Griffin
Before I have a chance to process what’s happening, Cosy is already halfway across the lobby, heading for the valet. I fix an angry glare on Imogen. “Stay here.” I rush after Cosy, my stomach already in knots.
Imogen is pregnant.
Imogen who broke off the engagement because she wanted roots and stability and didn’t think I would ever be able to settle down and provide that. Imogen who wrote me an entire manifesto of my shortcomings so I would know, without a doubt, that it was my fault we didn’t work out.
By the time I get outside, Cosy is already at the taxi stand. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her, or how to explain this, but I need to at least try. The valet steps up to the cab, prepared to help her escape me.
“Do not open that door,” I shout. “Cosy, wait. You need to listen to me.”
She whirls around. Her anger is stunning and damning at the same time. “You have a pregnant fiancée that you failed to tell me about. What the hell can you possibly have to explain?”
“Imogen is my ex-fiancée. We ended things months ago.” I keep advancing, and she holds up a hand.
“Months ago? And you didn’t think it was relevant to tell me about her or the fact that she’s pregnant?”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant until now.”
She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. “Then I think you need to be dealing with her and not me right now, wouldn’t you agree?” She turns to the valet. “I’d like to leave, please.”
I desperately want to stop her, but nothing I can say is going to undo the damage that’s been done, so all I can do is watch Cosy disappear into the car and drive away.
“Who was that girl?” Imogen asks, a sour expression on her face.
“I thought I told you to stay put,” I snap.
She purses her lips and rearranges her face into a disapproving smile. She steps in front of me and puts her hands on my chest, making a show of smoothing out my lapels. “We have an audience, Griffin, and that little girl just made a scene, so I expect you, as the father of our child, to show some contrition. We obviously need to talk. In private.”
I blow out a breath and resist the urge to brush her hands away. “You’re right about the talking part.” My stomach churns as she links arms with me and I numbly let her lead me back into the hotel.
“Shall we go up to your suite?”
“Absolutely not.” Cosy’s things are still up there, including several changes of clothes lying in a pile on the floor after her fashion show prior to breakfast, and I doubt housekeeping has been by to clean up the rose petals, or the sheets that smell like sex. “You have your own room booked? We can go there.”
“I don’t, actually. I assumed I’d be staying with you, circumstances being what they are.” She pats her swollen belly and smiles up at me.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated another person, but right now the emotion I’m feeling seems a lot like loathing. “That’s not a good idea. I’ll have concierge set you up with your own room.” I lead her down the hall to the conference rooms and call Nancy, requesting that she reschedule my meetings for the rest of the day. I usher Imogen into an empty conference room and hold out a chair for her.
“A conference room, Griffin? Really?”
“You wanted private and this is private.” I close the door and pour two glasses of water, setting them on the table. I settle into the chair beside her and shift away to give myself more space. “How far along are you?”
“Twenty-six weeks.”
I do the math in my head, going backward through the months. Twenty-six weeks ago, I was in New York. There’s a strong likelihood that the night she conceived is also the night before she broke off the engagement, which is the most epic kick in the balls ever. “And you’re just telling me now? Jesus, Imogen, why wait this long?”
“I didn’t realize I was pregnant at first. I’m tall, and I was stress eating, so I thought that accounted for the weight gain.”
“But clearly you’ve known for quite some time. So why drop this bomb on me now?”
She makes a tsking sound and rubs her belly protectively. “It’s not a bomb; it’s a baby. Our baby, Griffin. And I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn’t return my calls, and when I suggested we try to reconcile, you shut me out. I was in a fragile state, alone, dealing with the pregnancy on my own. I worried the stress would be bad for the baby, so I waited. But then I went for my six-month checkup and I found out we’re having a boy, and I knew I needed to make you sit down and listen to reason.” She reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away. “I made a mistake, Griffin. I shouldn’t have broken off the engagement. I was lonely and scared that I’d be a married woman with a husband who was never there.”
