Free Having Jay's Baby (Having His Baby #2) by Fran Louise

Anna had dropped off earlier, planning to read it in the car.
    Stopping for a moment, I stared at the doorway, gathering my wits. How easily Elizabeth and I had settled back into our roles: the resentful husband and the bitter wife. It was as if we’d been born to it. The idea that we had actually been born to it—a match effectively engineered by our parents—made me feel physically sick. I took a deep breath, pushing back sensation.
    This was not my fate. I refused to let it be.
    She was quiet in the town car all the way to the event. The tension was a lumpy mattress on which we lay stiffly side by side. I distracted myself by checking over the paperwork. The stock reports were still a mess; in particular, the figures for the last three days were dire. Was it possible for the share price to sink any lower? If this got worse we’d be kicked out of the stock exchange by the end of the financial year. I stared blindly at the figures; could Fitzsimmons & Jones survive that? Reputation was a slippery son of a gun … once it was gone, it was very hard to get it back.
    My hand fell on to the cream envelope; I was opening it before I’d even registered what it was.
     
    She’s your responsibility.
    Get the kid tested.
     
    “Fuck.”
    Elizabeth started at my rich curse. “What’s wrong with you?” she said, eyeing me in outrage.
    Anger slashed me. Who the hell was sending these damned things?
    She exhaled heavily. “We’ve arrived,” she said. “Could you at least try to pretend we want to be here? I only came because you insisted.”
    “It’s for charity,” I said, my tone clipped.
    Elizabeth was oblivious, already wound up, her eyes darting across to the dignified mayhem outside. “That awful public relations person said they’ll be photographing us like a couple of cheap celebrities; the least you can do is not embarrass me any more than I already am.” She swished her skirts. “And I’m not standing against one of those advertising spaces. You can tell your assistant he can find someone else to sell his vulgar products.”
    “He isn’t selling any products,” I said. I folded the cream paper once, twice, and placed it into my pocket. “And Bull’s not my assistant. Just do what he says and let’s get this over and done with.”
    We left the car to a barrage of lights and noise. I got out first and then waited for Elizabeth to come around from the other side of the car. I kept my expression even as the cameras flashed. Once Elizabeth was at my side, I looked at her, amazed to see a gracious smile curving her ruby red lips … I hadn’t seen that for a while. Humour jabbed me, but I was able to wrestle it into a polite smile. I touched my wife’s elbow and carefully escorted her towards the entrance to the exclusive marquee like a loyal husband. The second we were inside, I let go. Elizabeth fled.
    Left to my own devices, I first checked my phone messages and then got my bearings. The event was being held inside a series of marquees. The crowd was well-dressed and well-heeled, but outside my normal social circle. They preened and carried on distracted conversations, all the while watching to see who was watching them. I was subjected to more than one curious stare as I wandered, hands in pockets, smiling courteously but mostly simmering with tension. I stopped by the seating area, ignoring the swish of practising models floating past on the catwalk, and thumbed the smooth square of cream paper in my pocket.
    When was I going to get those damned test results back, anyway? The sooner I put this farce to rest, the better. It would also give me a convenient excuse to see Stella again. I exhaled, taking a seat and staring out at the view over the darkening city. Where was she tonight? Working? Probably. Though with a six-month old ... six month? How old would the kid be now, anyway?
    Fueller appeared and slapped me on the back in a hearty greeting, making me flinch. The older man lifted his brows. “A