“Are we ready, Mrs. Story?” asked the ultrasound technician as she squirted conductor fluid on Priscilla’s bare belly.

“Oh. No, it’s not, um…it’s…” She looked up at Shane, who stood beside her, holding her hand.

“It’s Mrs. Olson,” he said, grinning at Priscilla, his blue eyes anchoring her to him though her heart raced with anticipation.

For the first time, she was about to see her baby, and she could barely contain her excitement.

She nodded at him and smiled back, taking a deep, calming breath. “Mrs. Olson.”

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Olson, there’s your baby’s heartbeat.” The ultrasound wand slipped back and forth over Priscilla’s belly as the technician leaned over Priscilla to turn up the volume on the machine. “Listen.”

Whoosh-a. Whoosh-a. Whoosh-a.

Priscilla gasped, giggling as tears rolled from the corners of her eyes into her hair. Was there a better, more beautiful sound in all the world than this? Looking at Shane, she found him in a similar state of wonder, his eyes bright with tears as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s just…wow.”

“Now the big decision…” said the technician. “Do you want to know what you’re having?”

“What we’re…?”

“The sex of your baby,” clarified the young woman, looking back and forth from Priscilla to Shane, then back to Priscilla. “It’s up to you.”

“Can you see it?” she asked.

The technician nodded. “Not always…but today? Yes. I have a pretty good view right here.” She held the wand still, looking at Priscilla expectantly.

“So…you know. Right now. You know what I’m having?”

She nodded again, glancing at the screen. “I’m looking at it.”

“But she’s only sixteen weeks,” said Shane. “Isn’t that early? For determining the sex?”

“If the baby doesn’t cooperate, yes, it can be. But there it is,” said the technician. “Full cooperation in the form of a back flip.”

“Yes! I want to know!” blurted out Priscilla, shifting her eyes to Shane for approval.

He nodded at her with wide eyes. “It’s your decision, P.”

“Boy or girl?” asked Priscilla, holding her breath as she turned back to the screen.

The technician smiled, clicking a button on the machine, which took a picture of a white-and-gray blob. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Olson, you’re having a daughter.”

“A girl,” sobbed Priscilla, squeezing Shane’s hand as tears coursed down her cheeks. “We’re having a girl!”

Shane chuckled, staring at the picture on the screen, using his free hand to swipe at his eyes. “A girl.”

“Do you have a name picked out yet?” asked the technician.

A name. Oh, my God. A name.

It’s not that Priscilla hadn’t acknowledged somewhere in her head that she’d be naming her baby…but suddenly, knowing that she was having a girl, a daughter, changed everything. There was a person inside of her. A real, growing, girl person who belonged to her.

“No,” she sobbed. “I haven’t…picked one yet.”

“Dad? Do you have a name in mind?” asked the technician.

Priscilla watched as Shane blinked, clearing his throat as he realized that the young woman was speaking to him. “Me? No. I mean…not at all. Not, um, not yet.”

“Fathers always get a little flustered when they find out they’re having a girl. Visions of prom night and shotguns.” She giggled, looking back at Priscilla as she removed the wand and used some paper towel to wipe off the conducting gel. “Don’t worry, Dad. You have eighteen years to get ready for all that.”

Shane, who was staring at the technician with an inscrutable expression, squeezed Priscilla’s hand, then dropped it, taking a step back from the table as she sat up.

Over the past week or so, since they’d had sex, they had been inseparable…and insatiable. Priscilla’s heightened libido was the perfect match for Shane’s newly deflowered status, both of them ravenous for as much time together as possible. But what surprised her most was that Shane wasn’t at all like she’d expected—she’d sort of assumed that unbuttoned Shane would still be buttoned up somehow. He wasn’t. Not at all.

He loved trying new positions, testing the depth of his thrusts, and playing with Priscilla’s body like a favorite toy. And Priscilla, who craved sex constantly, was his willing partner, letting him touch her with abandon and reveling in his unexpected creativity and sense of adventure.

