Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Everywhere She Goes\A Promise for the Baby\That Summer at the Shore (41 page)

Karl loved his father—missed his father—even though his father hadn't been a paragon of humanity. Occasionally his father had imbibed too much vodka, had fallen asleep during Mass and had clearly looked at his daughters and wished they were boys whenever they talked about dolls and princesses or asked for a pony. If Karl could reflect honestly on his father's memory and still love the man, then Vivian deserved the same openness while she was alive and carrying his child.

Though, he still didn't let Vivian explain to him how to count cards as they played the next several hands. He could be open-minded about his wife without actually cheating. Because no matter what she called it, he still felt as if it was cheating.

Since he didn't lose too much—and his mother and her friends didn't win too much—his self-righteousness was justified. The women at the table were indignant at their lack of obvious advantageous winnings. Vivian explained that counting cards at blackjack often meant finding a “hot” table and the better odds of winning depended largely on how many hands were being dealt an hour—which meant how many players were at a table, the skill of the dealer, the skill of the other players, etc.

“Really,” he interrupted their complaints, “if you're going to complain about how little cheating pays, you should probably find another game.” He said the words with a smile, so everyone at the table would know he wasn't serious. “I understand there are some very profitable tax fraud schemes out there.”

His mom gave him a friendly shove. “If you're going to go back to being judgmental, you can leave the table.”

“I have to leave, anyway.” He kissed his mom on the cheek. “There's some work I need to get done by Monday, and I'd rather not have my Sunday taken up with work instead of family dinner and Mass.”

As he stood, an idea came to him. “Vivian, would you walk me to the front door?”

She nodded and followed him. They must have made some progress in their relationship over the course of the day, because she looked curious, rather than suspicious. And his mother and her friends giggled like a pack of teenagers.

“Are they drinking?” He hadn't bothered to notice if the liquid they'd poured in their tea was actually white or if they were just calling it milk.

Vivian's eye roll was more indulgent than judgmental. “When you got up to use the bathroom, one of them put brandy in the creamer and they've been adding it to their tea when you weren't looking.”

“Why?”

She shifted uncomfortably, but he just raised an eyebrow at her and waited. “You were so disapproving when you saw what they were doing in their card game that your mom made a joke about you being a strict father and them being teenagers. It devolved from there.”

He sighed. The realization that his mother, who should understand where his sense of right and wrong came from more than anyone else, made jokes about his principles was disheartening.

Vivian's long fingers were strong when they squeezed his shoulder. “Their games—both about you and the cards—are all in good fun. Your mom is really proud of you. I hope you realize that.”

“I know.” And he did. He was the perfect son who had never done anything to disappoint his parents. The one who could find the right path in a dark forest at night. What was it Jessica had crudely said once, during a fight?

You're a parent's wet dream, but I want more than a
dutiful
husband.

What the hell was wrong with having a sense of duty and justice?

Then Vivian squeezed his shoulder again and suddenly he didn't care that his mom made fun of the integrity his father's death had forced upon him or that Jessica had never understood it. He wanted to feel those fingers on him again—and he didn't want them squeezing his
shoulder.
There were better places on his body for her fingers.

He wanted sex with Vivian. Call it sleeping together or making love, he didn't care. He wanted the physical connection of his naked body against hers, of his breath and sweat mixing with hers, of him inside her.

Saying he wanted a relationship for the sake of their child, that he wanted to know her as a person, and thinking about the joy he felt when around her was a justification for the elemental truth. If Vivian gripped his shoulders again, he wanted it to be because he was on top of her, pushing into her and she was leaving scratches down his back while screaming his name.

The truth wasn't elemental so much as it was primal.

“Are you going to fuss at her for drinking, too?”

“What?” It took Karl a few seconds to remember Vivian wasn't privy to the lustful thoughts ranging through his brain. “Oh, no. I don't care about that.” Dreams of Vivian's hands and those pink lips had taken his mind off any irritation at his mother. “Would you like to go to the opera with me on Friday?”

The seconds in which Vivian blinked and said nothing ticked away on his mother's grandfather clock. Finally, when Karl thought he'd finally met someone who could wait out his silence, Vivian responded. “I've never been to an opera. I don't think I have anything to wear.”

