Two
The monitors in the neonatal ICU beeped incessantly. Their sound, combined with little sleep and even less food, worked to numb Julianne Marchione into a zombielike state. She tried to refocus her thoughts and concentrate on the words her business manager, Sebastian Flanders, was saying, but her mind kept wandering to the incubator containing her four-week-old son, Owen. Her arms ached to hold him, but the disease poisoning his blood kept her baby confined to the NICU, tubes and wires marring his tiny arms and legs.
“Jules, sweetheart.” Sebastian’s British accent permeated the thick fog that surrounded her brain. “You don’t have to do this right now. You shouldn’t be making such rash decisions in the state you’re in, love.”
She gave her head a little shake and gazed over at the man across from her. The handsome black Englishman with the laughing coffee eyes had put as much blood, sweat, and tears into her career these past ten years as she had. His eyes weren’t laughing today, though. They were fearful and apprehensive. Worst of all, Julianne saw pity reflected there.
They were seated at a round table in one of the private vestibules Children’s Hospital provided for the families of its NICU patients. The small, windowless area was not quite a room; a curtained partition made up the fourth wall. Aside from the table and four chairs, the only other furniture was a sofa, too small and too hard to sleep on, and a television. She found it hard to conceive that anyone could watch TV while their child was so ill.
“I don’t have a choice.” Julianne’s voice was hoarse. Her hand trembled as she picked up a pen and let it hover over the documents spread out on the table. “I don’t have medical insurance. At least not the kind that will cover all of Owen’s expenses. Selling JV Designs ensures me enough cash that”—her voice began to shake—“if Owen doesn’t get a blood transfusion his body will accept, I can afford whatever treatment I need him to have to keep him alive.” She didn’t want to contemplate the alternative.
“Julianne,” Sebastian coaxed. “There’s still time. The father will come, love. And the doctor said there’s a seventy percent chance he’ll be a match. If that’s the case, Owen will beat this and go on to give you gray hairs before you’re forty. You don’t need to sell. It’s going to work out.” He covered one of her hands with his and squeezed.
“I have to do this.” Julianne was resolute. She no longer had the confidence Sebastian possessed. Owen was already being punished enough for the mistakes she’d made and the lies she’d told. It was only fair that she suffer, too.
Sebastian’s voice was anguished. “They’re going to take your designs and mass-market them.”
Julianne smiled grimly as her eyes met Sebastian’s. They both knew she hadn’t sketched a single design in nearly six months. She’d begged off commissions as soon as she’d found out about the baby. Even if her pregnancy hadn’t been difficult from the start, the guilt Julianne suffered had completely drained her creative juices. There was no telling when she’d get them back—if ever.
“Last I checked, Princess Kate bought clothes off the rack,” Julianne quipped.
“Carly, help me out here!” Sebastian pleaded to the woman seated on the sofa behind her.
Julianne didn’t have to turn around to feel the wave of disappointment emanating from her closest friend, Carly March Devlin. The two had met when both were students in boarding school nearly sixteen years ago. Theirs was a friendship deeper than sisterhood, born out of the shared experience of each losing their mother at a young age. But Julianne’s lies and omissions these past several months had damaged their friendship. This morning’s confession just might have pushed the relationship past the stage of irreparable.
She heard Carly rise from the sofa and closed her eyes to hold back the tears as her friend approached.
“Sebastian is right.” Carly gently massaged Julianne’s shoulders. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. You’re exhausted and worried about Owen. Now’s not the time to be thinking about selling your company. Instead, you need to concentrate on taking care of yourself so you can take care of Owen.” Carly hesitated. “Once Will gets here, he’ll help you through this.”
Julianne’s shoulders sagged underneath the enormous weight of shame she carried. Will Connelly. What must it feel like to suddenly find out you have a child? Would he be furious? And what would he think of her?
