A Ruthless Proposition Read online

  She nodded dumbly, her eyes blurring, and Dr. Klein’s gaze sharpened.

  “I take it this news is . . . unexpected?” When Cleo nodded again, the doctor reached into her desk drawer, removed a few colorful pamphlets, and handed them over to Cleo. “Then you undoubtedly have a great deal to consider. You have options ranging from adoption to termination. Should you decide to keep the baby, there are single-mother support groups, which would help you feel less alone. In the meantime, until you decide what to do, you have to take care of yourself. Prenatal vitamins are essential, and so is the correct diet. You’re quite small and definitely underweight. I want you to start eating three meals a day.”

  “I would if I didn’t keep throwing up at random times,” Cleo muttered bitterly, and the doctor smiled.

  “Morning sickness can be exceedingly draining,” the doctor said sympathetically. “Eat slowly. A few crackers can work wonders. There are a few effective methods to reduce the nausea, which are covered in one of the pamphlets I gave you. If natural remedies don’t work to alleviate the symptoms and the nausea is persistent throughout the day, come back and I’ll prescribe a safe antiemetic. Don’t purchase over-the-counter medicines, as they can be harmful to the baby.” The doctor rambled on for a bit longer, talking about the changes Cleo could expect in her body, suggesting reading material, and finally warning that if she opted for termination of the pregnancy, she shouldn’t wait too long.

  The doctor eventually stopped talking long enough to give Cleo a very thorough physical exam, with a urine check, blood test, a PAP smear, and so many other invasive little pokes and prods that Cleo eventually stopped listening to the doctor’s explanations about what she was doing and why. She just wanted to go home and pretend this day had never happened.

  When the lengthy prenatal exam ended, the doctor sat them down once again.

  “Vivian, my receptionist, will schedule your next appointment—we’ll do a dating ultrasound just to make sure we have an accurate idea of the baby’s due date. After that ultrasound, I’ll expect to see you once a month,” she said. “But once you’ve recovered a little from the shock, please consider contacting one of those single-mother groups I spoke about earlier. It could help you with your decision making.”

  Cleo kept her eyes on her plate throughout the late lunch Blue had dragged her to. She was vaguely aware of Blue calling her boss to say that she would be late back to the office, and Cleo felt a pang of guilt for keeping the woman away from her work. But at the same time she felt wholly incapable of functioning in any normal capacity.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she whispered, after half an hour of staring at her healthy green salad going limp in its bowl. Blue reached across the table and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “Luc and I will always be here for you, Cleo,” she said, and Cleo groaned.

  “Luc is going to be so disappointed.” Her brother loved her and would support her through whatever decision she made, but he would want more for her than this. Twenty-seven years old and accidentally pregnant? This was what they would have expected from her during her rebellious teen phase, not now that she was finally getting her life sorted out. Despite still desperately clinging to her dancing, she did enjoy her new job—she found it challenging and interesting. Mr. Whitman was worlds away from Dante as a boss, and he was happy to train her as they went along. He was also exceedingly grateful for the introduction to Mrs. Clarke. The two had now been on three dates and were already talking about the next one.

  She hadn’t seen or heard from Dante Damaso since that last day in his office. Well . . . she had seen and heard of him. Seen him in magazines and newspapers with a different leggy beauty on his arm in every picture, and heard chatter about him around the office. But it was like she had never really known him, never spent hours in his bed, never experienced absolute sexual bliss in his arms. It had started to take on a fairy-tale, dreamlike quality in her mind, like it hadn’t really happened, but now this baby proved it had happened and it had very real consequences.

  “So the dad is definitely out of the picture?” Blue asked hesitantly.

  “Very much so,” Cleo responded in a voice that encouraged no further questions. But Blue had known her too long to be put off.

  “Are you going to tell him about the baby?” she pushed.

  “I don’t know. It depends on whether I decide to keep it or not.”

  “But if you don’t want it, he might,” Blue pointed out. Cleo considered that for a moment before thinking about Dante’s jet-setting lifestyle and the constant stream of women parading through his life, and knew that the last thing he would want was a baby to cramp his style.

  “He won’t want it,” Cleo said definitively.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Look, he and I may not have been serious, but I know him better than you do, Blue. He won’t want this baby.”

  “So which decision are you leaning toward?”

  “I don’t know,” Cleo admitted miserably. “I just don’t know.”

  “You still have some time to think about it, Cleo,” Blue murmured. “You don’t have to decide right at this moment.”

  “I feel so stupid.”

  “It was an accident. These things happen.”

  “To teenagers, not to grown women who should have their crap together by now. I’ve failed at everything else, Blue. Imagine how spectacularly I’d fail at motherhood. This poor baby doesn’t stand a chance with me as its mother.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Blue dismissed, showing rare signs of anger. “You’re kind, considerate, loving, generous with your affection, and while things haven’t always gone your way, you found ways to cope. You have always bounced back and found a way forward. You’ll do the same this time.”

