Behind His Eyes - Truth: Reading Companion to the Bestselling Consequences Series Page 15

  “That’s a long time away. How long did it take to set him up?”

  His neck stiffened. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

  “Why? I know you did it. You told Brent and Courtney you wanted to be honest. So, be honest.”

  He sat taller and momentarily refused to look her way. Damn it, he was helping her brother-in-law—why did she need to bring this up? Fine, she wanted to know. “From the time he turned down my job offer.” He peered toward his passenger. There wasn’t an outward sign or hint of emotion as Claire pressed her lips tight and watched the road before them. When she didn’t respond, he asked, “You asked. Now you won’t comment?”

  “I don’t know what to say. Do you want my bold and cheeky response or the reticent and genteel one?”

  He gripped the steering wheel, fighting the urge to lower his right foot and drive the damn car the way it was designed to be driven. “This is why I haven’t answered all of your questions. You may think you’re ready for answers, but you’re not. Bits and pieces may help you understand, but the blatant truth is too much.”

  His blood boiled as Claire sat silently during the rest of the ride, keeping her head turned toward the window. He wanted to be open, to be honest, but her reaction proved that it wasn’t possible. Would Claire ever be able to handle knowing the whole truth? Was he a fool for trying? With each minute of silence, Tony felt Claire slip further and further away; he didn’t know how to stop it. Her expression was one of indifference; he’d seen it before. The news about her brother-in-law was supposed to show her that he was trying. Instead, her resulting coolness beckoned his red. He berated himself for even attempting to make amends when their gap was obviously insurmountable.

  When Tony pulled the car onto the brick circular drive in front of his house, Claire turned to him and placed her hand on top of his. Shocked by her soft touch, his dark gaze stared momentarily at the size difference of their hands as he tried to corral the red hue. Slowly, he moved his eyes to hers. The fire he expected was absent.

  The soft emerald soothed as she said, “Thank you. Thank you for supporting me tonight with your friends. I was very nervous. It turned out much better than I could’ve possibly hoped… and thank you for helping John. I know you don’t like him, and that you created his problems, but helping him now—it means a lot to me.” She leaned in and lightly kissed his lips.

  With one hand, Tony gripped the door handle; it was a means of keeping himself grounded. One minute, he was happily explaining the progress they’d made with John, the next, he was driving in silence belittling himself and Claire for trying to be open and honest, and now she’d kissed him and he wanted nothing more than to pry her from this car and take her on the damn driveway. The emotional roller coaster was too much. Tony had said he wanted fuck’n highs and lows. He just didn’t want them all at once over the course of twenty minutes. “Claire, I’m trying to give you space, but I’m on the edge.”

  She leaned back and undid her seat belt. “I know you’re trying, and I appreciate it.”

  She was halfway to the front door when he caught up and seized her arm. Stepping nearer, he whispered, “I’m very glad you’re here.”

  Claire smiled and looked up at the house. “I’m surprised at how much I like being here. I was afraid the bad memories would overpower the good.”

  “Does that mean… the good overpower the bad?”

  Claire shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish I could say yes. You said you want honesty, and honestly, I don’t know. They’re both there. It’s just that the familiarity of here is heartwarming.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I need to go into the office tomorrow morning. I hope to be done and home by noon. The dessert celebration isn’t until 8:00 PM. Would you like to go for a walk tomorrow?”

  “A walk?” she asked.

  He grinned at her change of tone. “Yes, Claire—to your lake?”

  She smiled and nodded. “I-I’d like that very much.”

  He kissed the hand he’d secured. “Please allow me to escort you to your suite. I’ll give you Courtney’s number, and you may use the lock you requested. Actually,” his eyes narrowed. “I suggest you do.”

  Boldly, she leaned into his chest. If only she knew how much he wanted to repeat the scene in Amber’s condominium. Her face tipped upward as she purred, “You know, we never did this.”

  “This what?” He couldn’t think straight.

  “We never dated. I guess we did on two occasions, in Atlanta.” Her smile didn’t falter at the reference. “I like it.”

