Twelve
Having billions of dollars made moving much easier.
When Pen moved, she’d hired movers and packed every one of her belongings, plus loaded many of the boxes into her own car, for the traverse to Dallas from Chicago.
When Zach moved, he made one phone call to an assistant to gather Penelope’s belongings from her apartment, and another to an interior designer to decorate his new home.
Two weeks had passed since the move from her apartment. His buying her out of her lease was heavy-handed, but she could admit it made sense in the short-term. Everyone would assume it was the natural next step after hearing about the pregnancy. Plus, Zach would need more room for the baby whether Pen lived with him or not.
He’d purchased a beautiful home just outside the city, with six bedrooms and six bathrooms and a sprawling yard. A low stone wall ran the perimeter of the property, and the front featured a gate, not unlike Chase’s mansion.
The house was far more approachable than a mansion, however, with a wide front porch and white columns, and, thanks to a savvy interior decorator, a pair of rockers on the porch overlooking the front yard and curved driveway.
That was where she and Zach sat tonight.
She’d finished up at work and he’d met her at home for dinner—a dinner cooked by a chef he’d hired to monitor her feedings, or so she’d joked. Now they sat, a mug of peppermint tea for her, and a cold beer for him, rocking back and forth on the porch.
“This is really beautiful, Zach.”
He turned his head and smiled. Tonight he wore jeans and a T-shirt, looking the part of laid-back country boy. Even the recent trim of his hair couldn’t dash the relaxed line of his long body. He pushed, one knee crooked, the other leg straight out, and rocked again, finishing his bottle of beer before setting it on the wooden porch.
“Glad you like it.”
She tapped her mug with her fingernails and thought. The PR plan for them had been drawn up. She’d typed it neatly, presented it to him and he’d made changes—some she’d agreed to, others she hadn’t.
Maintain engagement (to be revisited after the baby is born)
Shopping for the baby (covered by the press)
Press release confirming baby Ferguson
“We should talk,” she said.
Zach’s hands gripped the arms of the rocker and he slowly turned to face her. His eyebrows were down, his mouth flat.
“It’s not bad!” she assured him with a soft laugh.
“Do me the favor of never saying those three words to me again?” He visibly relaxed some, sucking in a deep breath.
There had to be a story behind his request, but she wasn’t going into that now.
“It’s time to tell our families.” She placed her hand over her tummy. She’d always had a slim waist, but the bump was showing enough that people would start talking. “I can’t hide this much longer. And I’d like to tell them before we’re seen at the store.”
“That’d be best, yes.” His ease returned, along with his smile.
“How about this weekend? We can stop by your parents’ house before going to Love & Tumble.” The upscale boutique selling children’s clothing was bordering pretentious, but for the press release, they needed the attention. What better store to emerge from carrying several shiny sage-green bags in their hands while kissing? She’d already lined up a photographer and requested the shots.
“And your parents?”
“We can’t very well fly to Chicago, now can we?”
“Why not?” He shrugged. “It’s a two-hour flight.”
“On your private jet?” She snorted. This amount of convenience was all so...hard to get used to.
“I don’t own one, but I can charter a plane.” He leaned on one arm, coming closer to her chair. “Your parents might want to meet me.”
She nodded, her fantasy world ripping at the seams. Once her parents met him, once he was on her stomping grounds, would the fantasy bubble burst? She’d been sheltered, in a way. Living in this safe existence with work and Zach. Sequestered from reality while she juggled nausea, fatigue and doctor’s appointments.
“I’ll book it for Friday. We can grab a hotel.”
A dry laugh chafed her throat. “My parents would die if we booked a hotel. They would insist we stay with them.”
“We can stay with them.”
She watched him for a solid beat, wondering who this man was, really. Was he the billionaire who moved them into a regal house with the snap of his fingers? Or the family guy kicked back on a rocking chair? Could he be both?
“Friday,” she repeated, still unsure.
He grabbed his empty beer bottle, stood from the rocker and bent to kiss her. “But we’re still having sex at your parents’ house, whether they like it or not.”
She pressed a hand to her cheek as he walked inside, waiting until he’d gone to react. Despite her worries about Friday—when reality met fantasy—Zach’s comment made her laugh.
* * *
“How perfect that you both made it here for Fourth of July weekend!” Paula Brand grinned as she piled raw seasoned steaks and chicken breasts onto a platter.
Penelope’s father, Louis, came in from the back and accepted the platter, slicing Zach in two with a curt nod.
Zach was accustomed to suspicious reactions from fathers of the women he’d dated—he’d met a few. Mothers loved him but the dads were harder to win over. Zach took a healthy slug from his beer bottle. He just had to come up with the how.
