Catching Preeya (Paradise South Book 3) (33 page)

Then nothing. Just more angry breathing on the other end of the connection.

Which gave him time to catch his breath. A few beats passed. His chest heaved as he poured his coffee with trembling hands. He took a sip, burned his tongue.
Shit.
“Gigi, you there?”

“Check your texts, Ben.”

His phone chimed. He pulled the phone from his ear and saw one word.

“That’s the sex of your baby, Ben. Have a great fucking day.”

*

Bitch.

Go
easy.

Fuck, though. Emotional roller coaster or not, where the hell did she get off?

He put his mug of coffee down so hard, much of the hot dark roast leaped out over the sides, burning his knuckles. Déjà vu. He yanked his hand back and brought it to his chest.
Just,
fuck
. Then after running it under tap water for five, six, seven seconds, he dried it while ignoring the remnant burning sensation, then grabbed his phone with both hands.

Gigi
, he texted.
Do not broach this reunion idea again. Not with me, not with Preeya. I mean
it.

He hit Send.

He stared at the ceiling. Then back down at his screen.

And don’t you dare tell Pree the
sex.

Fuck her for telling him.
Not that she’s necessarily
right.

Jamie’s miscarriage…
she’s probably
right
.

He rubbed the top of his head, back and forth, back and forth.

“Hey, you.”

He swallowed hard, cleared his throat, then worked to find his smile before facing Preeya.
No doubt she’ll know something’s wrong.
That he was upset.

A snap decision made, he’d keep the whole Gigi conversation—hell, call it what it was, an irrational and inflamed bout—to himself. Protecting Preeya from unnecessary stress was top priority. He’d put his foot down and that was that. And if Gigi dared push him, he’d work around her—he’d faced Ebola in West Africa, he could handle Gigi Donlow.

He sighed and shifted, throwing his chin up for the best mask of
all good
and
happy
he could muster. “Come here.” He reached out his arm to Preeya. “You sleep good?”

“Mmm, yes.” Preeya nuzzled her face in his chest. “I was surprised you didn’t sleep in, my perfect body pillow.”

He snorted and squeezed her tighter to him. “I, uh, felt like getting an early start, grab some coffee, and catch up on work before we run out to find the crib.”

“Wow, you remembered.”

“Of course I did.” He kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled good, like her jasmine and vanilla shampoo.

“Oh, hey.” Her words were slightly muffled, spoken into his robe. “I invited Gigi along. If she finds a crib she likes, I thought we, meaning you”—she giggled and looked up at him with
puppy-dog
eyes, then buried her face back into his chest—“could help get it up to her apartment?”

On second thought, maybe he
should
tell Preeya about the blowout phone call. He sighed and shook his head. Preeya’s cheek still pressed against him so she missed his raw expression of angst and anger mixed with sheer annoyance. “Of course, babe. I can help…your friend with the crib.”

“Thank you.” She reached up, slid her hands around his neck, and kissed him.

Anything, Preeya.
Anything.

“She needs me,
us
, right now. And I owe it to her. Gigi is like a sister to me. She’s your”—she pushed away from him to meet his eyes—“your
soon-to
-be
sister-in
-law!” She chuckled and lifted her brows, thoroughly entertained by her own witty discovery.

Right
. “Yeah, I guess that’s what she is.” He found a thin grin to mask the rush of pure spite filling his chest. “I’m just thankful that your
soon-to
-be
actual
sister-in
-law has two kids along with the experience and grounding to be our baby’s godparent. God forbid anything were to happen to us, Stacy would raise the baby our way, with the right priorities, direction, means, structure, and selfless love.”

When he stopped talking, he realized his hand on Preeya’s back hadn’t lifted and fallen with her deep, relaxed breaths for some moments now.

Preeya lifted her head off his chest and stood back. Her eyes narrowed, face tilted. “I told Gigi already…that she’d be the baby’s godparent. Before you even knew I was pregnant. It wasn’t even a question in my mind.”