  Tony gently squeezed her hand, and they ascended the front steps. “We’d better get you behind a locked door, so I don’t do anything to ruin this date.” He emphasized the last word.

  Claire smiled slyly. “Actually, according to a definition I recently heard, we need to be in public for this to be a date.”

  Bold and cheeky. Tony gave her hand another small squeeze.

  ‎

  There is nothing more profound or of lasting consequence than the decision to have a child.

  —Raymond Reddington, The Blacklist

  The visit to the lake was everything Tony hoped for and more. It wasn’t that it hadn’t occurred to him over the last year and a half to visit Claire’s lake. It had. The thing was, he wasn’t adept at finding his way through the wooded terrain. Tony could face a table of adversaries knowing that he would cut off their financial lifeline. He could study a stack of spreadsheets and instinctively know which companies could be saved and which ones should be closed… but walking through trees, climbing slopes, and ending at a pristine lakeshore was nowhere in his skill set.

  Claire, on the other hand—Tony had total faith in her abilities. Once they reached the shore and she asked if he’d been there during her absence, his answer was heartfelt, “No, I’d be lost without you.”

  Can one statement be layered in sentiment? If so, it was. Tony would never have found the crystal clear lake with glistening waves without Claire. To be completely honest, he had no desire. Spending the afternoon sitting on the lakeshore, while deals and opportunities came and went at record speed, was not Anthony Rawlings’ modus operandi. But sitting on a lake shore, enticing the one woman in the whole world, to recognize that skinny-dipping was exactly what they both needed—well, that was Tony Rawlings’ MO, especially when it came to the woman named Claire (used-to-be Rawlings) Nichols.

  Of course she didn’t agree. Why did he think there was a chance? She was the same woman who pulled a sheet over her beautiful round breasts and projected modesty at every opportunity. She was the same woman who’d put him in his figurative place, more than once. Claire was the woman who spun his otherwise calm, predictable life out of control. Her refusal spurred his desire more than an acceptance ever would.

  When they returned to the estate, Claire said she was tired, and before they went to the rehearsal dessert and wine celebration, she wanted to nap. Tony willingly agreed; after all, between traveling and nerves, she had every right to be tired. He mused that if she planned to fly to him every two weeks for their scheduled appearances, Claire needed to get used to the traveling. Maybe this would be the perfect stepping-stone to suggest she stay in Iowa. He’d emphasize that it was for her benefit, to make it less taxing.

  They planned to eat dinner on the back patio before going to the celebration. In the past, it had been their practice that Tony would retrieve Claire from her suite for dinner and walk her to the dining room or patio; however, since they hadn’t specifically said, Tony went to the patio and waited. With each passing minute, a voice from nowhere—one he tried to ignore—reminded him about his aversion to waiting. Each glance at his watch made the voice clamor louder about the consequences of tardiness. By most people’s standards, Claire wasn’t late; however, she most definitely wasn’t on time. If Catherine hadn’t reassured Tony that Claire was awake from her nap, he could assume that she was still asleep and go wake her as he’d done the day before.

 
; When 7:00 PM came and went, Cindy asked, “Mr. Rawlings, would you like me to serve your meal?”

  No. No, he wasn’t eating alone. That was the point of having Claire on the estate. “Not yet, Cindy.”

  “Would you like me to check on Ms. Claire?”

  Throwing his napkin on the table, he replied, “No, I’ll go.”