This was a problem Karl could solve. “I'll buy you a dress.”

She wrinkled her nose, but her protestations had a new aim. “I don't know. I think I'm working at the restaurant Friday.”

“I know your boss and I think I can talk her into giving you the night off.”

“I'm not sure you asking your mom to give me the night off is the proper channel. It might constitute special treatment, which I thought you were against.”

“If you don't want to come to the opera with me, just say so.” He wasn't used to feeling unsteady when asking a woman on a date. Being irritated was more familiar and comfortable than feeling inept.

Vivian cocked her head, and her answering smile radiated light through the room. “I'd love to go, and I'm sure your mom won't mind if I take the night off for an evening at the opera. I'll think about you buying me a dress, but maybe I can borrow something.”

“An evening at the opera with me.” Karl didn't know why he felt the need to specify the details Vivian already knew, but he wanted there to be no misunderstanding.

“The part where
you're
involved is the part of the evening your mother will be most supportive of.”

“Have you been getting the ‘be friends with the mother,' er, ‘father of your child' lecture, too?”

Her eyes and smile softened, but were no less beautiful. Even if they broke his heart. “I've wanted us to be friends from the beginning.”

* * *

V
IVIAN
SHUT
THE
door behind Karl. The living room was silent except for the beat of her heart and the giggling of the women in the kitchen. That the pounding of her heart reverberating through the room was nearly loud enough to drown out the giggles didn't bode well for her sanity. She had wanted to be friends with Karl from the beginning...but she'd seen the heat in Karl's eyes when he'd insisted on repeating, “An evening at the opera with me.”

He wanted them to be more than friends.
She
wanted them to be more than friends.

She rested her hands on her belly. It had just stopped being flat. Growing inside her was a baby. Under other circumstances, they could explore this relationship without concern of consequences for anything other than their hearts. Jelly Bean changed things. If they plunged into a sexual relationship—again—and it failed, where did it leave their shared parenthood? Could they retreat from a romantic relationship back to friendship? Possibly, but it would be difficult.

The knot of her ponytail pressed into her head when Vivian leaned back against the door. Was she talking herself out of letting a date progress because she was scared? She had wanted to be friends, had allowed herself the security of hoping they might be more than friends, and he'd hurt her. Only a fool would open herself up to Karl's prim self-righteousness again.

Apparently she was a fool. But why?

Because Karl's eyes twinkled with mischief when he was caught off guard, and his smiles were more precious for being so rare. Because his judgmental mind had a kind heart and a wish for the world to be right and fair for everyone in it—a sentiment that was hard to be too critical of, even if his judgmental mind had fallen upon her.

Mostly Vivian knew she would be a fool because his arms offered the security of a man who knew how the world should be and fought for that reality. And because her fingers wanted to trail down his lean body and pierce his expressionless countenance; the rest of her wanted his strong embrace.

The sound of something falling, then gales of laughter, blasted the reflections out of her mind. Once in the kitchen, she saw that Susan had knocked over a mug of tea and the entire room smelled of brandy.

“Okay,” she said with a clap of her hands. “I think all of you have finally had too much to drink. Even if we played more hands, I'm not sure any of you has enough head on you to count past one, much less make a bet on your count. Let's clean up, then I'll give you all a ride home.”

“I call shotgun,” Susan yelled, pumping her fist in the air. When Vivian gave her a curious look, Susan smiled innocently. “If you're going to treat us like children, we're going to act like children.” The words had no irritation to them, so Vivian just reminded all the women not to forget their coats and hustled them into Susan's car.

As soon as the last of Susan's friends had gotten out of the car and was wobbling through her front door, Susan turned to Vivian and said, “Has my son come to his senses yet?”

Vivian gave her mother-in-law a sideways glance. “I'm glad most of the drunkenness was an act. I don't think alcohol mixes well with the medications you're on.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“Can I have Friday off? Karl asked me to the opera.” She didn't know if that meant he'd come to his senses—and she wasn't sure what his senses were. She wasn't sure what
her
senses were.

“Good.” Susan's cooing of the word made Vivian uneasy.

“Why good?”

“Opera is very special to him.”

“Oh.”

“Don't you want Karl to come to his senses about you?”

