CHAPTER FIVE
Present day…
Molly sighed for what had to be the hundredth time as she drove the residential streets that led to Harry’s home. She wasn’t at all surprised that he’d fulfilled his promise as a brilliant academic and scholar. Harry was one of the smartest people she’d ever met, though he hadn’t ever bragged or lorded it over anyone.
She was proud of the life she’d built for herself and Amelia. She’d saved every last penny to buy their tiny bungalow just off Alexandria Bay’s main street and had filled their home with bright colors on the walls and fabrics and rugs. Still, how could her daughter not compare their little house to the elegant brownstones in Harry’s neighborhood without finding it wanting?
She hated to think how heartbroken Amelia was going to be when Molly told her Harry wasn’t her father. All during the drive, she had been kicking herself for not having sat down with her before now to explain things. When her daughter was younger, it had been easy for Molly to justify sweeping information about Amelia’s father under the rug. After all, what young child wanted to hear that she’d been born after a one-night stand with a guy who turned out to be a total jerk? Molly prayed fifteen was old enough for Amelia to finally hear the truth without it hurting her.
As for how Harry would react after he heard Molly’s story? After he realized that he and Amelia couldn’t possibly be related despite a piece of paper that somehow said otherwise?
Molly was afraid he’d be devastated. Because how could anyone in their right mind not want Amelia to be theirs? She was the perfect kid. As perfect as any teenager with raging hormones could be, in any case. Thankfully, she didn’t have any of that world-weariness that plenty of girls her age exhibited. Amelia didn’t spend hours slapping on makeup or trying to convince Molly to let her wear inappropriate clothes that would make her look older.
Molly pulled up in front of Harry’s house, her heart racing. As she got out of the car, she refused to check her hair, which she’d thrown into a ponytail during the drive, or the dark jeans and loose green sweater she’d been wearing at work when he’d called. Why would she, when this was as far from a social call as it got?
Harry’s house was dark, apart from the porch light and another light deeper in. Without yet having been inside his home, she could guess the room where he’d likely be waiting for her. His study, where he’d be surrounded by leather-bound books, and probably with a full suit of armor in the corner. Exactly the life he’d dreamed of having back when they were in college.
The life she had dreamed of sharing with him.
Her legs shook as she walked up the stairs, and she felt lightheaded by the time she knocked on his door. Molly had always had a terrible fear that if she and Harry were ever in the same room again, she’d take one look at him and either launch herself into his arms…or fall completely apart. She was about to find out which it would be.
She heard footsteps and then the lock turning.
“Molly.”
The years fell away as she stared at him, momentarily unable to speak, or think, or breathe.
“Come inside.” While she felt like an open book, gaping at him on his doorstep, she couldn’t read a thing in his tone, his expression.
She followed him into the foyer. “Is Amelia still awake?”
“She went to bed around eleven, after my family finally cleared out.” His voice softened, warmed, when he spoke of Amelia, and even his lips began to curve up into a smile.
Seeing that—knowing that—made everything inside Molly’s chest clench tight. If only he was Amelia’s father…
“I need to see her, even though she’s already asleep,” she said in as steady a voice as she could manage, given that her emotions felt more high-strung than they had ever been. And that was saying something, considering what a mess she’d been in those early postpartum months as a single mother trying to take care of a baby while living on a shoestring.
Harry led her through the foyer, past the living room and kitchen, then up a wide set of stairs. His voice pitched low, he said, “She’s in here.”
Carefully easing open the bedroom door, Molly crept into where her daughter was fast asleep in a plush-looking bed. An enormous wolfhound mix was lying across the foot of the mattress. Of course Harry would have a dog like this—the perfect academic’s companion.
From the moment Harry had phoned to say Amelia was here, though he’d assured Molly that her daughter was fine, she hadn’t been able to stop the worst-case scenarios from playing inside her head. So many horrible things could have happened to Amelia on a solo bus trip from Alexandria Bay to the city.
Only now that Molly saw Amelia safe and sound, even smiling a little in her sleep, could she finally release the breath she’d been holding.
The dog watched Molly carefully as she bent to press a kiss to Amelia’s cheek. “Love you, sweet girl.”
Her daughter shifted, but didn’t wake up. The dog stared at Molly, unblinking, for several seconds then, when he deemed she wasn’t a threat, laid his muzzle on Amelia’s feet.
Without thinking, Molly turned to smile with relief at Harry. When he didn’t smile back, she remembered she had a heck of a lot of explaining to do.
And that he wasn’t going to want to hear any of it.
After tiptoeing out of the room and shutting the door, Molly felt as though she were heading to the gallows, rather than simply following Harry downstairs.
“That’s Aldwin, with Amelia,” Harry said. “He hasn’t left her side since the moment she arrived.”
Beyond nervous, Molly found herself babbling, “His name is perfect for him—he already seems like her old friend.”
Harry stopped on the stairs. “You know that Aldwin means old friend?”
Too late, she realized what she’d just given away. “I tried to keep up my studies after college. And I always found the medieval period particularly fascinating.” Which was true. It was also true that the main reason she’d dug deeper into medieval history was because it was a secret link to Harry.
“If you still drink peppermint tea,” he said once they were in the kitchen, “I can make you a cup.”
It was funny—and by funny she meant not at all funny—how something like remembering the kind of tea she used to drink when they were together could mean so much. But she couldn’t do this, couldn’t just sit and make polite conversation when nothing added up.
“Harry, I’m sorry, but you can’t be Amelia’s father.”
“Yes, I am.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her. “It’s all there in black and white.”