But perhaps what she loved most of all was the way he looked at her, the way he held her close after they’d climaxed in each other’s arms, the words he whispered as she was falling asleep. His tenderness was a drug to her, and she was becoming addicted. For someone who’d never truly felt cherished, Shane was mending and strengthening something inside of Priscilla, and for the very first time in her life, when she was with Shane, she felt safe. Like she finally belonged. Like she belonged to someone. Someone she wanted to belong to forever.

“When, um, when do you think I’ll be showing?” asked Priscilla. “Like, really showing?”

“First pregnancy, right?” confirmed the technician, continuing after Priscilla nodded. “Depending on how you carry, you’ve still got time. First pregnancies tend to show later. But it’ll get harder to hide after twenty weeks and almost impossible after twenty-four, so if you’re trying to keep it a secret, I’m guessing the cat will be out of the bag by, um…about mid-August. Maybe early September if you can lay low and wear roomy clothes.”

Shane turned around, and she offered him a weak smile.

Well, there it was. They’d need to tell her family by August.

“I’ll leave you two alone so you can get dressed,” the technician said to Priscilla. She placed a grainy black-and-white picture on the table where Priscilla had been lying. “And here’s your little girl. You know, for the scrapbook.”

The door closed behind her, and Priscilla looked at Shane, who was staring at her from across the room.

“You’re having a daughter,” he said softly, taking a step toward the table and picking up the photo. “A baby girl.”

She nodded, more tears pricking her eyes as she pulled on her leggings. “Sorry she kept calling you ‘Daddy.’ I know you didn’t really sign up for—”

“I liked it,” he said, looking up from the picture. “I liked it so much, it scares me, P.”

“Why does it scare you?” she asked, smoothing her blouse over her belly, which was still cool from the gel.

“Because being with you this week, every night”—his eyes darkened as he stepped around the table, his hands landing on her waist—“has been amazing. My feelings for you are so…new, but they’re so strong and wild and real.” He gulped. “They’re real. I’ve never felt like this before.”

“I know,” she said.

“I don’t like thinking about it ending.”

“Then don’t,” she said. “It doesn’t have to, Shane. We didn’t sign anything that said we’d end in divorce. We can…see what happens. If we’re happy, we can—I don’t know—stay married.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want it to be an option,” she said.

“Me too,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her temple. “Me too, baby.”

And her heart swelled with gratitude and more hope than she had a right to—that this man, who’d seemed so closed and cautious at first, might actually turn out to be the forever love of her life…and the willing father she so desperately wanted for her child.

“We have to choose a name,” said Priscilla, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“We?” he asked softly near her ear.

She shrugged, leaning away to look into his eyes. “Do you mind weighing in on an idea I had?”

He shook his head, his smile so beautiful, her breath caught. “I don’t mind at all.”

“I was thinking about…well, there was this woman out in Taos. She was good to me. She helped me make peace with some of my past in a way that allowed me to grow, to move on, to be strong. In some ways she was the mother I always wanted, but never had. I loved her.” She paused, clearing her throat. “She died two years ago. Her name was Kaitlyn George.”

“Kaitlyn George,” he whispered. “Kaitlyn George. Yeah. It’s a good name. I love it. I love it, P.” Suddenly he dropped to a squat, leaning forward, pressing his lips to her belly. “Hey, Kaitlyn…your mommy just gave you a name!”

The exuberance in his voice made her heart clench with hope as he stood up and grinned, plucking the small picture from the ultrasound table and handing it to her. Her eyes welled with more tears, but he swiped them away. “You know what?”

“What?”

“You don’t have a crib yet. Which means Kaitlyn has nowhere to sleep.”

She chuckled softly. “I…I was planning to get one. I have time, you know.”

“Let’s get one today! I want to buy her one.”

“It’s three o’clock on a Monday!” she said. “We have to go back to work!”

“Screw it,” he said. “A woman doesn’t find out every day that she’s having a baby girl.”

“My father’ll have my head.”

