Revealed: His Secret Child

Gillian gripped the table as though that could anchor her. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying,” he said quietly, “that we’re getting married.”

Three

Married?

Surely she had misheard him.

She’d never been good at reading his face but there was no mistaking the implacable seriousness of his voice.

And it terrified her.

But now was not the time to give in to, or even show, her fear. She thought frantically. This Max was not the man she’d thought she knew. “Maybe I owe you something.” Gillian spoke calmly, surprising herself with her composure. Deliberately, she released her grip on the table and rested her hands in her lap.

Where they clenched into fists as she struggled to find her center in a world that was spinning, threatening to spiral out of control.

“Damn right you do.”

“And yes, maybe we need to work something out but—”

“There are no maybes and buts, and there’s no we. I’ve already worked it out.”

She remembered that about him, how decisively he acted. She used to like that confidence, that absolute certainty, but what she needed from him now was compromise and recognition that there would have to be negotiation. So it was up to her to be the reasonable one.

He’d see sense.

He had to.

She stood and crossed to him. The cold fury he radiated stopped her from getting too close. But she knew there was a reasonable man inside there. Once he’d let her see glimpses of a loving side that had enamored her. “You can see Ethan as much as you want. You can have visitation on the weekends, I won’t argue with that. Of course, initially, I’ll have to be there at all times, to reassure him, but as he gets used to you—”

“You have no idea, do you?” Max closed what remained of the gap she’d left between them, drawing himself up to his full six feet, using every tactic, and none of them subtle, to dominate. “I’ve already missed out on two years and ten months of my son’s life.” He spoke quietly. “I’m not settling for visitation on your terms on the weekends. But I can be reasonable.”

Gillian dared to hope.

“I’ll give you two options. You come to Vegas with me right now and marry me—giving Ethan a father who is married to his mother.” His gaze raked over her. Such coldness where once there’d been such heat. Once just a look between them and passion combusted. “And don’t worry,” he said as though he’d read her thoughts, “I won’t be claiming any marital rights. Anything I felt for you is long dead.”

Gillian held herself utterly still, showed no reaction. If he was lashing out now, it was no more than she expected. All she needed from him was a glimmer of reasonableness. “And my second option?” She held tight to her faint hope.

Ethan’s gurgling laughter drifted through from the living room. Max glanced that way before training his hardened gaze back on her. “Or we face off in court. And it’ll be you who’s fighting to get weekend visitation rights.”

That faint hope withered. “You wouldn’t.” But she didn’t believe her own assertion. “You wouldn’t take him from me.”

“Just try me, Gillian. You had no qualms about taking him from me.”

Cold dread seized her. He would do it. He was ruthless enough and furious enough. And rich enough.

She had her salary from the newspaper, and she could sell this house she’d inherited from her grandmother, and she even had a small nest egg—for a rainy day. It was no insurance against the storm of the century that Max could call down on her shoulders. He’d use the Preston millions to fight for custody of her son. Make sure he got his way. She wouldn’t stand a chance.

He slid his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling my lawyers. It’s your choice as to whether I instruct them to start proceedings for a custody suit or to draw up a prenup and fax it through to the jet before we land in Vegas.”

Gillian stared at him. He held her gaze, unflinching, unbending. Finally, she spoke. “You know my choice.”

Max smiled. Perfect white teeth, cold blue eyes. “Pack your bags while I make the call. We’re leaving in ten minutes and won’t be back till tomorrow.”

“No. We’re not.”

“Changed your mind already?” His thumb hovered over a button on his phone.

“No. I’m providing you with a demonstration of why you didn’t, don’t, want children. Ten minutes isn’t enough. It’s not a case of throwing a few things into a bag anymore. I’ll need food for Ethan, his music, his favorite books, clothes and his blanket. I haven’t showered yet myself. I’ll need an hour. At least.”

“I’ll give you half an hour. We can buy whatever we need.”

“We can’t buy his favorite blanket.”

“That’s why I’m giving you half an hour, not ten minutes.” He pressed a button on his phone, lifted it to his ear. “Tristan.” He smiled at something the other man said then glanced at Gillian. “Yeah. It’s important.”

Dimly, she heard him talking while she made her way upstairs. This couldn’t be happening. Numbly, she showered and changed and then packed.

Max said nothing when she reappeared forty-five minutes later. She stood at the doorway to the family room, two cases behind her, surveying Ethan and Max as they played trains on a completely redesigned track that now appeared to be under attack by rampaging dinosaurs.

Max scanned her from head to toe. He didn’t look at his watch and he didn’t say anything. She had no idea whether his lack of comment on her timekeeping was due to forbearance because of Ethan’s presence, or because he’d lost track of time.

“Daddy,” Ethan said, “look.”

Max’s eyes widened and he looked sharply back at Ethan.

She’d seen his shock. Felt it herself. “Daddy.” Her son had called him “Daddy.” As though for him it was the most natural thing in the world. But she knew that single word had rocked both Max’s and her world to the core.

He’d never wanted children. At all, he’d said. And now a little boy was calling him “Daddy.” Already making demands on him. It wasn’t too late for Max to back out. Gillian held her breath.

Far from backing out, Max reached across and ruffled Ethan’s curls. “Come on, tiger.” Ethan seemed to swell with pride at the power of the nickname. “Mommy’s waiting.” He watched Gillian for her reaction. She was too numb to show any.

Out on the driveway he looked from his two-door Maserati coupe to her hatchback.

“There’s not a lot of room in the back of yours for Ethan.” She stated the obvious. “And his car seat and CDs are already in my car. And wipes for sticky hands.” She wasn’t going to feel sorry for him. This situation was of his own making. The sacrifice of driving to the airport in L.A. in her car was nothing compared to what he was asking her to do.

He shook his head. Resignation? She wasn’t sure.

Lulled by the noise and the motion, Ethan was sleeping by the time the jet landed in Las Vegas. As it taxied to a halt, Max and Gillian both stood looking at him. His face and the cream leather armchair his car seat was strapped into were smudged with peanut butter, his head was tipped to one side, long lashes curling on his cheeks. Max reached for the buckles. “You take the bags,” she said. “I’ll take Ethan. If he wakes in someone else’s arms he might get upset.” Max shrugged, acquiescent now that he’d gotten his way where it counted. Or wary of getting covered in peanut butter?

Gillian crouched in front of the armchair, gently releasing the buckles. Ethan slowly opened his eyes. He smiled when he saw her and her heart swelled as it always did. “Where’s Daddy?”

Gillian closed her eyes at the stab of hurt. “He’s right here, sweetheart.” She moved so that Ethan could see Max. She looked up at him expecting to see gloating, but what she saw was worse, and she looked away from the pity in his gaze.

In the chapel’s waiting room, thoughtfully equipped with a toy box, Ethan played. Max, now wearing the dark suit he’d changed into on the jet, relaxed in one of the armchairs calmly sending emails and making and taking calls on his phone while Gillian paced the red carpet.

The door to the waiting room opened and the celebrant’s assistant beckoned them. Gillian and Ethan packed up the toys. She kept hold of a book for Ethan to look at during the service, and walked to the door. She held her son’s hand, hoping that he didn’t sense she was, for the first time in their almost three years together, the one needing reassurance from the contact.