Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Everywhere She Goes\A Promise for the Baby\That Summer at the Shore (29 page)

In the kitchen she found a laptop and another note. Karl's first two suggestions seemed reasonable, the third she was going to ignore completely. After showering and eating a small breakfast of leftover egg roll and cold, hard rice topped with honey, she opened the laptop and prepared to look for a job. A résumé was something she'd always planned to create, once she finally graduated from college. Middle Kingdom had only required a desperately prepared job application when it had opened in grandeur before the big economic downturn.

Her job history was easy enough to write, but what name should she put at the top? There were riverboat casinos around Chicago, but they would call Vegas and learn Vivian Yap was unemployable. Yet, as Vivian Milek, she didn't have ID.

When Karl got home, Vivian had prepared a draft of her résumé and notes of jobs to apply for—none of them at a casino. She was also ready with her arguments about the third point on his note. “You are not going to buy me a winter coat.”

“Do you have a winter coat?” He unloaded take-out containers of Middle Eastern food on the counter without turning to face her.

“No.”

“Do you have money to buy a winter coat?”

He knew the answer. Did he have to make her admit to it? “No.”

“It is February in Chicago. I can buy you a winter coat or you can sit in my apartment until spring. If you're lucky, spring will come early this year.” He handed her two plates, as tranquil as if they were talking about the weather and not how increasingly indebted to him she was.

Of course, they
were
talking about the weather. Next time she married a stranger, she was going to pick one from Florida or San Diego—someplace that didn't require a winter coat.

She took the plates and flatware to the table, her back stiff with the worry of what accepting a winter coat from a stranger implied. “I feel like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman,
and I don't like it.”

“Are you a prostitute?”

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. The other thing she was going to keep in mind the next time she married a stranger was to pick a man who didn't feel the need to ask her if she was a prostitute more than once. “The first time you asked me that question was one too many times.” In case he didn't get the point, she let the plates drop to the table with a clang.

He waited until he'd filled his plate with hummus and tabbouleh before responding. “Stop implying I'm a john and I'll stop wondering if you're a prostitute.”

“I don't want you to spend money on me.”

“Vivian,” he said, setting his fork on his plate without making a clink like she would have. “A winter coat won't cost me anything near your health insurance and child support. Take the damn coat.”

“I wasn't—”

“The only one in the hotel room, I know. We share equal responsibility for everything that happened. But you are the only one without a winter coat. Unless you count the baby.”

She didn't miss that he'd used the word
baby
this time.
Baby
and not
fetus.
He chose his words carefully enough for it to be deliberate.

“Pregnant women aren't supposed to allow themselves to get overly hot.” Arguing with him was stupid. She needed a winter coat. She knew she needed a winter coat. She just didn't want him to buy one for her.

“Then we'll get you a jacket, as well.”

“It gets cold in Las Vegas, you know.”

“The low there yesterday was forty-four. Today's high in Chicago will be thirty-two. Do you want to continue arguing about this?”

“No.”

“You're a poor liar.”

Vivian was too irritated to talk to him for the rest of the meal.

* * *

K
ARL
HAILED
A
cab to take them to Macy's. The department store was close enough that he'd normally walk, but the cherry-red fleece Vivian came out of the guest room wearing wouldn't keep her warm for a mere walk across the street. Fortunately, she didn't argue about the coat once they were in the store, even when he bought her two—a dressy coat to wear to interviews and a casual coat to wear with jeans. Neither did she argue when he suggested she wear the casual coat over her fleece for the walk back home.

“What's that?”

Karl's gaze followed her pointing finger to the looming red building with green owls perched on the corners.

“The library.”

“Can we go in and get some books?”

“Didn't like the ones I picked out for you last night?”

She rolled her eyes, and he suppressed a smile. “For someone who was, quote, ‘beat' you read almost half the book.”

“I've always enjoyed history.” She stopped at the doors. “I don't know anything about being pregnant, and I'd like to at least know what questions to ask the doctor.”

After seeing three people he knew at Macy's, Karl was pleasantly surprised not to run in to anyone he knew while looking through pregnancy books. He hadn't yet figured out how to inform people that he was married and expecting a child. Or, more accurately, he hadn't figured out how to deal with the constant questions that would follow “I'm married and expecting a child” and still manage to get work done.

They had checked out several pregnancy books and Vivian was browsing the popular library when Karl heard his name. He turned to find his brother-in-law, Miles, and Miles's daughter, Sarah, standing there.