“I doubt he’ll even notice you’re gone.” Priscilla flinched reflexively, and he noticed, cocking his head to the side. “God! Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. You’re probably right.” She grinned at him, grateful that he wanted to celebrate with her. “Unless his coffee gets cold, he won’t notice.”

“So let’s do it! Let’s go buy her a crib!”

“Hey!” she said, picking up her bag as he pulled her from the exam room. “Whatever happened to the ambitious businessman I used to know? The one who’d choose work over anything else?”

He turned around and cupped her face tenderly, leaning down to kiss her, pausing just before his lips touched hers to murmur, “Oh, him? He fell in love.”

***

Hot July days turned into scorching August days, and Shane, more or less, moved into the stable apartment with Priscilla.

He still kept his apartment in the city and went back every two or three days to collect his mail and repack a few days’ worth of clothes, but she’d given him the closet in the nursery to hang up his suits, and his razor, aftershave, and deodorant all shared counter space in her bathroom now.

At night, they made dinner together, or one of them cooked for the other. Priscilla was a surprisingly good cook, creative and funny, coming up with unusual combinations, and Shane soon found he’d rather have Southwest Hamburger Surprise with her at her dining room table than the best filet mignon Philadelphia had to offer.

Some nights after dinner, they rented a movie, or Priscilla insisted that he watch The Bachelor or Married at First Sight with her…and with her nestled beside him, he suddenly found reality TV almost bearable, yelling at the television with her when real-life people acted the fool.

And just about every night, he reached for her on the couch or on the way to bed, learning the curves and contours of her changing body, touching her with increased familiarity, repeating the things she loved, and living for her moans and mewls of pleasure. Never before had he touched a woman’s secret, hidden folds with his tongue, but the look on her face when she climaxed was so beautiful, he wanted to love her there again and again. Her body was a wonderland for him, and she shared herself without embarrassment or hesitation, and although they hadn’t renewed the words they’d uttered just prior to sleep on the first night they’d made love, Shane felt them. He loved her. He loved her deeply. He was positive that she loved him too.

The one place where their arrangement still felt inorganic, however, was at the office, where Douglas Story treated her to a daily onslaught of caustic comments, and Shane felt bile rising to the back of his throat each time. There were moments—when her father demanded a cup of coffee or practically threw a file at her—when Shane had to physically restrain himself from interfering. He and Priscilla had discussed it, however, and she begged him to maintain his composure. The promotion she’d promised him would be impossible if he was fired, and she still insisted that it would be his, though he cared for it less and less.

As the days passed and his feelings for Priscilla grew along with them, he found, more and more, that he disliked a boss he once tolerated. And he found that his life plan, formulated at such a young age, was subtly changing. As he fell more deeply in love with Priscilla, whom he thought of, increasingly, as his wife, he discovered that the love he’d always had for business was now shared with the growing love he had for her. It’s not that he didn’t want to be a successful businessman—he did, of course. Now more than ever because he saw Priscilla and Kaitlyn as his responsibility. But lately, he wondered if he shouldn’t seek another opportunity altogether, so that his relationship with Priscilla was no longer, in any way, shape, or form, connected to his advancement at Story Imports. So that their marriage took precedence over—or was at least on equal footing with—his ambition.

“Mr. Olson?”

Shane’s assistant’s voice on the intercom broke into the intensity of his thoughts, and he snapped his head up from the lonely, blinking cursor on his laptop.

“Yes, Jenny?”

“Mr. Story is asking for you.”

He held back a groan. “His office?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

“Thanks, Jenny.”

He watched the red light on his phone go off, then stood up, walking over to the mirror over the couch in his office and tightening his tie. The one good thing about being called to Douglas’ office was that it was on the other side of the floor, and Priscilla sat right outside of it.

***

Elizabeth Story, Priscilla’s older sister, sandwiched in birth order between Priscilla and Margaret, arrived from Boston unexpectedly. She walked into the offices of Story Imports, breezed past Priscilla, and knocked on her father’s office door without asking for an audience first.

