Johnson Family 2: Perfect (21 page)

“Do you need something?” His eyes searched her face. He would give her whatever she needed. He hoped she at least knew that.

“I need to talk to you,” she replied.

“How long have you been waiting here?” he asked.

“Not long. I figured you’d be working late.” Her smile was timid. “Do you mind if I come up?”

He almost said no, because he couldn’t tolerate having her presence in his new sanctuary. At least there only his thoughts tormented him, but if Daniella came upstairs, he’d have the memory of seeing her in this new space, too.

His own selfish urges won out.

“Sure, you can come up,” he said with a curt nod.

Neither of them spoke all the way up to the tenth floor. They stood at opposite ends of the elevator, the way strangers do. At the presidential suite, he opened the door and let her enter first, using the opportunity to assess the way the material of her skirt stretched over her plump little ass. She smelled good, too, and he wanted to lean closer and gratify his senses with the scent of her. The light in the entryway illuminated her hair, giving it the appearance of smooth silk. He wanted to sift his fingers through the lush strands and experience their softness again, but he fought the urge.

In the living room he set down his briefcase and tossed his jacket over the back of the sofa.

She stood awkwardly in the center of the room. “This is nice.”

Earth tones dominated the room’s decorations, and in the living room, dining room, and bedroom he had great views of Elliott Bay through the floor to ceiling windows.

“It’s fine, and big enough to suit my purposes.” This was what they’d devolved to—inane pleasantries about his living arrangements. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I don’t know how to say this.” Daniella wrung her hands together. Now that she was here, she was a nervous wreck to tell Cyrus her news. She stared down at her shoes, summoning the courage to say the words she’d practiced all day. She finally looked up at him. “I’m pregnant.”

No movement from him, no reaction at all. He stared at her as if he was disoriented. She understood the feeling. She’d been shocked herself when the doctor told her. Once the initial surprise wore off, she’d recognized the opportunity her pregnancy presented. It was a chance to start a family with the man she loved, and an ace in the hole she’d been waiting for to orchestrate a reconciliation between them.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

His gaze fell to her waistline. Then there was the smallest of movements—a twitch right above his eyebrow before he abruptly turned away as if he could no longer bear to look her. His shoulders became as taut and rigid as wooden planks.

“How far along are you?”

“Ten weeks,” she replied, and she could almost see him doing the math to determine the time of conception, the same as she had, when she’d figured out she’d gotten pregnant in
Málaga
.

He’d have to take her back now. She tossed her hair, fluffing it with her fingers. Wearing her hair down had been a calculated decision because she knew he liked it this way.

The cadence of her heart sped up as she waited, anticipated he would tell her they had to stay married. That he wanted a prominent role in his child’s life and they would live together as husband and wife—as a family—to make sure that happened. Their child would be the bridge to bring them back together, the way they were before he found her prescription. He’d had feelings for her. She’d seen it in his face and in his actions.

“Joint custody is the only arrangement I’ll accept.” Cyrus’s voice sounded detached, hollow. “That’s nonnegotiable. I’ll have my lawyer draw up new papers to include child support.”

What? Her heart juddered and then stopped before starting again at an even faster, panicked pace. That wasn’t the response she’d expected.

“I’m carrying your baby.”

“Which you didn’t want in the first place,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion and his body still ramrod straight. “I understand, and I want to make this as easy for you as possible, which includes giving you the house, as you requested, and of course enough to maintain it.” He continued to stare out of the window into the night.

Why wouldn’t he look at her? They should be celebrating right now. Why didn’t he grab her and hug her and tell her of his excitement? That all was forgiven and they could start over?

Daniella licked her dry lips, true panic setting in. He was supposed to come back home. “I don’t understand. You love that house,” she said, hoping she’d effectively hidden the dismay in her voice. Her last chance to hold onto him was slipping away. Why was he giving her all of these
things
?

He turned away from the window and studied her for long seconds before responding. “It’s just a house. It’s not that important. You’ll need it more than I do with the baby coming. This place serves my needs.”

For the first time she noticed he wasn’t wearing his ring. He’d worn that ring for the three years of their separation. Now it was gone, and the shock of its absence splintered her heart into fragments. He’d officially given up on their marriage.

He didn’t even want the house—his beloved house. He would give her anything she wanted to get rid of her.

She drifted back into the conversation, catching the last bit of his current sentence. “…get Shaun to start research on someone to help with the baby.”

Eyes on her feet, Daniella nodded numbly, afraid if she tried to speak she’d fall to her knees, grab him about the ankles, and beg him to forgive her.

“So everything is settled?” he asked.

She barely managed to nod again—paralyzed, finding it hard to move.

“Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate you coming to tell me in person.” So impersonal, as if he was thanking one of his employees.

Tears burned the back of her throat, but she managed to keep her composure. She could barely see her feet through the cloud of tears.

She couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him.

Where was her purse? Daniella scanned the room.

Forget it. She’d leave it. She had to get out. Everything around her was distorted because of the moisture in her eyes. She blinked rapidly and rushed toward the door. A tear crept from the corner of her eye, and she brushed it away.

“Dani?”

His voice halted her escape. She placed a hand to her stomach to smother the pain expanding there. What was he going to give her now? More money? Another car? Another house?

“I can’t do this.” The words were spoken so low, she almost didn’t hear them. His voice sounded strangled. Strained, even. “I can’t…I can’t let you go. I know it makes me selfish, and I’m an asshole, but you have to give me another chance. I want…” His voice fell off, the heaviness of it calling out to her. She held her breath as she listened. “We’ll go on more dates, and we’ll take things slow. Real slow. Slower than we did before. I…I can’t let you go again, Dani. I’m miserable without you. I need you. I love you. I want us to raise our child together. I can’t get through the rest of my life without you.”