“A little light reading?” Miles nodded his head to the book Karl had slipped into the department store bag—apparently too slowly, because Miles had seen what it was.

“Enjoying a trip downtown?” Karl ignored the question and gesture. With Sarah around, Miles wouldn't press.

“We went to the Art Institute and then lunch,” Sarah explained. She either hadn't seen the book or didn't recognize it on sight.

“Go pick out some movies for us to watch tonight,” Miles told his daughter.

Stupid of Karl to think Miles would let this slide.

“You could just tell me to get lost,” Sarah said.

“Get lost.”

“I'm going to pick out something you'll hate,” Sarah said with a flounce.

Miles waited until she was out of earshot before gesturing to the bag again. “The cover of that book hasn't changed that much since my ex bought a copy seventeen years ago.”

Karl wasn't in the habit of lying. When he didn't want to admit to anything, he just didn't acknowledge the conversation. “Is Renia working at a wedding today? Mom said her photography business has been in high demand for weddings lately.”

“Don't think I'm not going to tell your sister about this.”

Just what he needed—his family to know about Vivian and the baby before he was ready to tell them. “The book is for research.”

Miles laughed loudly enough for the staff to stare at him. “You're a lawyer. Your research books are leather bound and cause seismic events when dropped.” He at least had the forethought to look around before asking, “Who'd you get pregnant?”

“Karl,” Vivian said from behind him, “I'll need your library card to check out.”

Miles didn't bother to hide that he was peeking over Karl's shoulder to find the source of the voice. “I'm definitely telling your sister about this.”

Karl shifted his body to include Vivian in the conversation. He couldn't dodge this forever. “Vivian, meet Miles. He's my brother-in-law. His daughter, Sarah, is over there. Miles, meet Vivian, my wife.”

“Nice to meet you, Miles.”

Relieved when Miles was too shocked to even offer his hand in greeting, Karl put his hand on Vivian's back and led her to the checkout.

CHAPTER THREE

K
ARL
AVOIDED
V
IVIAN
for the rest of the weekend. He made sure there was food in the house for her to eat, left his laptop out for her to use and otherwise stayed away.

Back at the library, when he'd put his hand on Vivian's back, he let himself imagine their connection was more than just her pregnancy. In that moment, the certainty about Vivian he'd felt in Las Vegas had broken through reality, and the enjoyment he'd gotten from leading her away from Miles scared him. He hadn't enjoyed silencing Miles—he'd enjoyed feeling Vivian's shoulder blades shift when he put his hand on her coat.

Hopefully she'd find a job soon and move out.

Given the fight she'd put up over the stupid winter coat, he didn't think she'd welcome being set up in her own apartment like some kept woman. But if she had a job, she might not turn down an offer of help to finance her own place.

Of course, if she were actually a kept woman, he would be able to sweep her hair aside and kiss the nape of her neck....

At work on Monday, Greta came into his office with some paperwork and his plans to keep Vivian a secret from his employees died.

“Does your mother know you're married?” She used the papers to gesture to the marriage license sitting in plain sight on his desk.

Karl looked from the benefits application on his computer to his overly maternal assistant. She was one of the few people who could outwait his ploy of ignoring a question, but he held out his hand for the papers and tried anyway.

She folded them against her chest. “When did you get married?”

“The papers, Greta.” His hand stayed outstretched in supplication.

“You can't not tell me. What do I do if she calls?”

“She won't call.” Or not again. Vivian had health insurance and a roof over her head. What more could she want right now?

“So you
are
married. No one in the office is going to believe this.” The papers crinkled in her hands as she clenched her fists in excitement.

“No one in the office is going to know.”

“Was she the woman calling the office on Friday?”

He waggled his fingers at her and she finally gave him the papers, along with a gust of cigarette fumes that had been lingering on her clothing.

“She
was
—oh, and I was so short with her.” Greta didn't leave the office. She'd handed over the paperwork, but she remained standing with her eyebrows raised at him, hoping for more information.

Despite a tendency to mother, Greta was a great legal assistant. She'd been working in the city's inspector general's office longer than anyone else in the building, and Karl was fairly certain that she'd be working here long after his tenure was up. He threw her a bone. “I met her in Las Vegas. But,” he added, before she had a chance to beam and I-told-you-so, “don't think you can take credit or tell anyone about this.”

“No more information?” The quickness with which her eyebrows collapsed amplified the ridiculousness of this entire situation.