“Excuse me,” said Priscilla, standing from her desk and staring at the back of the redheaded, well-dressed, very thin woman at her father’s door. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m his daught—” Elizabeth turned around, pivoting to face Priscilla, her eyes widening, then narrowing in recognition of her little sister. “Pris?”

“Bets?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“Working.”

“I heard from Jane you were in France.”

“Back now.”

“Didn’t work out with that guy, huh?”

Priscilla didn’t answer, letting a sigh respond for her instead.

“Well, really…what did you expect?” asked Elizabeth, pursing her lips in distaste. “He was twice your age.”

Priscilla rolled her eyes, gesturing to their father’s office with her open palm. “He’s eating lunch. He won’t open the door for—”

Elizabeth flicked her wrist and looked at her watch. “—six more minutes. I’ll wait.”

She took a seat in one of the stiff chairs outside their father’s office, crossing her slim legs. Elizabeth had been the butterball of the family as a girl and adolescent, and she had been madly in love with their neighbor, Étienne Rousseau, but was never able to catch him. Elizabeth and Priscilla had never truly gotten along for myriad reasons: perhaps in part because Étienne was fonder of Priscilla than her sister and in part because Elizabeth had practically worshipped their mother, who was outspoken in her intolerance for Priscilla’s “artsy-fartsy, hippy-dippy” ways.

Maybe they would have mended their relationship as adults, after their mother’s death, if they’d spent any time together, but Elizabeth left Philly at seventeen for Harvard and had barely looked back. Aside from the odd Christmas when they both happened to be home, Priscilla and Elizabeth hadn’t been in much contact. So their relationship was, more or less, stuck in time: Elizabeth was stuck-up, uptight, and bitchy in Priscilla’s eyes, and Priscilla was an irresponsible, walking train wreck in Elizabeth’s.

Checking out her sister, Priscilla couldn’t help but note how thoroughly Elizabeth had transformed herself from an overweight brunette grad student to a pencil-thin, redheaded bombshell. And she wore the new look like lacquer. Shiny and brittle. Formidable. A lot like their mother.

“Can I get you coffee?” asked Priscilla.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth.

“I was kidding,” said Priscilla. “I’m not getting you coffee. Why aren’t you in Boston?”

“Decided it was time to come home.”

“Oh? Knocked up?”

Elizabeth chortled. “As if.”

“Why do you want to see Daddy?”

She cleared her throat. “Why do you call him ‘Daddy,’ Pris? He prefers ‘Father,’ and you know it. God, after all these years, you’re still such a weirdo.”

“And you’re an Alice wannabe,” said Priscilla, cocking one eyebrow. “Bet you’re staying with her.”

“What if I am?”

“Her ass is too tight for you to crawl up there and get comfortable.”

Elizabeth sneered, then closed her eyes and sighed, the words “serenity now” floating breathily from her lips. “I don’t let people like you bother me.”

“People like me?”

“Zero ambition. Zero focus. No life goals.” She picked a piece of lint from her skirt. “Just a big, messy disappointment.”

“You’re so original, Bets…stealing words straight from Mother’s mouth.”

“Mother was a good woman,” she said, her eyes narrowing at Priscilla, remnants of an ancient fight between the girls settling comfortably between them once again. Taking another “cleansing breath,” she looked at her watch. “Three more minutes.”

Suddenly Priscilla gasped, laughing at her older sister with an unladylike snort. “Oh, my God. I just figured it out. You heard that he fired Margaret. You’re here to be the next in line.”

Her sister raised an eyebrow. “What if I am? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“No,” scoffed Priscilla. “I just needed a job.”

“Aw,” cooed Margaret. “No art communes in the greater Main Line area need a superspecial finger painter, huh?”

For just a moment, she remembered Shane’s words, so many weeks ago: Wasting your time with clay and finger paint. She lowered her eyes from Elizabeth’s haughty glare, warmed from the inside, in awe that he’d made so material a change in himself in so short a time.

“Not today,” she said lightly, sitting back down in her chair.