  “I’ve been completely directionless since I stopped dancing,” Cleo confessed quietly. “I’ve felt so lost and I’ve tried to hide it, but even though it has been years, I still haven’t found anything to fill the void it left in my life. I’ve even considered becoming a dance instructor, but I don’t know if I can stand to teach others to do what I no longer can. How pathetic is that? To think that I could be jealous or resentful of some talented young dancer just because I lost my opportunity to be the best at it. It makes me feel petty and small and ugly. How could I ever be a good teacher if I don’t want my students to soar higher than I did?”

  “Cleo, I love you, but sometimes you frustrate me so much,” Blue said. “I can’t talk to you when you’re in this mood. I can’t listen to you beat yourself up over things that are completely beyond your control. Eat your lunch and tell me how the living situation with Cal is going.”

  Cleo grimaced, the change in subject adding to her depression.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Sometimes it’s so draining to have him around.” And it would be worse now with all this on her plate. His self-centeredness was so frustrating. He hadn’t even noticed how ill she’d been feeling recently. Cleo knew that she had once been as egocentric as Cal and was grateful that she had developed enough self-awareness to appreciate that the world did not revolve around her. Cal, at thirty-two, had still not come to that realization, and Cleo doubted he ever would.

  “Have you considered asking him to move out?” Blue asked tactfully.

  “He has nowhere else to go.”

  “Cleo, sometimes you have to think of your own needs,” Blue pointed out, and Cleo scoffed.

  “I spent most of my life being selfish and thinking of my own needs, to the detriment of others. When I look back on how I was, how much I took my grandparents and Luc and everything they sacrificed for me for granted, I’m so ashamed. When you met Luc, he was taking care of my grandparents 24-7, he only ever took time for his studies. He used to beg me to come home, to come and visit my grandparents.” Cleo kept her eyes downcast as she spoke. She knew that Blue had probably heard all of this from Luc, but knowing her brother, he had sugarcoated the facts, and right n
ow, Cleo wanted her friend to hear the ugly, unadorned truth about her. “And I never did. I was always too busy, having too much fun, practicing too hard. I made excuses not to visit because I didn’t want to deal with their constant disapproval. I always felt like nothing I did was right.

  “So I stayed away and left Luc to deal with it all, and only toward the end did I finally relent and visit them.” She choked back a sob. “And they were so old and so obviously dying, but they were so grateful.” Her voice broke on the word as tears seeped down her cheeks and dripped into her salad. “Just so grateful and happy that I’d come to visit them. There were no recriminations, only warmth and love and pure happiness. And I felt like such an imposter: their beautiful little ballerina who was so ugly on the inside. All those years I spent resenting them when all they ever wanted was my happiness. I can’t go back to being that awful person. Cal did a lot for me after my accident, and I won’t turn my back on him when he needs me.”

  Blue reached out to squeeze Cleo’s hands. They were silent for a while, Blue patiently waiting for Cleo to gather herself before changing the subject to her and Luc’s upcoming anniversary, and about the dress she was thinking of buying. It was a welcome change in topic, but it didn’t take Cleo’s mind completely off her problems.

  After Cleo returned home, she went into her bedroom, pushed the pile of clothing off the bed, and curled up in the center of it, trying to make herself as small as possible. She placed her palm over the flat expanse of her abdomen and gently applied pressure, trying to feel this tiny presence, which had made such a huge impact on her life. She felt nothing and it was hard to imagine anything in there, yet it was there. It existed.

  At nearly eight weeks—according to the literature Dr. Klein had given her—it was smaller than a kidney bean but was developing tiny little webbed fingers and toes and eyelids. It was alive and moving even if she couldn’t feel it. She lifted her hands to her face and found it wet with tears. Her baby was alive and it needed her. It depended on her for food, for oxygen, for its very existence, and she couldn’t make the decision to snuff out that tiny life.

  And just like that, terminating the pregnancy was no longer an option.

  If she were younger, who knows what her decision would have been. But she was twenty-seven and—despite all her dreams to the contrary—realistically speaking, she didn’t have a dance career to think of anymore, and she was no longer the same selfish Cleo she had been years ago. She still didn’t know if she would keep it or put it up for adoption, but now that the immediate decision of having or terminating had been taken care of, the pressure of making any other urgent decisions had been relieved a bit. She had time to figure that out. She still didn’t think she would make a good mother, but there were so many other women out there who would die for the opportunity to have a baby to love and take care of.

  Cleo fell asleep clinging to that positive thought.

  When she woke up a couple of hours later, it was early evening, and the light was starting to go. Cleo immediately called Blue and told her that she planned to have the baby.

  “I know it couldn’t have been an easy decision to make, but Luc, your friends, and I are all here for you.” Blue’s warm voice washed over her, soothing her and making her feel so much better about the choice she’d made.

  “How do I tell Luc?” Cleo wondered miserably.

  “Your brother will understand. He’s not entirely unreasonable, you know?” the other woman teased, and Cleo made a sound that was half laugh and half sob.

  “He’ll be gutted.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “I’m coming to see you guys; I think it’s best to get this over and done with,” Cleo decided.

  “No. We’ll come to you. I’d just feel better if you weren’t driving in these conditions while you’re so distracted,” Blue said firmly, and hung up before Cleo could protest.

  She got up from bed slowly, alarmed when her head spun and her stomach roiled in protest at the movement.