  Each step toward her suite was a battle against the red. Claire wanted to be bold and cheeky, fine, but rules and expectations didn’t change because she wanted to spout a daring retort. Tony made himself stop before opening her door. He inhaled and exhaled… and knocked. He waited, perhaps not long. When she didn’t respond, he turned the handle. Scanning the suite, she was nowhere to be found. Could she still be getting ready? He called out her name and reached for the handle to the bathroom door. Suddenly, the cloud of displeasure that had grown in intensity dissipated into a storm of concern. Sitting on the edge of the whirlpool tub, wrapped in the pink robe, was his Claire, her complexion ashen, her face drenched in perspiration, and her body trembling. Tony fell to his knees as his mind went into overdrive. “What’s the matter with you? Are you sick? I’ll get you the best doctors…”

  Instead of replying, Claire shook her head and bolted from the tub’s edge. Tony was at a loss as he listened to Claire vomit within the confines of the small, attached room that contained the lavatory. Did he go to her? Did he stay where he was? Did he call a doctor? Call Catherine? While he debated, his mind searched for answers—that’s what he did. Anthony Rawlings found answers. First, he needed to know what questions to ask. The first stop would be a doctor.

  By the time Claire walked out of the small room, her petite frame had regained some semblance of normalcy. Tony stood silently, as Claire walked more steadily to the sink, rinsed her mouth, and then turned toward him and proclaimed, “Tony, I’m not sick.”

  He gently reached for her shoulders. “What do you mean? You’re obviously ill. I’ll call Brent. They’ll understand.”

  “No, I want to go. I’ll be better soon. It usually doesn’t hit this hard in the afternoon. I think I’m just stressed.”

  “What doesn’t hit…?” He studied Claire’s green eyes. Along with her strength, color now returned to her once pale cheeks. The information was processing at record speed: her aversion to bacon at the restaurant, her ravenous hunger this afternoon, her frequent naps. Tony’s tone unconsciously morphed from a concerned companion to a CEO in need of answers. “What doesn’t hit?”

  “The nausea.”

  Each word came slower and deeper than the last. “Brought. On. By. What?”

  Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she replied, “I’m seven weeks pregnant, almost eight.”

  Pregnant? She was pregnant? Seven weeks? When was he in Palo Alto? How long ago was that afternoon in her condominium?

  Before he could process, Claire went on, “Yes, Tony, we are going to have a baby.”

  Words weren’t forming, only her words bounced through his brain. We—a baby—mother—father. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She had that damn insert. Of course, that was years ago. He tried unsuccessfully to process. Finally, he asked, “How did this happen?”

  The look she gave him momentarily stilled any further questions. “That’s a great question, since I have no recollection of letting you back into my condominium, but nonetheless, the timing works perfectly.”

  He stared dumbfounded as he tried to make sense out of this new paradigm. “What are we going to do about…” he motioned toward her midsection, “…this?”

  “I don’t know what we are going to do. I’m going to have a baby, with or without you.”

  “But you’re twenty-nine years old; I’m forty-eight!”

  “Yes, and when we married, our age difference was the same.”

  “We never discussed children.”

  “It’s a little late for discussion.” The fire in her eyes was back and blazing bright. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be downstairs in ten minutes for dinner, and we can continue your charade.”

  Tony shook his head. Shit! From the look on Claire’s face, he’d totally screwed this up. Well, he had—literally and figuratively. Tony moved toward her and fought to sound understanding. “I’m sorry. You surprised me. Let me think about this for a while.”

  “Fine, Tony, you think all you want. Your thoughts and decisions don’t matter. I’m having this baby.”

  “Of course you are. I never suggested otherwise.” As the walls of the bathroom began to close in, he kissed her cheek, and explained, “I’ll be downstairs on the patio,” and backed away.

  Once in the hallway, Tony stopped and inhaled the air-conditioned air. It took a minute or two, but slowly his lungs began to re-inflate. The walk from her suite to the patio was a blur. The next thing Tony knew, he was sitting on the patio, sipping iced water, and contemplating bourbon. Actually, he had some nice cognac in his office.

  As the dust from Claire’s bombshell began to settle, Tony searched the debris. A baby. Him a father. Claire a mother. He didn’t have a clue how to be a father. Did she know how to be a mother? How do you learn that? Experience? Books? The Internet? Could he do it? What about his age? Shit—the kid would be eighteen and he’d be sixty-six!