She finally faced him, her emotions no longer a precarious jumble because he’d said the words she’d longed to hear. Slowly, she moved toward him. Then stopped. “You love me?”

He stood proudly, his handsome face taut with tension, his chin tilted up and body braced like a fighter preparing for a blow. “Yes, and I’m not giving up on us. I refuse to—”

He never finished because she rushed toward him and wrapped her arms around his body, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Dani?” Confusion colored his voice, and she laughed. It was a shaky but contented sound.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she whispered.

Cradling her face in his hands, he tilted her head up and searched her eyes, clearly unable to believe what he’d heard. The coffee-dark eyes of her big, strong, invincible husband were filled with anxiety, and the frown he wore was so cute.

With her fingertip, she traced the crease in his forehead and made the lines disappear. “I love you, Cyrus, and I don’t want to go through life without you, either.”

Long seconds ticked slowly by before her words finally registered. A wide grin broke out on his face, like nothing she’d ever seen before. There was no arrogance or smugness, only pure and simple joy. He rested his forehead against hers. “Dani, you’re my life. I was so lost without you.” He planted a tender kiss on her mouth, and she sighed with happiness.

“I was lost without you, too.”

Epilogue

Their son arrived in the world with an imperious cry forewarning everyone that even at such a young age he was ready to take over the world. They named him Michael Andrew—giving him the middle name of his father and his grandfather, but his own first name. Family members had been surprised, some even disappointed, expecting a Cyrus the third. But Daniella understood how important it was for her husband to allow their son to have his own identity, and she supported his decision.

The family’s PR firm released the name and photos to the press to avoid the mad dash for the first image of the newest member of the Johnson family dynasty.

For his part, Cyrus was as involved as he could be with their son’s care. Xavier working at the company allowed him to pass on some of the operations, which freed him to come home a little earlier and significantly cut the time he had to travel for business.

Every free moment he had, he spent with his son, playing and talking to him. A spare playpen had been set up in his home office, with plenty of colorful toys for Michael to occupy himself with. Yet it wasn’t unusual to see Cyrus holding his son in one hand and typing with the other. Michael was also captivated with his father. He was especially drawn to his voice. Every time he heard it, he turned in his father’s direction and stared, his brown eyes wide and alert, as if soaking up bits of knowledge in every single word.

****

Daniella said goodnight to her father and hung up the phone. She climbed the stairs to the second floor. She and Carlos spoke on a regular basis now, but tonight’s conversation had lasted longer than usual.

The upstairs hall was quiet. Outside the nursery door she met the nanny, a buxom black woman they’d hired from England to help with Michael’s care.

“He won’t let me do my job,” the nanny whispered, a frown settling over her features.

They’d discussed the situation before, how whenever Cyrus was around, the nanny seldom had the opportunity to take care of Michael. The woman was worried she would be seen as useless and then dismissed, and Daniella’s reassurances hadn’t been enough.

“I’ll take care of it.” She patted the nanny’s arm.

“Well…”

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Daniella said with a smile.

“All right, then.” She still appeared uncertain and lingered for a moment before finally taking the stairs down to the lower level.

Daniella entered the nursery to find Cyrus seated in the wing back chair beside the baby’s crib. He held four-month-old Michael in one arm, safe and sound against his bare chest, both of them fast asleep. She stood there for a moment, taking private pleasure in watching them both. She’d snapped photos of them like this before, so it was nothing new, but the sight still warmed her insides.

Cyrus was every bit the doting father she’d expected him to be. She couldn’t imagine what the employees and business people he dealt with every day would think if they saw him the way he was tonight—in a pair of dark slacks, cradling his son against his chest. He could bottle feed and burp with the best of them. Changing diapers was another matter altogether. Whenever his son soiled his diaper, Cyrus always found her or the nanny, holding his son away from him with a wrinkled nose. It was the only time he would willingly hand him over.

He claimed he was no good at changing diapers. Cyrus Johnson, who did everything perfectly. Yeah, right. She smiled to herself as she watched him. That was his excuse so he wouldn’t have to perform the unsavory task.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered his name. His eyes flew open and he blinked several times to catch himself. “Time for you to go to bed.”

He had an early meeting before a flight to London the next day. They were still searching for someone to head up European production. A headhunting firm had narrowed down and vetted the list of candidates, and he and Xavier were on their way to London to interview Hardy Malcomb’s potential replacements.

She lifted their son out of Cyrus’s arms and Michael protested, whimpering until she rocked him back to sleep with soothing caresses to his back. She kissed her little bundle’s soft cheek before placing him carefully in the crib. When she turned around she saw Cyrus staring at their son between the slats. He was always staring at their son, as if he still couldn’t believe Michael actually existed.

She took his hand. “Come on.”

She led him into their bedroom and sat him on the bed. She knelt before him and removed his shoes and socks. When she stood and started unbuckling his belt, he pulled her between his legs, and his hands slipped to her bottom.

“How’s your father?” he asked.

“They want us to come visit,” she said. Carlos and his wife had moved to the beautiful island of St. John. He had invited her, Cyrus, and Michael to come see them, and she’d promised to discuss it with Cyrus. A year ago she would never have guessed she could have such a fulfilling relationship with her father. The resentment she felt toward his wife was still hard to set aside, but she was working on it.