Shanal started the car and pointed it in the direction of her parents’ home. Somehow she’d get through today. And then tomorrow, when Burton returned; she’d get through that, as well. She didn’t want to think past that point because the variables were far too many and most of them too awful to even consider. One step at a time. That’s what took her through her research and that’s what would get her through the next twenty-four hours, too.
On Saturday, Shanal drove to Burton’s inner-city apartment when she received his call to say he was home. He’d sounded pleased when she’d said she needed to see him, but she doubted he’d sound that way for long once he heard what she had to say. All the way up in the elevator, she twisted the strap of her handbag round and round, letting it go to unravel, then she’d start all over again. It was much like her stomach felt right now, she thought. Caught up in a coil of tension that would release momentarily, then wind back up. Each time tighter than before.
The door to Burton’s apartment swung open before she could so much as raise her hand to press the bell.
“Come in,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her, his expression of welcome freezing just a little when she averted her head so his lips grazed her cheek and not their intended target. “I’ve missed you, darling. Did you miss me, too?”
Oh, she had. She absolutely had. But not in the way he obviously hoped—more like how someone missed an aching tooth once it had been pulled. “It’s been quiet without you,” she said in a weak compromise.
He laughed, the sound forced and artificial in the soullessly beautiful, magazine-spread-style perfection that was his apartment. It had never bothered her before, but somehow now it felt empty of personality. More like a stage than a home and nothing at all like Raif’s house, which, although modern, was furnished in a warm and comfortable manner. What she’d seen of it during her short time there, anyway.
“I’m flattered that you were in such a hurry to see me. Come, let me get you something. A cup of tea? Coffee?”
Her stomach lurched. “Maybe a glass of water.”
He cast her an assessing glance. “Are you feeling well, Shanal? You’re a little pale.”
And here it was. Her opening. But she couldn’t quite find the words. How did you tell your fiancé you were expecting another man’s baby? And not just any man’s, but the baby of the man he hated above all others. She’d realized that fact the day on the riverbank.
“I’ve been feeling a little unwell recently,” she admitted, taking the glass of water he gave her and having a small sip.
“Nothing serious, I hope? Have you been to the doctor?”
He was all concern, on the surface at least. But she could see the hard glint in his eyes as he studied her, looking for signs of imperfection.
“No, it isn’t serious—well, not in a life-threatening way at least,” she said with a wry quirk to her lips. “And, yes, I’ve seen a doctor. He gave me some surprising news.”
“News?” Burton dropped all pretense of civility. “Cut to the chase, Shanal. What’s wrong with you?”
“Actually, nothing is wrong, per se. I’m just pregnant, that’s all.”
Eleven
Burton’s face went pale, then suffused with vivid color as he digested her words. “Pregnant?”
“I know, it came as a surprise to me, too.”
“A surprise. That’s rich. We both know it’s not my child. You haven’t let me touch you.”
“We agreed on that, Burton.” She felt she had to point it out in her defense.
“Yes, but not because I thought you would let your passions overwhelm you and drive you to sleep with Raif Masters!” he spat in return.
Shanal flinched. Burton had never shown anger like this before. Sure, she understood he had to be very angry indeed at this news. It was a very unexpected wrinkle in the fabric of his plans. But it had happened. Now they needed to deal with it.
“You’ll get rid of it, of course,” he stated flatly.
“I beg your pardon?” Shanal couldn’t quite believe what he’d said.
“I have chosen to accept the fact that you’ve slept with Raif Masters, however ill-advised it was, and move on. I will not, however, accept his bastard as a cuckoo in my nest. You will get rid of it,” he ordered, his voice seething with revulsion, “and before the wedding.”