“You could’ve come with me on every single damn trip if you’d wanted.”
“You know how sensitive I am to changes in environment. It would’ve been so difficult on me, on us. But now, I realize how wrong I was to end things the way I did. I miss you, Griffin. We have so much history together. I know I hurt you, but we can work it out, for our baby.”
I think about the way she broke off the engagement. How we’d had wine with dinner, followed by sex. How the next morning she’d told me over coffee and egg whites that she couldn’t see a future with me anymore. She’d been cold and detached and matter-of-fact as she’d explained how I was incapable of providing her with stability, that my projects overseas and my charity work with Lincoln always took precedence over her. I didn’t want her enough, love her well enough. I wasn’t enough for her. She’d followed it up with a twenty-page list of things I should work on for future relationships.
And as I sit across from her, I realize that as painful as it was to hear at the time, she was right. I would never be enough for her, but she wouldn’t be enough for me either. She wanted me to settle down and stay put, and I was never going to be that person. Not with her, and yet, now I was tied to her for the rest of my life.
“I’m seeing someone.”
She barks out a humorous laugh. “You mean that little girl who made a scene?”
“She’s very much a woman, and she had every right to be upset, as I do, considering you appeared out of nowhere with no warning and you’re pregnant.”
“With your child,” she snaps.
“So you say. How the hell do I know you weren’t running around behind my back screwing away your loneliness with someone else? I was never good enough, remember, Imogen? Maybe you found someone to give it to you better than me.”
She tips her chin up, cheeks flushing. “You know how stress affects me.”
“You were always stressed. Always critical. I tried, Imogen, did you?”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Too little, too late. I don’t want you back. I’m happy now. I have no interest in trying with you again.”
Imogen gives me her practiced smile. “How old is your plaything, Griffin?”
“She’s my goddamn girlfriend and her age is not relevant to this conversation.”
“Twenty, twenty-one?” Imogen needles.
“Twenty-two.”
Imogen’s face twists into a disgusted grimace before it smooths out into something that resembles pity. “This is my fault. I pushed you to this. Of course you’d need to find someone who would bolster your ego after I broke off the engagement. It’s completely understandable.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
She moves into my personal space and puts a hand on my arm. “It’s reasonable for you to be upset and, dare I say, shocked by this news, but this girl, has she even finished college?”
I grit my teeth and look anywhere but Imogen.
She sighs. “Darling, listen. You’re going to be a father, and she’s just starting her life. What are you planning to do? Split up our family? Only see your son fifty percent of the time so you can play house with her until she realizes her reality and yours don’t belong together?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “I don’t want you back.”
“Not right now, no. You’re still angry, and I understand that, but we’re meant to be together. You’ll see that with time.”
“I don’t think so, Imogen.”
“I do. I believe in us, in being a family. I know you’re coming back to New York in a few weeks. I’m willing to give you time to process. I knew you’d be upset, and I’m sorry about the complication that girl poses, but you know I’m right about her.”
I don’t respond because I have nothing to say. Every word out of her mouth makes me feel like I’m drowning.
She exhales a shuddery breath as if she’s on the verge of tears. I doubt she is. I’ve only seen her cry a handful of times in the four years we were together.
“Anyway, I’ll be in Vegas for a while. If you need space and for me to sleep in separate accommodations, I can deal with that, but I think we should have dinner together so we can start planning for the birth once you’re back home. There’s just so much to do. Oh!” Imogen sits up straighter and cradles her belly. Her nails are pale blue. “He’s kicking. Here, give me your hand so you can feel it too.”
She stands and moves closer. Morbid curiosity gets the better of me, and I let her place my hand over her stomach. The bump against my palm feels very much like a stab in the heart. Because she’s right. Cosy isn’t going to want any part of this, and I can’t blame her. More than that, if this baby is mine, I’m responsible not only for his welfare, but the welfare of his mother too.