Ben’s mouth went dry, making it near impossible to swallow the thick knot in his throat. Gigi’d said it on the phone. He remembered now.
My
godbaby.

Fuck that and over his dead body.

Relax, Ben.

How?
He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t think in order to initiate his next breath—essential brain freeze.

In and out breath, Ben. In and
out.

Oxygen and calm entered his system.

Now he just needed a few moments to formulate a careful,
well-thought
-out response to this without starting a fight. The last thing Preeya needed. But this is
their
child they’re talking about—his and hers.

He’d been married before, knew about the gives and takes, the compromises necessary—money, careers, home, friends, travel, family—just infinite levels of necessary compromise. But the uncharted waters of
joint
life decisions for their baby—now that threw him and his thoughts to the cosmic wind.

And no one has to deal with a meddling…whatever the hell Gigi is.
Fucking
Gigi.

He sighed. Gigi aside, he had to remember that Preeya hadn’t ever been in a real relationship, at least not one that lasted more than a few months.

But either way, how could she take it upon herself to make such a call? About their child’s guardian. “Without a question in her mind,” like she’d said.

As his thoughts whirled, he watched her chest heave with anxiety while her nostrils flared. He willed himself to say something to buy him time…so he wouldn’t explode and upset her. But he was floored, absolutely fucking floored, his heartbeat ramming his rib cage.
Just do not explode, Ben
. He rubbed his head while trying his best to slow his breath, then opened his mouth to speak, still unsure of what the hell to say.

But Preeya beat him to the punch. “God, Ben…Stacy lives in Mexico. That isn’t where I’d want my baby to grow up, to live, to be educated.”

“The” baby to “My” baby?

It’s ours, damn it. Our child.

More
blood-pumping
fury took hold of Ben’s throat. He couldn’t utter a grunt at this point.

“Ben, listen. Gigi is just…pure love. Don’t get me wrong…I like Stacy, God, so much. And her kids are great, so smart and sweet…but honestly, if Stacy lived in the States, close by even, well, I’d still choose Gigi. Her energy, her intuitive and nurturing ways…that’s what’s best for the baby.”

Again—
the
baby?

Our
baby. Our life, our love, our
child.

Calm, Ben.
“Preeya.” He caught her eyes, held them for a stern instant then shot his focus to the ceiling.
God, what the hell is going on?
What in the fuck had he missed? His heart sank; his stomach floated. How separate, how different, how drastically polar were their perspectives, their experiences? Their stages in life?

He closed his eyes, sighed, then nodded, more to himself than to her. He understood and it scared him frozen.

Don’t make this into something it’s not, Ben.
You are meant to
be.

Are
we?

We.
What a joke.

Was Gigi right? They’d known each other for only a matter of days, really—lustful, electric, and
life-inspiring
days—before…before Seattle and Prana and the news of their baby. His heart murmured a low moan. Yes, they’d clicked and, hell, seemed to even balance each other, but fuck, how well did they really fit? His practicality versus…her
vibes
and
gut feelings
and…fucking Gigi raising
her
kid? Not theirs,
hers
. He gritted his teeth. Here he thought, breathed, lived, and planned for
them
, while she just couldn’t…comprehend it…the idea, the concept of a shared existence—it just flew right over her head.

Granted, she’d never known a model of a healthy partnership, not with her
screwed-up
parents’ example. And again, he’d lived over a decade in a loving marriage. And it hadn’t been easy with Jamie. Each day, every day, had been maddening yet glorious work. But Preeya, her
being
, her charisma and vibrancy and positive outlook made him want to do that work again, with her, for her, for
them
. But how can such a learning curve be ignored? Preeya was brilliant, but so damn clueless.

No, he couldn’t blame her.

But how
could
he do this with her? How could they get married and raise a child together if Preeya couldn’t grasp what
together
meant?

“Ben, are you hearing me?”