“I don't know.” She needed to know what Karl's senses
were
to be able to recognize them and decide if she wanted them in her life. Vivian looked at the houses around them. She'd not seen so many swan planters in one neighborhood before. “I think I got us lost.”

“What? I should've been directing you. We've gone too far south and east, so make a left at the next light.”

Unfortunately, the process of getting back on track didn't distract Susan from her questions. “Don't tell me you're not interested in Karl as more than the accidental father of your child. I've seen the way you look at him. Not to mention how he looks at you.”

“We've had this conversation before, Susan. Karl thinks I'm a suspicious character. No matter how hot he is for me—” she rolled her eyes when Susan tittered “—he's unlikely to look past what he thinks of me just because he wants me naked. And I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you about
your
son.”

“I like to be reminded that Karl's human. Sometimes he doesn't act like it.” Her mother-in-law reached over and squeezed Vivian's knee. “It would be easier to mother you both if you both wanted the same thing, but I'll be supportive no matter what. You've been a great help to me. And Karl's my son. Like me, he'll get past his snap judgment about you and see you for the person you are.”

Susan's words brought tears to Vivian's eyes. “Thank you. And thank you for being a mother to me when I need one most.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Y
OU
DIDN
'
T
HAVE
to buy me a dress,” Vivian said as she smoothed the silk over her hips.

Between the short time they'd lived together and his daily stops at Healthy Food, she could now read Karl's stoic face. Not a muscle moved, but the hazel of his eyes got warmer as they traveled from her curled hair down to her toes and back up again before stopping at her face. She felt a bit like a furtive teenager when her body responded with tingles while standing in Susan's living room. “You said you didn't have anything to wear to the opera.”

“What I said was that I didn't know if I had anything to wear because I'd never been before. I don't understand why you bought it—”

“How about because I wanted to?” His intense eyes never left hers but she felt like he saw through the bronze latticework at her waist to her bare skin. “Because we're married and having a child together, and I am learning how to share my life with you. And because I like the way you look in the dress.”

“Thank you. I like the way you look in the tux.” The way the wool clung to his shoulders and smoothed over his chest. The way his cheekbones made his face so stern, but she knew she could make him melt if she wanted. The way she was already melting.

But acknowledging what you wanted out of a night wasn't the same thing as being willing to risk getting it.

He held out her coat, and the lining slipped over her bare skin as she put her arms through the sleeves. She buttoned up the coat he'd bought her over the dress he'd bought her, and all the reasons she'd put the brakes on a physical relationship came screaming back. Was tonight different? She was still dependent on Karl for health insurance, but at least she had a job and a place to live—even if both those things were provided by his mother. She'd like to believe Susan's assurances that
that
little bit of security wasn't dependent on Karl.

“Will you be warm enough?” His hand was cool when he handed over the fancy clutch he'd bought her to match her dress. She wanted him to run that hand over her belly and down until his arctic tranquility melted under her heat.

She hoped her smile covered up the nonsense in her brain. “Of course.”

Susan called out, “Have fun, kids,” as they walked out the front door.

* * *

T
HEIR
PROGRESS
THROUGH
the Civic Opera House lobby was slowed as Karl greeted people he knew. While he shook hands, Vivian took the opportunity to gawk at her surroundings. After living in Las Vegas, she wasn't a country bumpkin any longer and could recognize the difference between a historic building restored to grandeur and a modern building designed to look old. The towering white columns and red carpet looked like Hollywood glamour meets a downtown bank as reimagined for the opera. Or what she supposed opera was—over-the-top, loud and in a language she wouldn't understand. The only thing she knew about the opera they were watching tonight was that it was one of Karl's favorites.

She'd passed this building many times on her daily walks through the city while she'd still been living with Karl. The front of the structure looked like a towering office building, and she'd had to cross the river to see why it was called Insull's Throne.

In the midst of the women in elegant dresses and silver-haired men in tuxes milling around in the white stone lobby, she was glad Karl had bought her a dress. The black pants, white shirt and Asian-print brocade vest she'd worn dealing would have looked out of place and it was the nicest thing she owned—she'd sold her dresses before moving.

