Becca
I stared at the phone, so ordinary and yet threatening. I could easily call Dominic, just as a pretense to congratulate him about the book’s publication. But I knew I was playing with fire because emotions run deep … at least on my part. He was probably still sleeping with my sister, and a pang raced through my heart at the thought.
No, I decided. Not today. I won’t tell him about his son today.
Another year passed, Nate and I enjoying our simple lives, the baby growing fast, healthy and chubby with inquisitive, sparkling eyes. He was really a darling, and looked more like his father each day. His hair was dark brown, starting to wave just like his dad’s, and he had the same crystal clear blue eyes which would widen with mirth at his favorite cartoon characters.
I got dressed in a nice blouse and fitted jeans. Folks at the town had embraced me when they realized I was a single mother with a baby. They invited me to neighborhood picnics, fun, communal activities where everyone brought something to share, and soon I found myself enjoying life a bit more, making friends and even going out occasionally.
Today I was attending a reading at the local book store by an author of some renown. A local children’s chef had hit the big time with his cooking show, and was going to do a reading from his new autobiography, complete with complimentary cupcakes.
“Come on Nate, let’s go sweetie,” I said, strapping my boy into his stroller. Just like his dad, he was going to be at least six four or six five.
“Mama!” he gurgled, waving his favorite stuffed elephant.
“Thank you, sweetie,” I said, as he tried to give it to me. “Mama loves you.”
I wheeled him outside and strolled to the bookstore, enjoying the autumn day. The store wasn’t too crowded, but that was okay, as Nate’s stroller could be cumbersome to manage in a crowd. We’d just stand in the back, maybe nibble at a cupcake, and leave quietly once the reading was done.
I wheeled the carriage into the store, feeling a strange tingle, but shook it off as weird vibes. I was greeted by Greg, a local man who’d shown some interest in me. He was the book store’s manager, a kindly, balding middle-aged guy, with soft, gentle hands.
“Hey Becca,” he said. “Hi little guy,” he said to Nate, my son gurgling with recognition and shaking his rattle. “We’ve got a great crowd here today.”
But something was off. I’d expected a bunch of moms with their kids, but most of the audience was professionals, dressed nicely in tailored clothes, nice work outfits.
“Am I at the right event?” I asked. “It’s Karl Creeson today, right? The children’s chef?”
“No, not today,” chuckled Greg. “It’s Dominic Patterson, multi-billionaire best-selling author. Green Light Books is lucky to get someone of his stature,” he confided, leaning close. “Seems that he’s been relentlessly touring, hell-bent on promoting this new book.”
The world seemed to close around me. Suddenly, I knew why I’d had that tingling feeling when I walked in. Dominic was here! And sure enough, I turned around to bump into his massive frame.
“Becca,” he rumbled, his hand grasping me tightly on my elbow. He was even more gorgeous than I remembered, his blue eyes just as penetrating, just as divine, although he was deathly pale at the moment, his eyes boring into mine.
“And who’s this?” he ground out.
“Oh Greg, meet Dominic,” I said, trying to hide my consternation. I was flustered, my face hot and my heart going at a million miles an hour, but I didn’t want Dom to know.
But before Greg could get a greeting in, Dominic’s hand tightened painfully on my elbow and he swung me around towards the stroller.
“No, Little One,” he growled threateningly. “I meant, who’s this?” he indicated, jerking his head at Nate, his brows ominously drawn.
My baby had fallen asleep, thankfully, so as not to be disturbed by the dangerous undercurrents passing through the air. His face was as angelic as a cherub in rest, his cheeks sweetly slack, his mouth a baby pout.
“Um …” I stammered. “This is Nate, my son,” I said slowly.
“Little One,” he ground out, by this time his hand a painful vise on my arm. “I’m only going to ask once. Is the baby mine?”
The question hung between us, lingering in the air, all else fading into black.
“Yes Dominic,” I said quietly, looking into his eyes. “Nate is your son too.”