She didn’t have any answers because she knew so little about her son’s father. Embarrassment washed over her as she thought of the meeting taking place in her half brother’s office. She hoped Stephen wasn’t too hard on him. Will, like Owen, was innocent in all of this. Not that her brother saw it that way. He was more concerned with the ramifications to his political career. The senator wanted Julianne and her illegitimate son out of the country and away from any reporters who’d yet to snoop out the story.
Carly’s words also grated against Julianne’s fragile confidence. She spoke as if Will would arrive on a white horse and snap his fingers, and miracles would happen. As if his blood would be a match. As if the man rumored to be as cold as ice would forgive her for not telling him he had a son. Of course, Carly knew Will better than she did, which made revealing Owen’s paternity all the more difficult.
Julianne had never meant to put her friend in such a position. Mortified by her fling at a client’s wedding with a man she barely knew, she kept it a secret from Carly. After the shock of discovering her pregnancy, she vowed to keep the baby and raise it herself. She had a successful business and the means to support a child comfortably. Avoiding Carly had been easy while her friend was preoccupied forging a relationship with her new husband, Shane, and his young brother, Troy. To make the deception work, Julianne remained in Italy, away from the prying eyes and a multitude of questions.
In the end, though, Julianne couldn’t keep her secret any longer. Her son was born with advanced hemolytic disease, a dangerous blood disorder treatable with a transfusion. In most cases, blood from the standard blood bank was compatible. But Owen wasn’t one of those babies; he needed blood from a parent. Julianne prayed she’d be able to cure her son without having to reveal the father’s identity, but her prayers went unanswered. Owen’s body rejected her blood transfusion. To save his life, she had to admit that her fling wasn’t with a stranger, but with a man who happened to play football with her best friend’s husband.
“And you shouldn’t worry about the money,” Carly said as she slid into the seat next to her. “Will is worth millions. He can certainly pay for whatever treatments Owen needs to get better.”
Something snapped inside Julianne. She didn’t want Will Connelly to pay for her son’s medical care. Owen was her baby . . . her family. After her mother’s sudden death, her father had abandoned her to a boarding school before remarrying and beginning a new life. One that didn’t include any reminders of Julianne’s late mother. Twelve years her senior, Stephen had a family of his own, leaving Julianne in a sort of purgatory between her two remaining family members. But she would always have Owen to love. And to love her back. Sharing him was not an option. Forcing the pen into her hand, she scrawled her signature on the contract.
“Well done, Carly. That was ever so much help.” Sebastian’s sarcasm shattered the awkward silence that followed the scratching of the pen on paper.
Julianne slid the contract across the table to him as Carly sat stunned, gaping at her.
“With that I think I’ll walk across the street and fetch some of that inferior tea they serve at Starbucks.” Anger and disappointment radiated off his body. He shoved the contract into his computer bag. “I’ll need some fortification before I have to call Nigel and tell him we won’t be spending our month in Tuscany this year, because your wedding gowns will now be made in China.”
Sebastian stood abruptly and Julianne could tell it was costing him to hold the rest of his comments in check, but she was grateful he did. Her body and mind felt battle weary, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
“May I bring you ladies a tea?” Even furious, Sebastian was a well-mannered Brit.
Carly shook her head. She’d closed her mouth, her lips now pursed in an angry line.
“A skim latte for me, please.” Julianne’s voice shook slightly. She was a little leery at being left in the room with Carly, and she figured she’d need the caffeine after whatever was to come.
Sebastian stalked out of the room, and it was a few moments before Carly spoke. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”
Julianne leaped from the chair and began to pace the small room. “Well, a lot of things have happened to me lately. Maybe I’ve changed.”
“All these years, you’ve been pretending, then?” Carly had always been the quieter of the two women and less confrontational, but she’d found her voice today. “Since you were fourteen, you’ve been planning your career as a fashion designer. You left art school after one semester to follow that dream. Five years later, you were established as one of the youngest bridal gown designers in the business. Your gowns have been worn by rock stars and princesses. And you just give it all up?”
