Chapter 3 CHAPTER THREE

Marie POV

My phone rang just as I was reaching for my keys. I had my bag strapped over my shoulder and I had to struggle getting the zip open and digging through the myriad of objects in there so I could get to my phone before the ringing woke Sara up.

It was an unknown number.

A frown formed over my brow as I tried to remember who I could have given my number to that would be calling me right now.

There was no one.

I almost didn't answer it. Maybe I should not have answered it.

I did, lifting the phone up to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Miss Montez?"

A man's voice. Deep, unhurried, echoed across the line. It had goosebumps breaking out over my skin — this was the kind of voice that had clearly never had to raise itself to get attention.

"This is Xavier Richards."

"I'm sorry, who?" I whispered and he coughed.

"Xavier Richards," he repeated patiently, like he was used to having to say it twice.

The name felt very familiar, but it meant nothing to me beyond a vague impression of magazine covers and business headlines I'd skimmed once and forgotten.

"I'm calling about the Hartwell Fertility Clinic. Regarding a donation on file."

My stomach dropped somewhere around my shoes.

"I don't understand," I croaked.

Who the hell was he, a lawyer? What did Xavier Richards actually do for work? They couldn't really be suing me — this wasn't my fault in the first place.

"I believe you were recently informed that you're pregnant."

The room tilted slightly under me. He was definitely a lawyer.

"How do you know that?"

"Because the sperm used was mine."

I laughed.

I hadn't meant to and he likely thought I was crazy, but I couldn't help the snort that came out of me, and it had nothing to do with anything about this being funny.

"I'm sorry, is this a prank?"

"I wish it were."

"This isn't— I don't even know you."

"No," he agreed. "You don't."

"This doesn't make sense. The clinic told me nothing about this. Why would a big shot be calling me about—"

I stopped myself.

"How do I even know you're really him?"

"You can look me up," he said simply. "I'll wait."

I hung up. I didn't look him up. I stood there in my hallway, keys still in my hand, staring at the phone.

My fingers couldn't seem to do anything other than press stiffly against the screen.

My phone rang again almost immediately.

Same unknown number.

I answered it slower this time.

"I'm sorry I hung up," he said, before I could say anything.

I almost pointed out that it was actually me who had hung up on him — it would have been humiliating, given he'd already offered me a way out.

"I imagine that was a lot to hear, standing in your hallway," he said, and I froze, glancing toward my windows.

"How do you know I'm in my hallway?"

"I don't. It was a guess. With how early it is I assumed you'd be getting ready for work."

I walked away from the corridor, back to the kitchen counter. I pulled out a chair and sat.

"This is real," I said.

It wasn't really a question, and he sounded too serious to be playing with my head.

"It's real."

"You're the father."

"I am."

"You're Xavier Richards."

"Also true."

I pressed my forehead into my palm.

"This is the worst Tuesday of my life."

"For what it's worth," he said, "it's not exactly my best either."

Somehow that comment, made in his deadpan tone, made me laugh properly for the first time in a while.

"I'd like to meet you," he said. "If you're willing. I think we have a lot to discuss."

"Yeah," I breathed. "I think we do."

"Tomorrow? I can come wherever's convenient."

"There's a café near my office. The Tin Cup. Two o'clock."

"I'll be there."

I hung up and sat at the dining room chair, staring at nothing.

I was going to be late for work.

---

I was late for work.

I drifted through the morning meetings like I'd been put on autopilot, signing things I barely read, nodding at conversations I wasn't following. My father's office had never felt so far away even while I was sitting in it.

"You've been odd all morning," my mother said, setting a cup of coffee on my desk that I hadn't asked for and badly needed anyway.

"I'm fine."

"You look like you saw a ghost," she mumbled, setting down some cookies as well.

I took one and bit into it.

"I'm fine, Mama."

Santos leaned against my doorway, a smile forming over his lips. I knew he was about to say something that would get me pissed off.

"You look as white as those cookies," he said, sneaking a hand toward the plate.

I slapped his hand away.

"What the hell is your problem?" I hissed, and he sent me a smug look.

"She's right, you have been odd all morning," he said, unhelpfully repeating exactly what our mother had just said, like he'd discovered it himself.

I flipped him off without looking up from my screen.

"Charming," he said, laughing. "Truly. A delight to be related to."

"Get out of my office."

"It's technically Dad's office."

"Get out of Dad's office," I ground out again.

My mother sighed the long-suffering sigh of a woman about ready to give up trying to referee her children.

"If you all were married with families of your own you wouldn't have time for this," she said, settling into the chair across from my desk like she intended to stay a while.

That didn't look very promising. Santos straightened immediately.

"I have a call," he announced, to absolutely no one, and vanished down the hallway at speed.

Coward.

I couldn't really blame him. He'd heard this conversation before and wanted no part of round two. I wished I could run too.

"Mama—"

"I'm only saying. Marriage is not a bad deal," she said softly. "Bernardo asked about you again."

"Mama, please."

"He's a good man, Marie. He does so much for the community center."

I really didn't want to hear this spiel about how good Bernardo was again. I needed something to shut my mother up.

My mind went back to the phone call that morning, and the baby currently growing in my stomach.

"I have a boyfriend," I blurted.

The words left my mouth before my brain had fully signed off on them. My mother's eyebrows shot up.

"You have a what?"

I opened my mouth, realizing I'd just shot myself in the foot, because I had absolutely nothing to follow that with.

So I just repeated it.

"I have a boyfriend."

My mother's eyes narrowed, like she had sensed blood in the water.

"Since when? What's his name?"

"He's—" I grabbed my bag off the back of my chair, the motion buying me half a second I desperately needed.

"I'll tell you about him properly soon, I promise. I have a meeting, Mama, I really have to go."

"Marie Montez—"

"Love you, bye!"

I was out the door before she could finish my full name, which in our house was never a good sign for whoever was running.

I didn't stop walking until I was three blocks away and rea

sonably sure she hadn't followed me.

I leaned against the wall looking up at the sky.

I had lied to my mother, told her I had a boyfriend.

A boyfriend I most definitely did not have.

God I was so screwed.