A long sixty seconds went by in which the sisters ignored each other. Finally, Elizabeth spoke again, her voice dismissive. “What’s the deal with Margaret and this—this winery she’s running?”

“She’s owned the property for ages,” said Priscilla, checking her father’s afternoon schedule. From one until two was free, but he had an appointment at two. “He has an hour free after lunch if you want to talk to him, but he’s booked at two.”

Elizabeth ignored this. “Yes, but why would she quit working here and go run a winery? Margaret is sensible. She’s logical. She’s got an MBA, for God’s sake! Pennsylvania doesn’t make good wines. It’s a losing bet. It feels like something you would do.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“It’s a waste of her time and talent.”

“Oh, well, Bets,” said Priscilla, “you should call her and let her know that. Supportive sister and all.”

“I never understood you two,” Elizabeth shot back.

“There’s nothing to understand,” said Priscilla, looking up at her sister, amazed that they could be so different yet have the exact same brown eyes. “I love her. She loves me. The end.”

Elizabeth flinched, but before she could respond, their father’s door opened and he stepped out of his office, his already inflated stomach larger from the steak sandwich he’d just inhaled.

“What’s on the docket for”—his eyes slid from Priscilla to her older sister and rested there with satisfaction—“Elizabeth, you’re here.”

“Yes, Father,” said Elizabeth, standing and offering him a polite peck on the cheek. “Per your request.”

As she delivered these words, she turned and looked at Priscilla meaningfully.

She’d been invited. Hmm.

“Come in, gal. Come on in.” He turned to Priscilla. “Get Shane. And get me some coffee. Hot. Fresh. Now.”

“Yes, Daddy,” said Priscilla, calling Shane’s assistant, Jenny, to let her know that her father required Shane’s presence in his office.

***

Priscilla wasn’t sitting at her desk, so Shane knocked on the half-open door before stepping into his boss’s office, surprised to find that Douglas wasn’t alone. A young woman—a very beautiful, redheaded young woman he’d never met before—stood up as Shane entered.

“Shane! Shane, m’boy!” said Douglas, standing up from his desk. “Meet Elizabeth! My third-born!”

Elizabeth, who had brown eyes like Priscilla, offered her hand and a charming smile. “I’m Elizabeth Story.”

“Shane Olson,” he said, taking it.

“My father has told me so much about you. He has a lot of confidence in your capabilities, Mr. Olson.”

They were still holding hands, but Shane extracted his. “Shane, please.”

“Then you must call me Elizabeth.”

“Sit. Both of you. Take a seat. Side by side.”

Shane pulled out the chair beside the one that Elizabeth had claimed and sat down beside her.

“Shane,” said Douglas, his jowls wobbling, “Margaret’s gone, but we don’t dwell on our losses here at Story, do we?”

“No, sir.”

“We move forward.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve invited Elizabeth to join us here at Story Imports.”

“Oh.”

“Elizabeth has her JD, son. Lawyer. She’ll be coming on as a paralegal.”

Paralegal, thought Shane with disgust, though no doubt she’s competent enough to be in charge of all legal issues for the firm.

“I see.”

“But as you know…I still need a CEO, son.”

“And,” said Shane, “as you know, sir, I’d like to be considered for the position.”

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Priscilla stood beside him, setting down a mug of coffee on her father’s desk. “Your coffee, Daddy.”

Douglas ignored her, focusing his attention on Shane. “You and Elizabeth should join me for dinner at Forrester on Friday evening. Get to know each other a little better, eh?”

“Dinner,” repeated Shane, looking up at Priscilla, who’d turned to exit the room but had suddenly frozen beside his chair. Her body was rigid, her face irate.

Douglas’ meaning was unmistakable. He wanted Shane to pursue Elizabeth just as he’d suggested Shane pursue Margaret.

Elizabeth reached for Shane’s hand and covered it with hers. “Like I said, I’ve heard so much about you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

Jerking his hand away from Elizabeth, he stood up, reaching for Priscilla’s wrist just as she started walking away. He wove his fingers through hers, anchoring her to him and forcing her to stay.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, tugging on Priscilla’s hand until she turned around and stood beside him, facing her father, “but I won’t be able to make it unless Priscilla is invited too. We’ve been dating quietly, sir. For several weeks now.”

