“You’re not sixteen, so, yeah. There’s no reason to be afraid. You can do this.”
Viviana nodded. “I can.” She sat back again. “How long should I wait before I tell my family?”
Audrey made a pained face. “My opinion? Reconnect with them first. They don’t understand why you left or why you’ve avoided them.”
“How do you know that?”
Audrey looked away then back. “I check in with your dad once a week. He worries.”
Another tear fell. “He doesn’t call me.”
“He doesn’t want to pressure you. All he and your brothers want is for you to be happy. They don’t know how they let you down, but they’re hoping you forgive them and go home soon. Things aren’t the same without you. Their words, not mine.”
Viviana wiped away tears that, once they started to flow, just kept pouring out. She took out her phone and said, “There’s nothing to forgive. Except maybe on my part. I needed this time away. For me. How do I explain that?”
“You won’t have to. I think they’ll be happy if you call and say you love them. And maybe, promise to make Dylan shepherd’s pie soon. He’s mentioned missing it at least three times since you’ve been here.”
Viviana laughed. “It’s his favorite.”
“I guessed that.”
No longer crying, Viviana picked up the phone. “I’ve missed Cairo. I’ve loved being here with you, but Boston is too big for me. Maybe it’s time I think about going back—but this time getting my own place.” An idea came to her and she said, “Since I work for a fertility clinic, do you think they’d believe I did this on purpose? Single women use the service all the time.”
“That baby has a father; they may notice that small detail.”
“It doesn’t. I’m writing Grant off as a sperm donor.”
Audrey shook her head. “You can’t do that and you know it.”
“You think I want—?”
“This isn’t about what you want. Once you decide to keep that baby, what you want comes second to what is best for it. Like it or not, that baby has a father, and one day it will ask you about him.”
“Grant is probably married. He doesn’t want this baby.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What if he’s not at all the man I thought he was? What if he’s someone awful?”
“You can’t use that as an excuse to take the easy way out.”
Viviana sighed. “You don’t cut me any slack, you know that?”
“I channel my mother when I think you need it,” Audrey smiled.
“When is she coming for a visit? I miss her.”
“She and Harry are summering in Venice. It’s still weird to think of her with a boyfriend, but she’s happy.”
Viviana looked down at her phone. She had two calls to make—which should she make first?
She scrolled through her contacts and found Grant’s number. “Leave a message,” his voice said as the call went directly to his voicemail. She almost didn’t leave a message, then said abruptly, “It’s Viviana, call me when you have a chance.” And hung up.
“He’ll call,” Audrey said.
“Why now? For two weeks you’ve been convinced he wouldn’t.”
“You didn’t hear your tone. I’d call if I got that message even if I didn’t want to see the person again.”
Even if I didn’t want to see the person again. Audrey’s words repeated in Viviana’s head. Is that how he feels toward me?
How do I tell a man like that that I’m pregnant with his child?
Maybe I don’t if he never calls me back.
She scrolled through her contacts again and chose another number. It picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, baby. How are you?”
Viviana blinked back tears. “Good. I miss you. Boston has been fun, but I’m thinking about getting my own place in Cairo and coming back to work for you if there’s still an opening.”
“There is always an opening for you. You don’t need to rent a place; your room is just as you left it.”
“I do, Dad. That’s part of why I needed to leave to figure it out. I need a space of my own.”
“Then we’ll find you one.” There was chatter in the background and her father said, “I’m not asking her that. Sorry, your brothers are here.”
“Tell Dylan yes, I will make it for him when I come back.”
Her father laughed. “She knows you too well, and she said yes, now can I finish my conversation?”
Viviana laughed, too. When she’d first started her journey to find herself, she’d thought she needed to leave this part of her life behind. She was beginning to see that she could have both—she could be herself and be with her family. “I love you, Dad.”
He cleared his throat. “I love you, too, baby.” Then he growled. “I have to go, Viv. Your brothers are laughing at me, and I may have to beat them. When will we see you?”
Viviana smiled because the worst her father had ever done to any of them was yell. “I could come home for the weekend. I want to give my job two weeks’ notice.”
“You never did tell us what you do out there.”
Yeah, and I’m probably going to keep that one to myself. “I’ll text you with the info about when I’m coming.”
Chapter Eight
‡
Grant was on his way back to Boston when he saw he had a voicemail from Viviana. Not calling her for two weeks had never been his plan. When he’d first gotten to Aruba he’d told himself he’d call her as soon as he made some progress. After he’d located Stiles, he’d told himself he would call her once he solved the mystery of what had happened to his brother.
If his brother’s death had been due to negligence, Grant would be heading to Viviana’s straight from the airport. But there is no good way for this to play out.
He listened to her voice message several times and had to remind himself that he barely knew her. Was it possible to miss someone when your time with them had been so brief?
She sounded upset, and it tore at him that he was the reason. In his public as well as his private life, he had a solid reputation for being responsible. He wasn’t the love ’em and leave ’em type. Just because something didn’t morph into a long-term relationship didn’t mean it couldn’t end on a good note.
He knew he needed to call her back, but his head was still spinning from what Stiles had told him. He was confused, angry, and deeply saddened by the situation . . . all to a degree that was foreign to him. He strove to remove his emotions from the equation so he could better decide what do, but it was proving impossible.
Grant was used to being prepared for nearly every outcome. He hadn’t prepared for this. He hated feeling out of control.
Everything Stiles said matches the tone of Patrice Standfield’s journal. She was jealous of my mother, jealous of her happy marriage. Would that have driven a woman like her to kill, though?
The phone numbers and lists of names in her journal might have been a hit list. Some of the deaths had been attributed to natural causes or accidents, but after what Stiles had said it was pretty obvious what had happened.
A cover-up of that magnitude would have taken not only a significant amount of money but also powerful connections—all of which Patrice would have had. Can I say with one hundred percent certainty that Stiles’s version is true?
No.
So, do I tell my family what I learned? It might destroy the progress they’ve made.
I could lie. I’ve gotten good at it, but the idea of more sickens me.
Viviana, I wish I had met you a year ago.
Or a year from now.
I can’t start a relationship in this headspace.
He dropped his phone into the breast pocket of his jacket. I will call you. Just not yet. Not while this storm rocks my family.
When this is over, if you’re angry, I’ll woo your forgiveness with a shower of flowers and gifts.
If you’re sad,
I’ll do whatever it takes to return a smile to your face.
Just not today.
And, unfortunately, not tomorrow either.
A week later, Viviana was sipping bottled water instead of her normal afternoon coffee when the woman at the desk next to her fanned her face and said, “Why were there no single men like that in Boston when I was single? I wonder if my husband would consider an annulment.”
Stella was one of the few reasons Viviana would miss Boston. She was a constant source of hilarious outbursts. One more week, I might as well ask. “Who are you in love with now?”