He’d played down the “Dallas billionaire” bit, sliding into his clothing from his Chicago days. A comfortable and approachable pair of jeans paired with a gray T-shirt.
Penelope opted for a billowy summer dress, cut to disguise the roundness of her belly starting to make itself known. She was leaning against the counter, a carbon copy of her mother, with an hourglass figure and blond hair. Paula’s blond was a paler shade, her stature shorter, but she was as womanly and beautiful as her daughter.
A vision of Pen at that age, standing over a sink while Zach flipped through the mail hit him square in the solar plexus. His next breath was a struggle, but he managed.
“Zach, honey?”
He blinked out of his fortune-seeing stupor to find Paula’s brows lifted in question.
“Another beer?”
“Oh. Sure. Yeah. Thanks.”
Pen raised an eyebrow in his direction but moved to the fridge on his behalf. When she handed over the bottle, she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling and skin glowing.
It seemed no matter how he tried to cordon off this situation as one he could control, she continually kicked down barriers and knocked him off center.
The real kicker? He didn’t mind it a bit.
“Pen tells me you were a contractor when you lived here,” Paula said as Zach took a swig of his fresh beer. “What do you think of this place?”
Paula and Louis bought and sold real estate for a living, so their current digs was a three-bed, two-bath fixer-upper north of Chicago.
“Good bones,” he said, happy to turn his attention to the surrounding rooms. They’d obviously moved in here while they did the work. The house was clean, but there were various projects started in the kitchen, one of the bedrooms, and the half-bath downstairs had been gutted.
“We bought it for a steal.” Paula washed the cutting board and her hands. “Foreclosure. We’re hoping to double our profit. Louis insists on rebuilding the back deck, but I wanted to tear it down.”
“The deck is a good feature.” Zach walked to the back door. Louis manned the grill, his stout, muscular body stiff. The deck was worn and splintered, and a pile of fresh wood was lying under a tarp in the backyard.
Maybe after they told Pen’s parents about the baby, and Louis didn’t murder him and bury his body in the backyard, Zach and Pen’s father would have a topic in common.
Zach knew how to build a deck.
* * *
Pen didn’t miss the wind in the windy city, that was for sure. She’d wrestled her hair into a ponytail and was forced to hold her paper plate down with one hand while she ate her chicken sandwich to keep it from blowing away.
Her parents’ temporary deck, strewn with Craftsman tools, made her feel right at home. She remembered many occasions where she’d sidestepped piles of wood or stacks of tile in whatever house they were currently working on. After she moved out, they’d started moving into the homes they were flipping. She was glad they’d waited because as much as the nomadic lifestyle appealed to her hardworking family, Pen liked to be in one place. It was what had made leaving Chicago so difficult.
Her mother peppered Zach with questions about his family and his job, which he handled with ease as he sawed into his second steak. Pen’s father did a good job of shoving food in his mouth whenever her mom tried to include him in the conversation, so that all he had to do was nod or shake his head in response.
Pen pushed her sandwich aside, focusing on the potato salad on her plate. She waited for a lull in the conversation and when it came she reached under the picnic table and grabbed Zach’s knee. He jerked his attention toward her, gave her a subtle nod and put down his cutlery.
“Mr. and Mrs. Brand,” he started, and Pen’s stomach flopped. She hoped her dinner stayed down.
Paula looked up, eyebrows aloft and Louis did his impersonation of Sam the Eagle from The Muppets. Seriously. If his eyebrows were any lower they’d be his mustache.
“Pen and I have an ulterior motive for visiting this weekend, other than showing off the engagement ring.”
Miraculously, her father managed to lower his eyebrows farther.
“We’re excited to tell you that—” Zach put an arm around Pen and hugged her close, looking down into her eyes when he made the announcement “—we’re expecting a baby in December.” He faced her parents first, then Pen followed suit, in time to witness their twin expressions of shock.
“I beg your pardon?” That was her mom, who, knife and fork in hand over her plate, sat statue-still while the wind whipped her hair.
“We’re pregnant, Mom. You and Dad are going to be grandparents.”
“Oh, my. I’m...” Her mouth froze open until finally, finally, that gape turned into a wide smile. “I’m so happy!” She was off her chair so fast to wrap her arms around Pen’s neck that Louis had to slap his hand down on her plate to keep it from blowing off the table.
Paula returned to her seat, chattering about due dates and how she’d have to apply for a credit card that offered frequent flier miles so she could visit Dallas on a regular basis.
“No need, Mrs. Brand,” Zach said smoothly. “We’ll fly you down.”
At the kind offer, Louis stood with his plate and climbed over the picnic bench’s seat. He grunted once, then stormed into the house, letting the screen door bang behind him.
That went about like Pen had expected.