  Each thought and question came with the memory of Claire’s expression as she shared their secret: the tears rolling down her cheeks, the need in her emerald eyes. Her expression wasn’t exactly as he’d remembered it from years ago when she so desperately sought his approval. The look, moments ago, asked for something much simpler: it requested understanding, and in typical Anthony Rawlings fashion, he’d been an ass. Then again, she could’ve found a better way to tell him than making him believe that she was dying of some unknown disease.

  Tony had forgotten how worried he was about her only minutes ago. At that time, he was ready to fly her to the edges of the earth if that was where she’d find the best medical care, and now, now he knew that she wasn’t dying. No, she’s having a baby. That was better—right?

  When Claire stepped onto the patio, Tony attentively stood and pulled out her chair. She radiated beauty. Outwardly, it appeared as though their little conversation upstairs had never occurred. He assessed her complexion as he sat and thought how their day at the shore had done her skin tone some good: her cheeks had a nice rosy glow. Still scanning, the neckline of her dress and her blossoming cleavage distracted his thoughts. Without a doubt, her breasts appeared larger. Did pregnancy do that? Hell, he needed to do research. Tony hated not having answers.

  With all sincerity, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

  Genteel and reticent, she responded, “I’m feeling better. Thank you for asking.”

  After Cindy brought them their meals, Tony asked, “Have you had many bouts like what just happened?”

  Her emerald eyes peered at him from beneath thick lashes. “I do like this dress. It’s one from the closet. Thank you for having it purchased.”

  Each of Tony’s attempts to discuss the pregnancy was met with a dutiful response; however, she wasn’t providing answers, simply conversation. He received her message loud and clear: she was upset and he’d screwed up. It was a message meant solely for him: no one else would have known—not his staff as they brought their meal and not their friends at the dessert celebration. Claire performed perfectly, staying dutifully by his side. To everyone, they appeared the happy couple trying for reconciliation. He did see a genuine smile when he asked the waiter for two glasses of nonalcoholic champagne. It was the most disgusting bubbly grape juice that Tony had ever tasted. If pregnant women were supposed to drink shit like that—well, no wonder they felt ill.

  Throughout dinner and the celebration, Tony tried to think of a way to apologize, to help her understand that his initial reaction was not because he didn’t want her to have the baby. It was shock. His mind went back to another apology years ago.

  Claire hadn’t wanted to go with him. Never, since she’d first been brought to the estate, ha
d he seen her react as vehemently and violently as she did that afternoon. All Tony had wanted to do was to get her away from the estate. It had been almost two months since she’d gone anywhere. Nevertheless, when he led her past the front doors and she saw the car waiting, Claire lost it. Right there on his front steps, she broke down in a fit of hysteria. Tony had never seen anything like it. For over a month she’d been calm and accommodating—too calm. That afternoon, all of her emotions bubbled over. She spewed hateful things as she fell to the ground, refusing to budge. He recalled the daggers in her no longer calm green eyes as she told him that she hated him.

  It had been Catherine who’d whispered and explained to let her go. In all the time since her accident, she’d not broken down. Catherine explained that it was part of the healing process.

  That day Tony knew Claire needed more than a release. She needed—no, she deserved—to hear his honest apology.

  The circumstances were totally different, but as they left the dessert celebration, Claire needed the same things from Tony as she had that cold afternoon. Driving through the night, he peered to his right, trying to assess if Claire noticed that they weren’t headed home. His glance confirmed what he’d seen all evening: the perfect companion. Even when they detoured down a dirt road, Claire appeared unaware. Tony stopped the car and allowed the headlights to shine into the meadow. It was their meadow, the place where he’d apologized for her accident, for losing control, and the place where he’d asked for her forgiveness. That day had brought the spark back to Claire’s dead eyes.

  Tony had pushed away the memories of the month following Claire’s accident. Though she obeyed, or more accurately, acquiesced to everything, she was a walking shell. Tony refused to allow this baby or his reaction to take her back to that place. He didn’t want the perfect companion. Tony wanted Claire—her fire, her brazen spunk, and even her bold retorts. If she needed to yell at him, so be it. If she needed his apology, he’d give it.