“I’d do anything to save my son!”
“Oh no you don’t!” Carly charged up from her chair. “This isn’t about saving your son! If the doctors are right, Will Connelly’s blood will save Owen. And he has enough money to pay the bills, too. This is about something else. I only hope it has nothing to do with Nicky.”
“It’s not about Nicky!” Julianne felt as if she’d been punched in the abdomen, her breath was so difficult to catch.
“Then tell me what it is about! Don’t shut me out anymore. Tell me why you kept this all such a secret from everyone. From me.”
Julianne spun around to face her friend. “I can’t tell you!”
“Why not?” Carly cried.
“Because if I tell you everything, you’ll hate me!” The words were out of Julianne’s mouth before she could stop them.
They stood in silence, the infernal monitors beeping in the background as the sounds of hospital personnel going about their business echoed beyond the curtained wall.
“Julianne Marchione,” Carly finally said, pulling her friend into her arms. “I could never hate you.”
They made their way to the sofa, where Carly settled Julianne’s head on her shoulder. “Start at the beginning. I’m tired of guessing at this story,” Carly said, stroking her friend’s hair.
“I’m so ashamed and afraid you’ll hate me once you hear everything,” Julianne whispered.
“I promise I won’t hate you, but I can’t help you if I don’t understand how all this happened.”
Julianne sighed. “It was at Chase Jordan’s wedding. I wanted you to come with me, remember?”
“I will hate you if you pin this on me,” Carly cautioned.
Julianne let herself relax a little. “I’d had a migraine all week, so I was taking my medicine.”
“The one that makes your birth control ineffective. I think we covered this when you first told me you were pregnant. For the record, you were six months pregnant when you finally confessed, but we’ll let that pass for now. Go on.”
Guilt once again clamped onto Julianne’s belly. “Well, the pills make me kind of woozy, too. I was careful not to drink, but for some reason the medicine seemed more potent than usual. I found out later I’d been prescribed a higher dosage than I normally took, but the pill looked just like my regular one. Anyway, after the wedding there was a bad storm.”
Carly’s hand stilled on Julianne’s head. “Oh! And you were on Sea Island, right on the beach.”
“Yeah. With an excellent view of the churning ocean.”
“Oh, wow. That must have brought back some bad memories for you. I’m so sorry.” Carly hugged her a bit closer.
Julianne shivered as memories of a tragic night on the ocean flashed through her mind. “I ran into Will in the hallway. I recognized him as one of the groomsmen, but I didn’t know who he was at the time. The storm was raging and I couldn’t get my key to work in the door. And then the lights went out. He took me to his room. He was going to get me a new key. I was a little . . . out of it with fear and everything. Will was trying to make me feel better, to reassure me. He held me. And then, one thing led to another . . .”
Carly stiffened beside her. “Look at me. He didn’t force you, did he? Because if he did, I’ll kill him. I don’t care if he is built like a truck. I know people who are bigger than him.”
Julianne smiled at her friend, relieved at finally having someone to share her story with. “No, from what I can remember, the kissing—and everything else—was mutual.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Well . . . I mean . . . not everything really. But I know I was a willing partner.”
Only part of Julianne’s statement was true. Despite the fog of her medication, she remembered every hot moment she’d spent in Will Connelly’s arms. She’d relived them often enough alone in her bed at night. That evening on Sea Island, he’d been compassionate and kind, so unexpected from a man who made his living tackling and crushing other men. His hands, huge and strong, had been tender and gentle on her frenzied body. He’d tasted like bourbon and smelled like a day at the beach, if that were even possible. Julianne succumbed to the touch of his mouth and hands without any resistance.
Right up until the most embarrassing portion of the evening: when she’d called out Nicky DiMarco’s name as she climaxed. Her stomach roiled and her face burned as that moment replayed in her mind yet again. Burying her face in her hands, she tried to rationalize it for the millionth time.