“Sorry, Preeya.” He looked at his coffee mug—lukewarm,
half-empty
,
bitter by now.
“Got this raging headache all of a sudden. I, uh, think I’ll go lie down again.” He sidestepped to the other side of the kitchen and stopped at the open doorway. “You were probably right; I should have stayed in bed this morning.”

And not answered the
pre-dawn
call.

Perhaps, not jumped into…fuck
it.

He left Preeya in the kitchen probably hurt and confused and possibly fuming. He headed to their, or rather
his
bedroom.
His
name was on the goddamn lease, wasn’t it?
Damn it
, to even think that way made him ill, or
more
ill.

He crashed to the mattress and warded off all thoughts, all worries—all decisions—for another time.
Just escape to sleep, escape. Like old times, Ben.
Escapist Ben.

*

Preeya felt short of breath, heartbeat thumping in her ears, all alone there in the kitchen. For the first time in months, that old panic crept up her body’s central column, clutching her heart in her chest. She rubbed her belly, hoping the baby would kick, but nothing.

So, count and breathe? Or call Gigi?

No. No
Gigi.

No crutch. She had this.

And she had Ben. Just upstairs.

Ben.
God, he’d tried to hide it, but it had been written all over his face, the surprise, the hurt. And how removed and
walled-off
he’d become the next instant. How upset he was that Preeya didn’t want Stacy to be the baby’s godparent. She’d chosen Gigi…

That
she’d chosen
Gigi.

Shit.
It seemed that not one, but two issues had set him off.

Her thoughts began to war.

Ben is the
father.

But I’m the baby’s
mother.

He didn’t trust her instincts?

She
didn’t trust her instincts.

You should trust your damn instincts, Preeya.

And her choice in guardian—no question, no doubt—was
Gigi
. The only soul she could ever picture caring for her child. Her child and Gigi’s would be like siblings, family. Like Preeya and Gigi were family.

Not an aunt just because of blood
ties.

She looked at the
hand-painted
rooster wall tile above the stove. “I mean, Gigi’s been my life, my only constant since I was seven. Seven years old.” The vibrant backsplash tile didn’t answer. Only the ice maker in the freezer rumbled a cryptic reply.

She sighed then rubbed her hard, tight belly. “And your aunt Stacy is great, don’t get me wrong,” she whispered to the baby, “but she’s so introverted, reserved, closed off.” The woman was kind to Preeya, sweet in her own way. “But she’s a writer, in her own head all the time. You’ll see what I mean, sweet pea.” The night Preeya had dinner at Stacy’s, those kids had been starved for attention, craving contact and conversation. Just picturing her child in that environment, it made Preeya gasp for an extra breath to satisfy her lungs.

And isn’t it the mother’s choice anyway? To decide who’d care for the child if…if she weren’t around? She?
It’s “if they weren’t around,” Pree.
She shook her head, confused by her own logic, her own feelings, her own threatened sense of control.

But no, I am clear on
this.

And anyway, Ben wouldn’t have known about the baby if she hadn’t tracked him down. She invited
him
to be a part of her and her baby’s world.

Whoa.

Jesus, Preeya, you’re in love with the man.
Marrying him in a few weeks.

The father of her child.

She had hoped, prayed, for his safety, his forgiveness over their blowout in Vallarta. She’d prayed that he’d reciprocate her feelings for him.
Before you even told him you were
pregnant.

And he had passed the
test.

He declared and committed and supported and reciprocated
—you stupid
idiot.

But, God,
zooming-in
to this one issue, there wasn’t a chance she’d give in—she couldn’t be comfortable with the baby being with anyone but Gigi.

And what is the likelihood of you and Ben both…you know…seriously?

Seriously?
Ben’s young wife died. Prana died. Her mother, she might as well have died. Who knows, maybe she did die. Yeah, maybe her mother’s dead? People die. And so this was a huge deal. Preparing for her child. In case.