“No.”

“You should still tell your mother.”

“What makes you think I haven't?”

“You don't lie outright, so if you won't tell me that you have told her, I can only assume you haven't. She'll want to know.” Having said her piece, Greta left his office.

Since he hadn't gotten a phone call from his mother, it would seem Miles and Renia hadn't told her yet, either. Maybe he could put off telling his mother for another eight months and present her with a daughter-in-law and a grandchild at the same time. She might be so overwhelmed at the grandchild that she'd overlook the surprise daughter-in-law.

“You're married?”

Karl looked up from his computer again to see the director of investigations staring at him from the doorway. Malcolm's dark black skin and intense golden eyes made people feel as though he was a panther eyeing their suitability for dinner. Malcolm enjoyed the effect, multiplying it by wearing only dark colors.

“Did Greta tell you?”

“No.” Malcolm smiled. “You should learn to keep your door closed. Your assistant has a voice like a bassoon. Everyone on this floor probably knows by now.”

“Yes, Malcolm. I'm married. I'd not planned to tell anyone.”

“Did you really think you could keep information like that a secret?”

Yes, he had thought he could keep this a secret, but apparently he'd been delusional. If Vivian had stayed in Las Vegas, they could have gotten the divorce and no one would have been the wiser. However, with her pregnant and in Chicago, he was going to have to tell people. Putting it off would only make the inevitable more painful—yet he was still thinking about postponing the inevitable.

“How did you meet the lovely new Mrs. Milek? You're always working. Even when everyone thinks you're relaxing, you're working.” Malcolm stroked his chin, a parody of the thoughtful investigator. “What kind of woman was able to slip through those defenses?”

“I'm not going to answer any of your questions, so you might as well stop wasting the city of Chicago's time.”

Malcolm's grin widened. “It's funny how you think you can keep information a secret from me.”

“Listen, Malcolm, if you're so curious about my wife, then why don't you just investigate her yourself—just as long as you don't do it on work time.”

“Hah! And how much of the information I learn about the new Mrs. Milek do you want me to share when I'm done?”

“None.” It wasn't a lie. Karl intended to find out everything he needed to know about Vivian before Malcolm could ferret it out.

“Apparently you don't think it counts as lying if you're also lying to yourself.” With a salute, Malcolm left.

Karl could still hear Malcolm chuckling as he walked down the hall. Karl turned back to his computer, clicked on a browser. The cursor hovered over the search box. In a moment of uncharacteristic indecision, he closed the browser window and opened up work files, determined to put Vivian out of his mind for now.

* * *

V
IVIAN
PICKED
UP
the note Karl had left her on Friday morning, balled it up and threw it to Xìnyùn, who lobbed it into a small glass she'd appropriated for the game. Since Karl had disappeared last Saturday after they returned from the library, Vivian and Xìnyùn had gotten very good at basketball. Her husband seemed to think communicating through notes was an appropriate way to manage a marriage.

Even if theirs had been a hasty, drunk marriage better left in Vegas, they couldn't hope to raise a child together communicating only through notes.

Dear Karl,

Jelly Bean flipped me off this morning. Apparently you said it was a “salute.” Be careful what you say to a four-year-old.

Thank you for your concern,

Vivian

Of course that was ridiculous. Karl would be at work too much to teach Jelly Bean—the name Vivian had taken to calling the baby growing inside her—how to flip someone the bird.

Dear Karl,

Jelly Bean returns from visitation having forgotten how to talk, but has become a surprisingly good correspondent. His teachers are worried.

Talk, dammit!

Vivian

She needed things from him. Humiliating though it was, she needed a place to live and health insurance. And she had also needed to get out of Las Vegas. Karl had given her those things with a poof of his magic fix-it sense. But an apartment and health insurance—and food, and a laptop so she could search for jobs, and a transit card and gas to get her around Chicago and to interviews—only solved her physical problems, not to mention that they made her feel increasingly dependent and trapped.

Maybe she didn't
need
someone to talk to, but she
wanted
someone to talk to. Jelly Bean was still abstract; she couldn't feel the baby yet, but she could feel her body changing and she wanted to talk with someone about it. When she told Xìnyùn everything she ate tasted like metal, he only whistled. And she couldn't face her Las Vegas friends—not yet anyway. Not until she found new bearings.

Chicago was a big city, with people who might be her friends, eventually. But right now she was alone and the one person she knew was hiding from her.