She and Nicky had spent the better part of their young lives in each other’s company while their fathers had served in the diplomatic corps together. In many ways, Nicky was the only link she had left to her mother—the only one who shared her profound loss. After all, he’d been in the car accident with Julianne and her mother that tragic night. Since that time, Nicky had been one of the few constants in her life. Always there for her if she needed him.
For years, Julianne had considered Nicky to be her soul mate, the man she fantasized about spending her life with. But as she entered adulthood, she realized that type of relationship with him was impossible. That didn’t stop her from measuring all other men against the ideal fantasy she’d created in her mind, however.
One night spent with Will Connelly surpassed all the fantasies she’d ever had about Nicky and more, though. So much more. It was the only reason Julianne could come up with for calling out Nicky’s name. That—and even more shameful—she hadn’t known her lover’s name.
The fact remained, Will Connelly had been the perfect lover. But she didn’t want her friend to know just how vulnerable she was to him. To his body.
“A word of advice here,” Carly said. “When you two talk about this, and you two need to talk about everything, don’t mention that you don’t remember having sex with him. He’s a professional athlete and if his ego’s anything like my husband’s, he won’t take it very well.”
They were quiet for a few minutes before Julianne forced herself to ask the question she most wanted the answer to. “What’s he like?”
“Will? Oh gosh, I don’t know if anyone really knows the real Will Connelly. He keeps to himself. Definitely the strong, silent type. Very cerebral. He went to an Ivy League school, Yale, I think. I know that management and the guys on the team really respect him both as a player and a person.”
Julianne pulled out of Carly’s embrace and began to pace the room again. “But what about his personal life?”
Carly sighed. “I don’t know a lot about that. Like I said, he’s very private. He was involved with an actress from a crime drama that’s on cable, but I don’t think it was serious.”
“She said in several interviews they were very serious.”
“Aha! So you at least took the trouble to find out his name and keep tabs on him. Good to know.” Carly sounded relieved. “I wouldn’t worry about what some actress said. They all try to use a relationship with an athlete to get publicity . . . wait . . .” Carly stood and turned Julianne so they were face to face. “Is that why you never said anything to him about the baby? You thought he was involved with someone?”
“That was a big part of it. The birth control failed and I got pregnant. I didn’t want to mess up a relationship that might have been important to him because I wanted to keep the baby. I have the money to support a child, and I’m not the type of woman who wants to brag about her kid’s famous father just for publicity’s sake. Besides, the whole idea of having that conversation with a total stranger was humiliating. I just thought we’d all be better off if no one knew who Owen’s father was.”
“Well, you’re going to have to have that conversation now. And everyone is going to know Will is Owen’s father.”
When Julianne didn’t say anything, Carly reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “Oh no, Julianne.” Her voice was laced with disappointment. “You don’t seriously think Will is going to come in here, give his son a few pints of blood, and then walk out of your lives? Is that what you want? To take Owen back to Italy where you can hide out until you figure out what to do with your life? Pretending Will doesn’t exist?”
Carly’s tone implied she was disgusted again, the fragile truce they’d been working on these past few minutes gone. “There is something you should know about Will. He didn’t grow up with a father in his life. I don’t know the whole story, but I do know he is very passionate about a father doing right by his children.”
Pulling out of Carly’s hands, Julianne crossed her arms defiantly. “We don’t know that for sure. Maybe he doesn’t want kids right now. Maybe he’ll be just fine with us going back to Italy and going on with our life without him!”
The color drained from Carly’s face, her eyes focused owlishly behind Julianne. Taking a slow peek over her shoulder, she saw the object of their discussion standing in front of the curtain. His posture was equally defiant. Julianne licked her lips and wondered how a man so massive could move so quietly. As she turned, she took in his Gucci loafers and an Armani business suit that made him look like he preferred lobbying politicians to crushing opposing players. Her gaze wandered up from his strong, square jaw to meet angry green eyes.
“Don’t count on it,” he said before disappearing behind the curtain again.