  “Morning sickness, my butt,” she muttered beneath her breath. The term was a complete misnomer. She sat quietly and breathed deeply to try and regain her equilibrium. When she felt steadier, she made her way to the door and peeked into the living room. Cal was sitting on the couch, making out with some guy Cleo had never seen before.

  They didn’t even notice when Cleo stepped into the room and only—leisurely—ended their kiss when she cleared her throat pointedly.

  “Hi, hon,” Cal greeted cheerfully. “This is the guy I told you about. Greg.”

  “Oh, Greg, yes. Cal never stops talking about you,” she lied. Greg—a good-looking guy about ten years Cal’s junior—smiled sweetly. He had stars in his eyes as he looked at Cal. Poor kid.

  Cleo turned toward the kitchen and was gratified to note that Cal had tidied up a bit while she was asleep, probably in anticipation of Greg’s visit. Cal left Greg on the couch and joined Cleo in the kitchen.

  “Hey, hon, I hope you don’t mind us chilling here for the evening,” he said casually, clearly not really concerned with Cleo’s response. “But Greg still lives at home, so we couldn’t hook up there.”

  “He lives at home? How old is he?” She looked at Greg again and reevaluated her initial assessment of his age.

  “Nineteen? Twenty? Something like that.” Cal waved a dismissive hand. “Isn’t he adorable, though?”

  “Cal, he’s a baby,” Cleo hissed impatiently. She was getting a little fed up with her friend’s casual hookups. “When are you going to stop messing around with these little toy boys and find a decent—age-appropriate—guy?”

  “Age-appropriate guys aren’t fun and lack stamina,” he whispered smugly. “What Greg lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm.”

  “Look, you and young Greg are going to have to go someplace else tonight. I’m expecting guests,” she said, and Cal’s eyebrows rose.

  “Guests?”

  “Luc and Blue are coming,” she explained, and Cal rolled his eyes.

  “They’re hardly guests. They won’t mind if Greg and I are hanging around.”

  “Cal, I have something really important to discuss with Luc; I just need a bit of privacy.”

  “Since when do you have secrets from me?” he teased.

  Cleo’s patience just snapped. “Since now, okay?”

  Cal took a step back and his face froze over.

  “No need to lash out,” he said icily. “Keep your precious secrets. Greg, babe, we’re going out. We’re not welcome here.”

  The passive-aggressive comment was so typical of him.

  “Cal,” she said miserably, and he held up a hand, still not looking at her.

  “It’s okay, Cleo. This is your flat, and you have every right to want it to yourself sometimes. I’m sure Greg and I will find someplace to go in this weather. Right, babe?” Greg’s pretty blue eyes were wide and confused, but he nodded.

  “It’s just for a couple of hours,” she explained. “I’ll text you when they leave.”

  “Whatever.” He shrugged, grabbing his coat. She tried her best to shove aside the guilt as he and the hapless young Greg left. She really didn’t need Cal’s drama right now, but that’s how he always was, and she continually made excuses for him.

  “Who’s the father?” Luc asked. He had been grim and silent when Cleo told him about her pregnancy and had remained that way for nearly five minutes after she had stuttered to a halt. She had never seen her normally amicable brother so quiet and unreadable before. Blue had filled the silence with slightly nervous chatter about the weather and the new leaks they’d discovered in the roof, all the while darting uncertain glances at Luc like he was a ticking time bomb about to go off. And now, when he finally spoke, his voice was cold enough to freeze the air around him.

  “His identity is unimportant,” Cleo said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling.

  “You do know who the father is, right?” The question was designed to wound, and Cleo felt th
e impact of it like a blow to her sternum. She gasped and folded in on herself defensively.

  “Lucius Knight!” Blue barked, angrier than Cleo had ever seen her before. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  To his credit, Luc looked immediately contrite.

  “I’m sorry, Cleo, that was unfair of me,” he mumbled. “I’m just angry and frustrated. I hate to see you in a situation like this, with the loser who got you pregnant having zero accountability.”

  “It’s my choice, Luc.”

  He nodded curtly, his jaw tight. He still looked angry and disappointed, and it killed her to have put that look on his face.

  “So you’re having it but not sure if you’re keeping it?” he said after a long pause, during which he’d done nothing but stare at her intently and stroke his thumbs restlessly across the back of her hands.

  “Yes.”

  “When do you think you’ll know?”

  “I’m not sure. I have no feelings about this baby one way or another. I just feel trapped and confused and scared and so stupid right now.” Her voice was thick with tears.

  “Oh, Pattypan,” Luc sighed, and dragged her into his arms for a comforting hug. The childhood nickname—one he’d come up with because she hated her full name—brought tears to her eyes, and she sobbed into his chest, suddenly feeling years younger than her age. “We’ll figure this out. I promise you that.”

  Cleo allowed herself to lean on him for a second longer, knowing that her big brother would always have her back. She had never loved or appreciated him more than in that moment.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cal was still pointedly ignoring her when he returned to the flat, sans Greg, much later that night.

  “Hey,” Cleo greeted tentatively, even though she found his wounded air annoying.