was probably a lot like those fancy detox centres that celebrities went to “dry out”.

However, I could sense Phoebe’s agitation, and we weren’t able to appreciate our surroundings as much as I wanted, especially when we both had dark clouds floating around our heads, polluting our every thought.

We needed to come up with a plan to sort our lives out, ‘cause it was clear no one else was going to do it for us. We had to take some responsibility and figure out what to do next.

“I really think the first thing we need to solve is how you can stay in school.” I nodded at her swelling belly. “It’s a kinda time sensitive matter, you know?”

“Ya think?” she said and stuck her tongue out. “Well, I did wangle a leave of absence due to stress, but that excuse ain’t going to cut it much longer. And if I don’t go back soon, they’ll leave with me no choice – I’ll be out on my ass whether I like it or not.”

I took a sip of my café–au–lait, swallowed the rich liquid and steeled myself as Phoebe devoured a pile of pastries.

“Any further thoughts, about you know…”

“Keeping it? Of course, plenty of them, swirling around inside here. Constantly. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You could always give it up for adoption,” I said, trying to be helpful but knew I was failing miserably. Then it occurred to me – had
I
been adopted? Or, god forbid, stolen? For all I knew, Loretta could be lying.

She sighed. “I’m not ready to make a decision yet. Anyway, enough about me. Let’s talk about something else, please?”

“Sure,” I said trying desperately to think of a topic that didn’t have anything to do with babies.

Phoebe sucked at her lips. “We should go home; lovely as this all is it’s going to be the only way you’ll be able to start piecing together your past. Plus, I really need to be around my own things right now… I miss my own bed. I miss my goddamn toilet!”

We laughed together and just for a split second it felt like old times, before our lives were filled with great balls of chaos.

“Fine, but you’re totally gonna miss the croissants,” I said, as that was the only food she was able to keep down.

***

Typically, and as if on cue, when we arrived back in England, the heavens opened and we were greeted with a lovely spring shower, and not even the nice kind. The cold, miserable kind. It was as if we were being punished for leaving such a warm climate.

“Too late to go back?” Phoebe muttered.

I rolled my eyes at her and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Hey, I’m not the one who wanted to come home,” I teased. I was perfectly happy keeping my head buried in the sand. But now we were back in the land of reality, and it felt like I couldn’t put off the inevitable.

Steve, Lex’s driver, picked us up from the airport, and heavy ominous clouds followed us all the way back to Oxford.

“He’s kinda cute,” Phoebe whispered once we were seated in the back of the car.

“Who? Steve?” I asked.

“Shh!” Phoebe hissed.

She couldn’t be serious. But for a brief moment the unlikely possibility of her and Steve together flashed before my eyes. Not so unthinkable, perhaps.

“You’re having me on aren’t you? And in your condition too!” I snorted, not really meaning to tease her so much.

“Well, he is. He’s got that
je ne sais quoi
.”

“Oh, hear you and your fancy French accent!”

She continued, as if she weren’t even listening to me, in a dreamy far off voice, “So rough around the edges… rugged, and that sexy suit… I’d have it off in a flash,” Phoebe licked her lips and I nudged her playfully.

“I think you have more important things to consider right now, don’t you?”

She blew out a hard rush of air. “Spoil sport.”

We pulled up to Phoebe’s building.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in? Or you could stay at mine? I wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, thanks though. Getting away really helped, even for just a short while. Tell Lex thanks when you hear from him.”

I nodded. Steve opened the passenger door and held out his hand for Phoebe to take. Phoebe raised her eyebrows and gave me a sneaky smile, I could tell she was loving every minute of this.

As she got out of the car, she popped her head back in, her features were serious and her eyes narrowed at me.

“Promise me you’ll at least try to call Loretta?”

As much as I didn’t want to speak to her, I knew Phoebe was right. It was the only way forward; I had no other leads to go on.

“Promise me!” she repeated.

“Eugh, fine. I promise.”

She beamed, getting what she wanted. “Call me… keep me updated.”

“I will, hun.”

The door closed and Phoebe linked up with Steve as he escorted her to her front door. The actually did look good together, I mused.

***

The apartment was quiet when I got home and there was a stale scent in the air. Lex had persuaded his father to allow me to keep the little apartment in Oxford even though I was no longer his step–daughter. Mind, from what I heard from Lex, Michael hadn’t needed much persuading; he was a sweet old guy, really. I felt sorry that my mom… Argh! I did it again… Loretta, I corrected myself, had taken him for a ride, and me along with her.