When they'd settled into their seats, Vivian opened her program to learn about the spectacle she was about to watch and blinked when she read the description. Then she read the description again. “You brought me to an opera about a woman whose baby is murdered?”

She flipped the program over to look at the cover,
Jenůfa.
She flipped back to the synopsis.

Karl looked at the program open in her hands. “The peasant girl is the title character, but the story is more about the decisions of the Kostelnička, the stepmother who murders the baby.”

“I still can't believe you brought a pregnant woman to an opera about infanticide.”

“Makes how my mom greeted you at that first family dinner seem insignificant in comparison.”

She jerked up from the program to look at him. His eyes were twinkling and the corners of his mouth kicked up in a smile. She laughed. “It's even worse that you would joke about it.”

The tightness in his jawline as he had walked through the lobby was gone and his smile was real—and blinding. “Don't tell anyone. It will ruin my reputation.”

The lights dimmed and the curtain rose on a bare set. Even after having read the description, she was expecting castles and giant sailing ships—props to wow her, not a bare stage with a table and a couple boulders. The orchestra started and she peeked at Karl.

If she hadn't spent so much time watching him, she wouldn't have noticed the small evidence of his immersion in the music. His face wasn't void of emotion; his feelings were simmering just below the surface. The corners of his eyes dipped and his brows lowered as his shoulders relaxed. His body leaned forward as an extension of his attention reaching all the way to the stage. Seeing those small movements were her reward for paying attention to him.

When he blinked rapidly, she turned her eyes back to the stage in time to see Jenůfa grasping her face. One of the characters, Laca, had just slashed her cheek to make her less attractive to Śteva, the father of Jenůfa's child and Laca's half brother. The music swept through Vivian and she didn't turn to look at her husband again until the curtain dropped and the lights came back on.

Karl sniffed and his eyes were red, but the look on his face was pure joy. They walked through the lobby, his arm around her as he occasionally stopped to press a kiss into her hair.

“I don't believe Jenůfa would forgive the Kostelnička so easily after the woman murdered her child. Or that she would forgive Laca for slashing her cheek. Sins out of love, indeed,” Vivian said after they'd settled into a cab.

Karl slipped his gloves off and reached for one of her hands, taking his time to peel
her
glove off, staring down and intent on his task. Once her hand was bare and wrapped up in his, he looked at her. “Like I said, the story is only nominally about Jenůfa. It's more about the Kostelnička, who has a duty to care for Jenůfa—her stepdaughter, not her own child—and who understands the social pressures and prejudices acting against a young girl, even a pretty one, who allows herself to get pregnant by a drunk and whom no one will marry. Jenůfa is too overwhelmed with love of her baby to see her future. The Kostelnička is responsible for Jenůfa's future and fixes it the only way she knows how.”

“By murdering a baby and marrying Jenůfa to the man who knifed her?”

He shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “Better than the drunk who got her pregnant, then tried to marry the mayor's pretty daughter.”

Karl's eyes twinkled in the passing streetlights and Vivian was surprised enough to laugh. “I thought you didn't have a sense of humor, but now I realize you have a macabre one.”

His head fell back against the headrest. He lifted her hand up to his lips, kissed her palm gently then closed his eyes. “The world is full of pain. If you can't find humor in it, you'll drown.” He raised his head and turned to look at her. “You can imagine people wouldn't find my sense of humor appropriate in my current job.”

“So you think the Kostelnička was right to do what she did?”

“Not right—crimes are never
right.
She will be tried for drowning the infant and deserves death. That is justice. But there is also social justice for Śteva, who got a girl pregnant when she was pretty and abandoned her when she was disfigured.”

“Laca seems to come out all right. He gets the girl.”

“Neither social justice nor legal justice work perfectly. Maybe Laca will come to realize he is complicit in the death of an infant because he refused to marry Jenůfa, the woman he says he loves, while she still had his brother's child.” He was resting against the headrest and his eyes were closed again. “Or maybe he will never take the time to evaluate the consequences of his actions and die confident in his infallibility.”

“His sins are sins of love.”

His voice was sleepy as he replied, “That's the stupidest line in the whole opera. I think it's supposed to be romantic, but love doesn't excuse sin.”

Which, Vivian supposed, was why she was living with her mother-in-law instead of with the man she loved.