“I wasn’t the only one in that room.”
No, but he wished to God the man in the hotel room had been someone other than himself. His office was in the middle of a sole-source contract investigation; he didn’t have time for whatever she needed from him. “If the only thing you know about me is that I also did once have sex with a stranger, then I assure you, if you are pregnant with my child, I can change the terms of the divorce. You’ll get sufficient child support.”
“No argument about my keeping the baby?”
He swallowed his irritation. The night they’d stumbled around Las Vegas now seemed like a mirage, and if he concentrated on his memories, the images wavered before disappearing completely. The alcohol and the lights had made every smile the secret smile of a lover, and when she’d slipped her hand into his, he’d felt as though they’d shared souls. Also the alcohol talking. The alcohol and being surrounded by the constant—fake—sounds of people winning had turned him into a man charming enough to pick up a woman in a bar.
Vivian would soon learn that the man who had made jokes and removed the sadness from her eyes didn’t exist outside of that night in Vegas.
But she’d taken a chance coming here. She couldn’t know for certain that he’d meant what he said when he’d spoken about the responsibility a man had to his family. Or that he would never argue about an abortion with a woman, because her body was her body and his faith was his faith.
That night she had also talked about the importance of family—had argued with him when he had referred to a “man’s responsibility to his family.” Every member of a family, she’d said, had responsibility for keeping the unit whole. She’d squeezed his thigh when she’d said that, probably more to make her point than out of any sexual advance, though he hadn’t had the wits about him to care either way.
Were the opinions she’d expressed about family a product of the night—as his sudden charm had been—or were they as heartfelt as his words, alcohol or no alcohol? It didn’t matter. She was pregnant and he’d learn about her dedication to family soon enough.
“I respect your choice, though you don’t need to be here in Chicago for me to send you child support.”
She drew back in surprise, covering her jeans and still-flat stomach with a hand. “You wouldn’t want contact with our baby?”
He thought about the tiny infant she would give birth to. With its small fingernails and fat face not yet grown into Vivian’s pointed chin. Food poisoning. Croup. The shattered glass of a car accident ripping a dimpled face to pieces. Better not to see the child at all. Better to get them both out of his apartment and back to Las Vegas.
“I would want to know you cared for it.” Him? Her? When could you find out the sex of the baby? What was he supposed to call it until then?
She folded her other hand over her stomach. There was a baby under there. “I need health insurance.”
“You said you had a job.” Back in his hotel room, when he’d been sober, and the harsh lights of the hotel bathroom had ripped the dream away, he’d accused her of marrying a stranger for money. She’d told him to keep his damn money and that maybe there was room for it wherever he stored his ego. She’d said she had a job and didn’t need to have sex in exchange for handouts.
“I lost it.” She kept her hands on her stomach, the twisting of her fingers another sign of her nerves. “I will find another—I was hoping to find one in Chicago—but until then, I need health insurance. The baby needs health insurance. I have no other place to go.”
Karl did some quick math in his head. They still had four days to get Vivian and the baby on his health insurance. “I’ll need the marriage certificate.”
“Just like that?”
“Double,” the bird squeaked, then whistled.
“Do you want health insurance?” At one time in the distant past, he’d thought he understood women. Exposure had cured him of such idiotic thinking.
“Yes, but, you didn’t say so much as ‘hi’ to me downstairs. You accuse me of trying to sell you a pig in a poke, insinuating I’m some kind of slut who bangs tourists for fun, but when I say I need health insurance for a baby you don’t believe is yours, you say ‘sure’?”
“Even if that baby isn’t mine, you should have insurance while you’re pregnant. And you are my wife. If the baby is mine, I can provide it with health insurance and child support. If it’s not mine, I can provide it with health insurance until you are able to provide for it yourself. I won’t force a fetus to get less care than I can provide because I don’t trust its mother.”
“I can get a DNA test done while pregnant, as early as the ninth week.”
“Where are you staying?”
She turned her head to look out the windows of his apartment, the first time she’d not been willing to meet his eyes since he had walked into the lobby of his building. “I was hoping to stay here.”
“You don’t have another place to go?”
She faced him again, the pertness of her chin softened by her full, pale pink lips. How had he not remembered the lushness of her lips? “I have ten dollars, three suitcases and a parrot to my name.”
“Family?”
“They’re not available.”
When he’d considered her presence punishment for his behavior, he’d lacked the imagination to envision how the situation could get worse. If mother and child needed medical care, they also needed a roof over their heads. Not to mention the little bird she called a parrot. Chicago had enough wild parakeets without him adding to the population.
“What did you do in Las Vegas?”
“I wasn’t a prostitute.”
Any twinge of guilt he’d felt over accusing her of that the morning he’d woken up married to a stranger had long since vanished. Three weeks ago he’d hurled accusations at her, but he hadn’t asked what she actually did. He wasn’t going to ask more than once now. If he was silent long enough, she would share. She needed a place to stay and didn’t know him well enough to know he’d offer her a bed regardless.
She blinked first. “I was a table dealer. Craps, blackjack, roulette.”
God, how much had he had to drink to take her up to his room? At least she wasn’t a stripper.
“At Middle Kingdom?” His assistant had booked him a room at the Chinese-themed resort instead of the conference hotel. Greta had thought it would be good for him to have a minivacation—her words. But he’d ignored the brochures about the Hoover Dam and Grand Canyon she’d tucked into his work papers in favor of overpriced hotel whiskey. If he’d listened to Greta, he would’ve come back with a couple of postcards instead of a wife.
Though postcards wouldn’t have looked nearly as pretty sitting on his couch in a pink cable-knit sweater and cowboy boots.
Thoughts like that had prompted him to engage Vivian in conversation, to fall under the spell of her mysterious smile and be hypnotized by the rise and fall of her breasts when she breathed. If all he’d done was invite her up to his room, the night in Las Vegas would make more sense, but he’d been thinking about marriage and families, and in his drunken haze had decided he wanted to wake up with her warm skin pressed against his for the rest of his life.
Reality had intruded the next morning and, almost a month later, was sitting on his couch.
“And you’re not working there anymore because...”
“My supervisor disagreed with a decision I made.”
“Was