I did everything I knew how, to make it right for you. But you somehow managed to keep your brain and—” she glared at his fly “—your…other thing separate. How come you never got them mixed up when I tried to turn up the heat?”
“Because I love you,” he said. “I love you enough to let you go, if what you’ve just learned leaves you too disappointed in me to give our marriage a chance to survive.”
“But not enough to choose me over some other woman’s child!” Oh, she hated herself for saying that, for being so selfish that she’d punish an innocent baby for his father’s crimes! And she hated Ben for bringing out the worst in her. She had not known she could be so small, so mean-spirited.
“Would you still want me, if I did?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t feel as if I know you at all. You aren’t the man I fell in love with.”
“Yes, I am, Julia. I’m just not perfect, and neither is life. And if you thought being married to me was going to be one long bed of roses—”
“I didn’t!” she insisted, furious that he was trying to put her on the defensive. “I’m not a child. Every marriage goes through its rough spots. But I hadn’t expected ours would be fighting for survival within hours of our exchanging wedding vows. When I promised to love you, for better and for worse, I…never thought…!”
The sobs rose up, choking her into silence.
“Neither did I,” he said softly. “And I admit this is about as bad as it can get. I admit what I’m asking of you is unfair. So the next move is up to you. Do you want me to go next door and tell everyone to go home because we’ve decided to call it quits? Or will you stand by me and give us a chance to prove to all those naysayers lined up behind your parents that we’re up to whatever challenge life throws at us?”
He was a dirty fighter, bringing her parents into things like that! He knew her pride would never allow her to prove they’d been right when they’d said that marrying a man she’d known less than six months was rushing headlong into disaster.
But was pride enough to keep their marriage afloat? Because that was about all she had to fall back on. Oh, if she looked honestly into her heart, she knew she loved him still. But what use was love without trust, and how could she ever trust him again?
As if she weren’t beleaguered enough, the door flew open behind her and a man barged into the room. From his opening salvo, she could only suppose he must be Marian Dawes’s husband.
“We’ve hung around long enough, Carreras!” he fairly bellowed. “Make up your mind. Are you taking the kid or not?”
Marian, her face pale and drawn, hovered behind him, a tiny bundle clutched in her arms. Even Julia, drowning though she was in her own misery, couldn’t help feeling sorry for what the woman must be going through. To have to choose between her child and this brute of a man—how could he ask this of her?
“I’ll take him,” Ben said, at which Marian let out a sigh, walked over and handed the child to him.
Julia could hardly bear to watch as Ben looked at the baby. Awkwardly, he reached out a finger and pushed aside the blanket covering its face. She heard his indrawn breath, saw the startled expression in his eyes and knew in an instant that, even if she had been his first love, she was no longer his only love. There was recognition in the gaze he turned on that little face, and wonder, and the primitive determination to protect that only a parent can know—all those things she’d expected he’d never experience until he held their first-born in his arms.
A hand closed over her shoulder, and she turned to find her grandmother at her side. The compassion in Felicity’s eyes undid her. Lips trembling, Julia reached up and clung to her. “Tell me what to do, Amma, please!”
“It’s not my place to say, my angel. You’re facing a hard decision and it’s likely only the first of many. But whatever you decide, Ben is your husband, and I’d ask you not to forget that.”
“This isn’t fair!” she wept.
“No, it’s not.”
“I hurt so much.” She pressed a fist to her chest.
“How could he break my heart like this?”
“His own heart’s breaking, too, Julia. One only has to look at him to see that.”
She slewed a glance his way, hoping he wouldn’t notice, and found her gaze locking with his. The naked pleading in his eyes could have melted stone.
She was only vaguely aware of Marian Dawes and her husband leaving, of the sudden blast of music from the reception as the doors leading to the ballroom swung open, of her grandmother urging her forward. All her attention was fastened on the man she’d married.
The sight of him drew her like a magnet. Even at that late date, she was still hoping for a miracle, for someone to leap out from behind the curtains and shout, “Hey, this is all a big mistake. Some other guy’s the father. Go back to your wedding and the lovely life you planned. This isn’t your problem.”
But when she finally drew abreast of Ben and looked down at the baby he held awkwardly on the palms of his hands as if it were a tray of food, her heart plummeted. Because any hope she’d entertained that he might not be Ben’s son was instantly dispelled. He was a miniature carbon copy of her husband.
Numbly, she stared at the thick dark hair, the olive complexion, the brilliant blue eyes, and accepted the inevitable. Only Ben could have fathered this child.
“Your father is out of patience, Julia,” she heard her mother exclaim from the doorway, “and I am frankly mortified at your behavior.” Then, as Felicity murmured a protest, “No, Mother Montgomery, I won’t be put off again! Surely even you cannot dispute that, as mother of the bride, I have the right to know why Julia and this man she’s married have chosen to abandon the guests who’ve come here today to help them celebrate their wedding.”
“I’m afraid your mother’s right,” Felicity said.
Slowly, Julia raised her eyes and again met Ben’s anguished gaze. “Yes,” she said. “Amma, will you stay with…will you stay here until we come back?”
“Of course. Here, Ben, give the baby to me.”
“Ba…by?” The way her mother’s outraged shriek sank to a horrified whisper would have struck Julia as comical in any other circumstances. As it was, she could only be grateful that, in Stephanie Montgomery’s book of social etiquette, keeping up appearances ranked above all else.
“That’s right, Mother,” she said, hooking her train over her arm and sweeping toward the door with as much dignity as she could muster. “What else would you expect to find wearing a diaper and wrapped in a receiving blanket? A stuffed turkey?”
How he and Julia made it through the next hour, he didn’t know, because even a moron could have cottoned on to the fact that, between the first dance and their final exit in a shower of confetti and rose petals, something had gone terribly wrong between the happy couple.
The bride refused to make eye contact with the groom and tossed her bouquet as if she were heaving a live grenade into enemy lines. The smile stretched over her mother’s mouth more accurately resembled the
