“You’re welcome.”
The driver closed the door behind them, walked to the front of the long car and took his seat behind the steering wheel.
Trent pushed the button that raised the glass between passengers and the driver. “Are you okay?”
“What? Yes! I’m fine.”
“Nothing you want to tell me?”
She gave him the side eye. “Of course not.”
“I’m just saying you look like a woman who might need a shoulder to cry on or maybe somebody to offer advice.”
She fought the urge to close her eyes and kept her poise strictly intact. He couldn’t know that she was pregnant. She’d only found out that morning. One stupid week of loneliness had her flying off to Paris to Pierre—with whom she’d made the mutual decision to break up the month before—and spending a reckless weekend that resulted in a child.
She’d sensed a bit of regret on Pierre’s part when she’d left to return to New York, but not enough for him to call her. Which was for the best. As a woman who didn’t believe in love, she’d accepted Pierre’s romantic advances four years ago because she knew there was no danger that anything would come of their affair. A gorgeous, passionate artist, Pierre was a lot of fun and they spoke the language of art. They both lived and breathed art. But Pierre was the product of a marriage more dysfunctional than Sabrina’s parents’ marriage had been, and he’d decided to make up for his parents’ neglect by giving himself everything he wanted. He’d also taken a solemn vow never to marry or have kids. Which was okay because they weren’t long-term anything. They had a safe, long-distance relationship, with no possibility of things getting messy with talk of love.
And now that she was pregnant?
Well...
They’d broken up. He didn’t want to be a father. She’d never wanted him in her life permanently. Nothing had changed.
At least she didn’t think so. But that was the problem. There hadn’t yet been time to think this through. She hadn’t had two quiet minutes since she’d seen the stick turn blue, and her nerves were beginning to fray. Part of her wanted to enjoy her brother’s big day and celebrate. The other part wanted to go home and cry. Except—
She didn’t know if she wanted to cry out of fear or happiness. She’d always wanted to be a mom. She’d envisioned herself having as close of a relationship with her child as she’d had with her mom, guiding her little boy or girl into a wonderful, fulfilling life, choosing good schools, taking her baby to the park, maybe even getting a dog—
She’d just always thought it would be sometime in the future.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. Keep your secrets.”
An arrow plunged into her heart, scaring her to death at the way he’d made secret plural. Secrets. Being pregnant wasn’t her only secret. She also painted. Temperamental, brilliant Pierre was one of a handful of people who knew Sabrina McCallan was the reclusive artist Sally McMillan. She’d taken a pseudonym because as Sabrina McCallan she was New York high society. Her one and only showing had been mobbed by people buying her paintings to win favor with her now-deceased tycoon father.
She’d been on the verge of quitting painting altogether when her mother had suggested a pseudonym. And it worked. She didn’t go to her showings, didn’t schmooze or pander to the public. Her art stood on its own.
Still, Ziggy couldn’t know that. Seth, Jake, Avery and Harper all knew the stakes. Seth would not have spilled her secret. None of them would.
Ziggy was bluffing.
“Maybe I should ask you if you need some counseling.”
He laughed.
She lifted one eyebrow. “Afraid your business won’t stand up to the scrutiny of a professional?”
“Honey, my business wouldn’t stand up to anybody’s scrutiny. I have a couple simple formulas. I read five newspapers a day and a few dozen blogs. Once I get all the information I need in my head, I grab a fishing pole and go to the lake, or I slip off to Spain and let it all sink in. After a few days I might make a move, or I might not.”
“That’s really not a business.”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
The train of limos arrived at the Waldorf. Doormen scurried out to release the passengers and escort the bridal party into the hotel. When Sabrina and Ziggy arrived at the four-story, two-tiered ballroom, the place was lit with dim purple lights that made the space shimmer romantically. Long, rectangular tables outlined the room, while round, more intimate tables filled the area beside the open dance floor.
Sabrina murmured, “This is lovely.”
Ziggy looked around. “Your family does know how to throw a party.”
His casual way of looking at things hit her all the wrong ways. “We aren’t throwing a party. We’re celebrating a marriage.”
“Potayto, potahto.”
“It’s not the same thing! A party can be four guys and a beer bong. We’re celebrating my brother and his wife finding love.”
He faced her with a goofy smile, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re a romantic.”
She almost laughed. Her? A romantic? She was exactly the opposite. She was a woman who believed romance and the mythical concept of “love” only caused problems—especially for women. She would never let herself be so vulnerable as to fall in love.
“I’m not a romantic. You know as well as anyone that our family had a rough time.” A dad who couldn’t be faithful and a mom with three kids who lived in fear of his temper. “I never thought either of my brothers would get married.”
Ziggy nodded. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
She straightened to her full five feet six inches—five-nine with heels—and still she only came up to about his nose. Odd that she’d notice that with so much on her mind. “You’re damned right, I’m right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, don’t follow me to the ladies’ room.”
He laughed.
She strode away, feeling more like herself than she had all day. There was nothing like righting a wrong to get her blood flowing. Having her spunk back helped her to weed through some of the confusion in her brain.
Number one, she wanted the baby. Because of her parents’ abysmal marriage, she’d vowed never to marry, but she wanted to be a mother. This pregnancy might have sped up her timetable, but she was ready—
No. She was eager to become a mom.
Number two, she had to tell Pierre. She expected him to be appalled and tell her that he wanted nothing to do with their child. But she’d chosen him as a lover, someone with no intention of falling in love, not a father for her children, so that was okay. She had no qualm about raising this baby alone. In fact, she’d prefer it.
Number three and four, telling her mom and telling her brothers couldn’t happen until she told Pierre.
She had to go to Paris.
She walked into the elegant lounge section of the ladies’ room and leaned across a vanity to get a peek at her makeup. Now that she wasn’t falling apart internally, her face had gone back to normal. She could have nitpicked every tiny imperfection. She could have second-guessed her choice of lipstick color. Except she looked like the lady her mother had raised her to be. She might not be perfect, but she was firmly in her role.
She drew a long breath and left the restroom, heading back to the ballroom. She spotted Ziggy and walked in the opposite direction. Jake was about to introduce Seth