I put my cases away and stared for a good long while into the open fridge, trying to figure out what to do next. The fridge was bare, save for a couple half–eaten jars of Branston pickle, but that didn’t keep me from gazing despairingly into the white abyss, trying to find answers.

I wished Lex was there to encourage me on my next step, to tell me everything would be all right. To be by my side when I made that dreaded call. God, how I missed his scent, his protective arms; everything seemed perfect when I was wrapped up inside them. And the world seemed a less scary place, but it all felt like it was going to fall apart the longer he stayed away.

Surely any important business matter should’ve been sorted and wrapped up by now. Not to mention the droves of people he had on payroll that were supposed to take care of the details of his empire. So why was it taking so long? And why was it preventing him from calling me? My overactive imagination kicked into high gear as images of scantily glad women surrounding Lex intruded into my thoughts.

The fridge started to beep at me for keeping it open for too long, and I slammed it shut.

No!

I would not jump to conclusions and scolded myself, no matter how tempting going down that road might be. It was self–destructive nonsense, and I was better than that. I had to trust him if we were ever going to work… if I were ever going to say that magical word which would bind us together forever.

I was getting grouchy, and my tummy rumbled a plea for sustenance. If I was going to have any success at dialling Loretta’s number and actually speaking to her, I’d have to be on top form for it, and I might need some Dutch courage, too.

So, take out it was, then.

***

I’d decided on Chinese, picking practically every appetizer from the menu as my “meal” and accompanying it with a lukewarm bottle of white wine I’d found buried in the cupboard. Hidden probably for good reason; it was damned awful, bitter and vinegary, but it softened my edges.

My phone rested silently on the coffee table, surrounded by left over Chinese cartons. I stared at it, willing myself to pick it up, to dial her number.

Just get it over with.

I clasped the cool flat handset in my palm and jabbed at it angrily to locate her contact details. The green call button looked so inviting with its round edges and bright colour, practically daring me to press it.

I was shaking, and my hands trembled. I did not want to speak to this woman, let alone have an in–depth conversation with her about my origins, but my curiosity and a wash of anger trumped my fear. I pumped my hand a couple of times into a fist then quickly allowed my fingertip to slide onto glass.

The ringing buzzed in my ear, repeating its desperation over and over again. I forced myself to keep the handset pressed to my ear so I wouldn’t disconnect the call, hoping that if I held on just long enough I’d get some answers.

But Loretta didn’t pick up and all of a sudden a robotic voice asked me to leave a message.

Goddamit, at least she could have the courtesy to answer my bloody call. She owed me at least that. Angry now and more determined than ever, I rang back.

This time it took only three quick rings before it cut out, and the tinny voice was back, urging me to leave a message. She was screening her calls, I had no doubt, and she’d declined to answer the call, forcing me to her voicemail.

“Answer me you coward, I know you’re there!” I said shouting into the receiver, angling the base of the phone only centimetres from my lips.

My eyes brimmed with tears. I hated that she did this to me, lied to me all these years and didn’t have the decency to explain herself. I wanted to shake her so hard; it was probably a good thing she hadn’t told me in person.

My fingers had a mind of their own, and they tapped and selected Lex’s number to call. I held my breath, tortured again by the ringing in my ear, longing desperately to hear his voice. To tell me he would fix everything.

The call went to voicemail.

I screamed and threw the black rectangle across the room. It landed with a distant crack, and I buried my face into my hands, feeling so alone… feeling abandoned.

Chapter Seven

A
muscle in my neck spasmed as I awoke to loud, persistent banging at the door. I’d cried myself to sleep and had slept curled up like a ball on the couch.

I blinked the crusty sleep from my eyes and wiped my face with my hands, trying to wake up; I could feel the streaks of dried tears on my cheeks.

“Keep your knickers on!” I yelled, as fists continued to beat against my door.

A sudden Phoebe–like blur pushed past me into the apartment. My eyes were determined not to focus, and she wasn’t making things easier for me as she flew around in circles, clearly agitated… but at least she was smiling.

“You won’t believe what has happened,” she said, the words flying out of her mouth in a rapid torrent.

Finally my mind jerked awake, sensing this was serious. “What? Are you OK? Is the baby…”

“Oh my god, this is insane,” she said, panting. Had she run all the way here?

I grabbed hold of her shoulders, forcing her to keep to still and to look at me. She was like a buzzing bee, vibrating beneath my hold. For a breath, I took her in; she glowed from the inside out, her cheeks were a perfect peach colour, and her deep hazel eyes seemed to have filled with flecks of amber.

Phoebe stared back, registering my melancholy, and frowned. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Never mind that, tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s amazing… the best news ever,” she said cautiously, studying my puffy eyes.