Plus, she had things she needed to discuss with him. Such as whether or not she was officially on his health insurance yet and could go to the doctor. And did he want to go with her? She didn't expect him to be an equal partner in her pregnancy—they were married, but they weren't intimate—she just wanted...

Hell, she didn't even know what she wanted.

She wanted to be able to stay awake past nine at night and catch him when he came home so she could eat dinner with him, rather than leaving his food on the stove. Maybe have a conversation with an animal that wasn't a bird. Play a game other than solitaire. Measure Karl's head for the hat she was making him as a gift rather than just guessing his size.

Vivian put Xìnyùn back in his cage, packed up her purse and headed out the door with a list of potential employers to visit. Her solution to her current situation was to get a job. A job would give her money. Money would give her the freedom to get her own apartment. There was always the possibility she'd make friends with someone she worked with.

Besides, being unemployed was not something she could handle for long, if only because getting up in the morning and going to a job had been a part of her daily routine for so long. She'd been working since it was legal for her to do so. It had been the only way to make sure she had money to save for college and find a life that didn't involve moving in the middle of the night.

Fat lot of good it had done her. Her father had taken her life savings and disappeared into the darkness, leaving her to do much the same.

She shook her father out of her head. He had no place in Chicago. He wouldn't think to find her here and if he couldn't find her, he couldn't ask her for more money. All the money she got from a job would go to providing for her and Jelly Bean. And she'd start to get some of her self-worth back. With a job would come the knowledge that she wasn't a leech on Karl's silent kindness. And maybe the hope that she could pay him back, somehow.

* * *

W
HEN
K
ARL
WALKED
through the doorway to his apartment at eleven o'clock on Friday night to find Vivian had pulled a dining chair into the entryway and was reading
What to Expect When You're Expecting,
he knew it had been too much to hope that he could dodge her for eight months
.

“Good evening, Karl.” She rested the book on her lap and looked up at him. “Have you been avoiding me?”

It sounded cowardly when she put it like that. He stared at the curve of her lips above her pointed chin—soft over sharp—and he had to stop himself from running his thumb over the bow. He didn't have to be drunk to be susceptible to the arcs of her face, but he needed to remember that she was only temporary. The baby was permanent, but Vivian fleeting.

“I work a lot.” It came out like a defense.

“Well, you're home now, and I'm still up, so we can talk.”

He beat her to picking up her chair to carry it back to the dining table. As he passed the bar area of the kitchen, someone whistled at him. The bird was climbing around on a miniature jungle gym. Xìnyùn whistled again, a high-pitched, squeaky wolf whistle. The bird was on his kitchen counter. And whistling at him. He stopped to look at the bird, who hopped in response.

Vivian made kissy noises—at the bird, not at him. “Xìnyùn always did prefer men.”

Karl shook his head and continued carrying the chair to the dining room table. “Why is he out of his cage?” That wasn't the question he wanted answered. “Why do you have a bird that prefers men?”

That still wasn't the right question—the one that had been niggling at him. He wanted to know why she was here in Chicago. The growing fetus and health insurance didn't seem enough of a reason for a stranger to be living in his apartment. But he didn't ask those, because he was too caught up watching Vivian bend over and encourage the bird to hop onto her finger.

“Luck, be a lady tonight,” the bird squeaked. At least, that's what Karl thought the bird said. It might have been a whistle.

He sat in a chair at his table in the apartment that used to be his escape from the chaos of life.

“Xìnyùn's out of his cage because he needs the exercise and mental stimulation. Parrots are smart and need regular challenges to their intelligence. In answer to your second question, I have a parrot that prefers men to women because he's not my parrot.”

“Are you going to be hunted down by someone whose parrot you stole?” What did he know about her other than that she claimed to be pregnant and was living in his apartment? And that he liked the curve of her lips and length of her neck.

She laughed, but a haunted look accompanied the noise. “Xìnyùn's my father's bird.”

“Where's your father and why doesn't he have the bird?”

“Um...” She looked at the window.

“There's probably bird shit on my kitchen counter. You can at least tell me where your father is.”

She looked back at him. “I'll clean up Xìnyùn's mess. I've been cleaning it all week.”

Of course. He hadn't been home all week. The bird could've been dancing on his pillow for all he knew.

“And my father said he couldn't keep the bird right now. I came home from work one day to find Xìnyùn in my apartment, along with a note.” She said all that while looking at him, but then she looked out the window. There was more to the story of her father. “But I wanted to talk to you about our child.”