“How’s this?”

“Priscilla and I are a couple,” he stated clearly, pulling her against his side and putting his arm protectively around her shoulder.

“What now? This one?” said Douglas, his bushy eyebrows crowding together as he pointed a stubby finger at Priscilla.

“Yes, sir,” said Shane, raising his chin and leveling his eyes at his boss. “In fact, I’m very fond of your daughter.”

“Priscilla,” he confirmed dubiously.

Shane looked to his left at his beautiful wife, who stared at him with eyes so soft, so grateful, it rent his heart. Somehow he’d missed it. He’d missed how badly she needed someone to stand up to her father and tell him that she was worth more than he knew.

“Yes, sir,” he said softly, still staring at her. “Priscilla. Smart, lovely Priscilla.”

“Smart—?” her father demanded.

“Brilliant, in fact.” He nodded. “And creative. And kind. Your daughter’s an amazing woman.”

Her lips wobbled before they tilted up, and she smiled at him, blinking back tears.

Thank you, she mouthed.

I love you, he thought. I’m so sorry I haven’t stood up for you before now.

He turned back to Douglas, hardening his expression. “It’s nonnegotiable, sir. Unless she’s invited, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be comfortable attending.”

“Well, fine. Uh, Priscilla. Sure. Why not? Bring ’er. Huh.” He chuckled, exhaling a breath. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Elizabeth looked back at her father. “Perhaps we should discuss the legal position you’d like me to take on, Fath—”

“Busy just now, gal,” said Douglas, waving her away. “Come back later, eh?”

Shane didn’t wait to see what happened next. Squeezing Priscilla’s hand, he led her out of her father’s office and straight to the elevator, where he held her hand tightly. He pressed the call button, waiting without speaking, without daring to look at her, pulling her in beside him as soon as the doors opened. He pressed B, biting his lower lip as he stood next to her, wanting her badly, hoping that the basement was as empty as it had been the time or two he’d been misdirected there.

When the doors opened to the murky, concrete hallway, he pulled her from the elevator, pushing her against the gray cinder blocks beside the closing doors and kissing her.
Their teeth clashed, and they both groaned, clutching at each other, Shane’s fingers unbuttoning and unzipping his pants as Priscilla hiked up her skirt and pulled down her panties. Slipping his hands under her ass, he lifted her against the wall, and she locked her legs around his waist. Kissing her madly, he guided his penis to the opening of her sex and thrust upward into her hot, soaked sheath.

“Ahhhh,” he groaned, pausing for a moment as she stretched to accommodate him, then squeezed his erection in a way that made him breathless. “P…P…P…I’m sorry…I never…stood up for you…before.”

She arched against him, her fingers threaded through his hair, the tips of her breasts razing his chest through the layers of her blouse and his shirt. “It was so…hot.”

He thrust up into her, again and again, his movements fast and hard as she leaned forward and rested her forehead on his shoulder.

“Love me, Shane,” she murmured, her voice husky, the smell of sex surrounding them.

“I do,” he said, feeling his orgasm imminent. “I do love you, baby.”

She tensed, her inner muscles holding his erection in a rigid vise. Breathlessly, she grabbed his cheeks.

“Say it again!” she demanded.

“I love you, P,” he panted, staring into her glistening eyes. “I love you so much.”

Her muscles quivered, then convulsed and she cried out his name, her mouth opening in a wide O, her head falling back against the wall, her body like jelly as she orgasmed in his arms. And from her pleasure came his: his balls contracted for a millisecond before he exploded inside of her, his come filling her in hot spurts of blissful release.

He leaned his head on her shoulder, panting beside her ear, unsurprised to hear the sweet, husky laugh he loved so well.

“Thank God,” she said softly, pressing her lips to his neck while they were still intimately connected to one another. “Because I love you too.”