Tracy Wolff - Beginning with Their Baby

And just like that, his world imploded.

OH, GOD, HAD SHE REALLY just blurted it out like that? No finesse, no work-up? Just I’m pregnant, with you’re the father strongly implied?

No wonder Matt looked like he’d fall over if she breathed too hard.

She’d planned on breaking it to him much more calmly. Had figured he’d invite her in for a cup of coffee and she could work her way around to it. But he hadn’t invited her in, hadn’t wanted anything to do with her.

His reaction had hurt her, made her angry—and careless. Of course, now that it was too late, she would do anything to take back her hasty words. Matt hadn’t deserved to find out about his impending fatherhood so callously.

“Three months?” he finally asked, his voice low and hoarse.

“Yes.”

“As in twelve weeks?”

“Yes.”

“As in…”

“Yes. I got pregnant that last week in Austin.” To his credit, he didn’t ask if she was sure. Of course, that could be more from the shock than from any consideration for her. But somehow, she doubted it.

“I know this isn’t what you were expecting,” she began nervously. “And I’m sorry to spring it on you—believe me, when I first found out I didn’t look any better than you do. And I thought about ending it—a baby doesn’t exactly fit into my lifestyle—but when it got to be crunch time, I just couldn’t do it. Maybe that’s not fair to you, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m having this baby and I figure you have the right to know about it.”

“Get rid of it?”

She thought that sounded like a question, but she wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been an order. Taking a deep breath, Camille flipped her hair out of her face—she wanted to make sure she had a good look at his face when they discussed this—and said, “I can’t. I know it would make things easier and maybe it’s the best decision. But I just…can’t.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion. I was trying to decipher what you—” He swore, ran an unsteady hand over his face. “I wasn’t prepared for this, Camille.”

“Neither was I. Believe me. When I started throwing up in Florence I was sure I’d caught a bug—and not one of the nine-months variety.”

“Matt? Are you coming?” Once again, the female voice floated down the hallway and Camille was glad to realize she didn’t feel quite so sucker punched this second time. Not that she had any right to complain—and she wasn’t. But still, knowing Matt was with another woman was…disconcerting.

He swore again, a little more loudly. “Uh, yeah, Ariane. Give me a minute.”

He looked so flustered that she couldn’t help feeling contrite. Blurting it out like that had been a ridiculous thing to do, especially when Matt was obviously on a date. But she’d given herself a pep talk all the way over here and she hadn’t been able to hold the words in any longer. She’d wanted to say them—to somebody.

Saying them made the baby real, certainly more real than it had been since she’d stood in the middle of her small Italian flat and tried to decipher the pregnancy test directions, which had been written in Italian.

Despite the language barrier, the fact that the little window had turned blue had left her with little doubt as to whether or not she was pregnant. As she’d stared at the small, slender wand she’d been scared. Shocked. And more than a little horrified. But as the minutes and hours and finally days passed, she’d managed to wrap her mind around the concept of being pregnant. The baby was still a mystery—one she had no idea what to do with—but she figured she had six months to learn. After all, she had an entire pregnancy to get through before she had to worry about an actual baby. Thank God.

“Look, I’m sorry to just barge in here like this. I guess I didn’t think this thing through as well as I could have. I’ll come back later, when you’re not…entertaining.”

She started to turn away, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. “You’re not getting off that easily.”

“What does that mean?” She felt her own back go up.

“It means, you can’t just breeze in here and drop a bombshell like that and then turn around and walk back out.”

“I know that,” she snarled, trying to extricate herself from his painless but nevertheless firm grip. “But I figured you had other things to do right now. Call me on my cell when—”

“Yeah, because that works so well.” He thrust his free hand through his thick fall of auburn hair. “I’m not letting you out of here until we settle some things—”

“Matt?”

At the interruption, Camille glanced over Matt’s shoulder at his date. Her stomach sank at the first glimpse of the tiny but voluptuous blond woman. Exquisitely dressed and exceptionally beautiful, she was everything Camille wasn’t. Suddenly she felt like the tall, ungainly elephant in the room, even though she was still a couple of months from showing.

But still, how could she compete with Ariane? If this was Matt’s regular type, then Camille—with her normal attire of jeans and tank tops and paint-splattered skin—didn’t stand a chance.

The thought brought her up cold, had her backing out the front door without even bothering to glance behind her to see where she was going.

Not that she wanted a chance with Matt, she assured herself viciously as she teetered on the edge of the first step. He wasn’t her usual type any more than she was his. And she didn’t want to get tied down to any one man anyway. That was just asking for trouble.

Nothing had changed since she’d left here twelve weeks before. It just felt like everything had.

“Camille, look out!” Matt had followed her out onto the porch and now he reached for her a second time, stopping her from falling down the stairs. She wondered if she should feel grateful that he’d saved her from looking ridiculous as well as stupid. One thing was for certain—she was making one hell of a second impression.

Taking a deep breath, she met Matt’s warm, brown eyes for the third time that night. “Thanks. Another guy would have let me fall—at least then all your problems would be over.”

She watched as his face turned from concerned to angry, the little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes getting deeper as he frowned. “That’s an awful thing to say. I would never—”

“I know, I know.” She backed down the steps, this time keeping a hand on the railing and glancing behind her to make sure she didn’t stumble again. “That’s what I was trying to say. Not all guys are like you.

“Do you still have my cell number? If not, I can call you tomorrow sometime and we can get together for coffee and—” she darted a look at the petite blonde, who was looking more and more confused—and annoyed—by the minute “—talk about the project,” she improvised wildly, not wanting to ruin his evening any more than she already had. “I’m sorry for bothering you at home. This can definitely wait for a better time. I’ll just—”

“Camille, stop.”

Matt’s voice rang out and she froze, shocked at how quickly he’d gone from easygoing to authoritative.

“We need to talk.”

She swallowed nervously, wondered how on earth she’d managed to get herself into this predicament. “I know and we will. Later.” She was almost at her car, almost free.

“I know running is your favored modus operandi, but that’s not going to work with this. I want—”

“Matt, what’s going on here?” Ariane spoke for the first time since coming down the hall. Matt turned to her and it was all the distraction Camille needed. Her keys were already in her hand—she realized dazedly she’d never even put them away—and she dived toward her rental car like a desert wanderer toward an oasis.