Unfolding it, she saw the information printed on letterhead from an online ancestry DNA test company. The company was claiming that Harry shared fifty percent of Amelia’s DNA.
Molly honestly wasn’t sure how Amelia had come to get this, or how anyone could think playing such a horrible prank on her daughter could ever be funny.
She put the paper on the granite kitchen counter, steeling herself for the story she was about to tell. One she wasn’t proud of, but wouldn’t take back for anything. Not when Amelia had come to be hers because of it.
“First of all,” she said, “when you and I were together, we were always used protection.”
“Protection can fail.”
“I know it can,” she said, “but it didn’t. Not with us.”
“It must have.”
“It didn’t.” She was as certain as he was. More so, because she actually had the facts. “The night we broke up, I got my period. It was the worst one of my life, with such severe cramps I couldn’t even get out of bed.”
“Molly—”
“Please, let me get this out. All of it, so that you’ll finally understand.” Her head was pounding like she had a hangover, though she hadn’t had a drink, and her mouth was bone dry. “Two weeks after we broke up, fourteen days after my period started, I went to a party, got drunk, and…I slept with a stranger.”
With another Columbia student who had looked like Harry. A poor man’s version, anyway. He’d been so attentive that night, giving her everything she craved, making her feel as though she was the only person who mattered. At least, until the deed was done and he’d kicked her out to do an early-morning walk of shame back to her dorm in her dress and heels.
She made herself look Harry square in the eyes. “I was too drunk to remember to use protection, and two weeks later when my next period was late, I did a pregnancy test. All the dates line up perfectly for her birthday.”
She expected Harry to look devastated. Especially given that over the phone, he’d seemed hell-bent on being Amelia’s father. Now that she’d laid out the full truth for him, why didn’t he look like his whole world had just caved in?
Finally, he spoke. “Aunt Mary didn’t realize she was pregnant with the twins for the same reason.”
“Your Aunt Mary?” It had been a heck of an evening, but though Molly knew she was nowhere near at her best, she should still be able to follow his train of thought. “Why are you bringing her up now?”
“Because she went through the same thing you did. Not,” he clarified, “the getting drunk and sleeping with a stranger part. But I definitely remember hearing Aunt Mary say that she’d gotten her period, or what she thought was her period—and then finding out not long afterward that she had already been pregnant with Sophie and her twin sister, Lori.” He let his words land—along with the utter, breath-stealing shock that came with them—before adding, “She said it doesn’t happen all the time, but that it isn’t totally unheard of either.”
Molly felt herself reeling, both physically and emotionally. It wasn’t until Harry’s hands curled around hers to hold her steady that she realized she had been about to drop.
“But…” She swallowed hard as she thought about the implications of what Harry was saying. “Everyone was so sure—the nurses, my doctor. I never thought in a million years she could be yours, not even all those times I wished she could have been. Instead of his.”
“You wished Amelia was mine?”
But Molly couldn’t think straight, couldn’t worry about what she’d just admitted to Harry, when everything she’d believed to be true was suddenly in question.
“I…” He led her over to one of the kitchen stools, and when he let go of her hands, she dropped her head into them. “I don’t know what to think right now.” Her words were slightly muffled by her hands, but her voice was still clear enough. “I heard what you just said, and I know you wouldn’t lie to me about your aunt.” Molly lifted her head and looked at Harry, at the man she’d once loved with everything she was. The man she’d been so heartbroken to lose. The man she’d never thought she’d see again. “What if it’s true? What if I was already pregnant when I went to that party? What if Amelia really is yours?” She felt both bleak—and desperately hopeful—all at the same time. “That means her father would have wanted her after all.”
“Did you tell him?” Harry asked. “The other guy, the one you thought got you pregnant?”
“Of course I did. I would never willingly have kept her from her father, or her father from her.”
Harry had to believe her. He had to see that she would never have done something like this to him on purpose, and certainly not as retribution for breaking her heart. “Everything fit just right, from getting my period after our breakup, and then having unprotected sex with him exactly when I thought I would have been ovulating. Even the doctor I went to confirmed that must be my date of conception. So I went to the guy’s residence hall and found him. He barely remembered me. Didn’t even know my name. I felt like such an idiot. Such a cliché, the heartbroken college freshman getting drunk, ending up in some stranger’s bed, then finding out she’s pregnant. But I couldn’t keep the truth from him.”
“What did he do?”
“He told me to get rid of it. Or else. It turned out that he came from an important family, and he had been in this situation before. His family had paid the other girl to have an abortion, but I couldn’t do that, couldn’t let them pressure me. I had to get away from him and go somewhere they wouldn’t find me—wouldn’t find Amelia. He didn’t know my last name, so I figured if I went far enough, we would be in the clear.”
“Who is he?” Harry growled out the words.
“It doesn’t matter.” And if the DNA test was right, it really didn’t.
A moment later, he reached for one of the cloth napkins in a bowl on the island and pressed it to her cheek.
“Harry? What are you doing?”
“You’re crying.”
She lifted a hand to her face, and her fingers came away wet. She’d been so overwhelmed by going back in time and recounting some of the hardest days of her life, on top of the mind-blowing thought that Amelia might actually be Harry’s, that she hadn’t even realized she was crying.
Suddenly unable to hold back the torrent of emotion inside of her a single second more, she reached for the cloth, putting it over her face as the waterfalls came.
The very last thing she’d wanted to do was fall apart in front of him, but it didn’t seem she had a choice. Her body, her brain, her heart, simply couldn’t do anything else.