Stuck-Up Suit

Then, I looked over at him. The man who I loved who probably wasn’t even sure that I loved him. I wanted him for myself. And that made me feel guilty. I was pretty sure if I did want kids, he was the only man I wanted as the father.

I pried my eyes away from the window and sat down on the toilet. Looking down at my underwear, I spotted it immediately. Bright red. I’d gotten my period. My stomach sank.

I’d expected to feel relieved, but it was the opposite: utter disappointment. It revealed a truth that I wasn’t even fully aware of until that moment: a part of me had wanted a baby with him even if I wasn’t quite ready. Because I loved him. Instead of relief, the blood symbolized a loss of something I didn’t even realize I wanted until now.

Thankfully, my dress was a dark color, and I’d thrown a pair of spare panties and a tampon in my purse just in case this very thing happened. I left the bathroom with a little less hope than I’d walked in with, knowing that I’d also have to break the news to Graham tonight.

As I walked down the hall, I stopped at Liam and Genevieve’s wedding picture. I looked into Liam’s eyes in the photo and whispered to him under my breath. Boy, you sure left a mess behind. I hope you’re in a better place.

If I thought I was having a bad day before, it became abundantly clear that the worst was yet to come when I saw who was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

“Genevieve.”

“A word, please, will you, Soraya?” Without giving me a chance to respond, she motioned for me to follow her and began to walk toward a set of French doors.

Feeling emotional from what had just transpired up in the bathroom, she was the last person I wanted to speak to at the moment. Yet I followed along like a puppy. She closed the doors behind us.

“Have a seat.” She gestured to a brown leather couch. Unlike the rest of the house that was bright and airy, this room was dark and masculine. Built-in bookcases lined the walls, and a massive cherrywood desk was positioned on one side of the room. Genevieve walked behind the desk and opened a cabinet. She pulled out an ornate crystal liquor bottle and two glasses, pouring amber liquid into both before offering one to me.

“No, thank you.”

“Take it. You may need it.” Her tight smile was laced with more spite than sweet.

Screw it. No reason to abstain anymore. I took the glass and sucked half of it back in one gulp. It burned a path from my throat to my stomach.

“I thought it was time the two of us had a little woman-to-woman talk.”

“And since you’ve cornered me into a room, I assume whatever it is you want to talk about isn’t something you want Graham to hear.”

“That’s right. Some things are just better off between women.”

“Well, go ahead, Genevieve.” I settled back into the couch. “Get whatever bitchy thing you want off of your chest so we can all move on.”

“Alright. I won’t beat around the bush then.” She sipped her drink. “I want you to stop fucking my daughter’s father.”

“Excuse me.”

“What part didn’t you understand?”

“You have no right to tell me what to do.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Your actions have a direct impact on my daughter. She deserves a family.”

“Graham’s being involved with me has nothing to do with Chloe.”

“Of course, it does. You’re being selfish.”

“I’m being selfish. You slept with Graham’s best friend then didn’t tell Graham he was Chloe’s father for four years so your husband wouldn’t leave you. And I’m the selfish one.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

“Like hell, we’re not. You only want Graham away from me so you can attempt to dig your claws back into him. This has nothing to do with the welfare of your daughter.”

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “You wouldn’t understand, Soraya. You aren’t a mother.”

I felt it in that moment. A gurgling of emotions beginning to bubble their way up from within. The bathroom and now her not too subtle reminder. “No. I’m not a mother.”

“This is a chance for Chloe to have her family. Graham and I have a lot in common. We share a common business, travel in the same social circles and have a child together.”

“He doesn’t love you.”

Genevieve laughed. “You can’t really be that naïve, can you? Believing some ideologic notion that love will conquer all.”

“No, but…”