Suddenly Expecting (11 page)

Her and Marco.

Marco’s reality was being absent six months out of the year. And the truth was, she didn’t want him 30, 50, even 80 percent of his time. She needed his 100 percent commitment. But she also knew she couldn’t ask that of him.

She unlocked the door to her third-floor apartment and went in, tossing her bag onto the kitchen counter and yanking open the fridge.

Honestly, it’d be easier for both of them if she raised this child by herself.

She could do that. She’d take time off work, hire a nanny. Women did it all the time, and she was in the fortunate position of having a healthy bank account to ease the burden.

And yet...

Hadn’t she always resented her parents’ piecemeal approach to parenting? Oh, her mother had been there when she could, but she’d been so involved in her work as an exclusive events planner she’d missed the bulk of Kat’s high school activities. And her father... Well, she had as much chance of flying the starship
Enterprise
as she had of seeing him there for her. It would’ve been a shock to actually have her father attend something.

Their long and pointed absences had hurt the most, the overwhelming feeling that they’d just simply lost interest, gotten bored or had something more important to focus on shaping her insecurity all the way through high school. The familiar thread of instability still made her gut tighten even now.

Except she wasn’t her mother’s daughter, was she? Maybe they hadn’t been totally committed because the blood bond that tied normal families together wasn’t there. Maybe she was a disappointment, someone they’d not come to expect much of. And when her mother had become sick—

A sudden sickening realization swept over her, and she grabbed the bench for support.

If Nina wasn’t her biological mother, and they’d known all along...

Then they’d know she wasn’t a carrier or infected.

They had
known.
And not told her. For nearly fourteen years, her father had had so many opportunities to reveal this information, to put her mind at rest. But he hadn’t. He’d let her go on believing every single day that her body was a ticking time bomb and that she could fall sick at any time.

The cry that erupted from her throat was almost primeval. She actually felt physically sick.

How on earth could the secret of her birth be more important than her physical and mental health?

Her hand shook as she poured a glass of juice and then quickly placed the carton on the bench. Her head hurt just trying to sort through everything. She could either make herself crazy going around in circles about it, or she could do something. Except until she saw her father, there was nothing
to
do.

Wrong. She could start to preempt the damage.

She grabbed her phone from the bench and scrolled through the contacts, finally calling a Brisbane number she’d never thought she’d need again—the publicist who’d skillfully navigated her around her last disastrous divorce, then those awful photos.

“Emma?” she said when the woman picked up. “It’s Kat Jackson. I need to hire you.”

Nine

T
hree days later, after Kat had begged off early on Friday afternoon, she and Marco managed to get a flight into Brisbane, and Kat arranged to meet her father at work during his lunch hour. Not that he actually took one, she thought, as they both rode the elevator up to the executive offices of Jackson & Blair International Investments. She’d grown up on the stories of how her father and Stephen Blair had overcome the odds of humble family beginnings to develop their business. How they’d used their trademark determination and ruthlessness to throw every penny and waking moment into what was now one of Australia’s top-ten investment companies.

And with such a sacrifice came a price. She barely remembered her father during her childhood. Instead he stood out by his lengthy absences—the times her mother had brought her to the offices for their “quality time,” the weekends vying for his attention when he’d been on the phone, in his office or hunched over some important papers. In that, she and Connor had bonded, recognizing similar upbringings but rarely needing words to confirm it.

If Keith Jackson had intimidated her growing up, Stephen Blair had done so tenfold. Even now, passing by his office on their way to her father’s, catching a bare glimpse of his towering, expensively suited presence in heavy discussion with similarly suited men, was enough to set her nerves on edge. He was a man who silently judged, for whom perfection meant everything, and nothing was good enough unless it was his way.

What a nightmare for Connor to have a father like that.

Five minutes later, Kat left Marco in the waiting room and strode into her father’s office, a mix of anger, intimidation and frustration congealing in her belly.

Calm. Stay calm.
She had the truth on her side, and she had the courage to confront him because what he did was wrong.

“Katerina,” Keith Jackson said with a thin smile as she walked into his office then closed the door behind her. “I’m surprised the network let you go amidst all the cyclone coverage.”

“It’s only one afternoon.” Not to Grace it wasn’t, and she had the feeling her boss would be calling in the favor fairly soon.

“So, what’s so urgent you had to fly down to Brisbane to talk to me?”

She took a seat opposite him, saying nothing. On the two-hour flight south, she’d rehearsed this over and over, until her head spun and she’d exhausted herself.

It simply wasn’t possible for her father
not
to know. Which meant beyond a shadow of a doubt that he also knew the chances of her having her mother’s disease were low to none.

He could have told her anytime. They both could have told her. Instead they’d said absolutely nothing, letting her go through the pain, the anguish, then the ultimate decision to not get tested. Anger had surged every time she thought about that, so she’d vowed to not think about it until she had confirmation. Then she could silently go to pieces.

“I need to ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth, okay?”

His eyebrows went up, mouth in an impatient “okay” expression, as if she’d just told him she was buying a new handbag or going to the Gold Coast for the weekend.

“Dad,” she said without preamble, her gaze direct. “Am I adopted?”

His expression froze, a perfect display of shock and confusion all rolled into one. She waited calmly as he leaned back in his chair with a dark frown, his face faintly flushed.

“What kind of question is that?” he said tightly.

“A perfectly legitimate one, considering it’s impossible for Mum’s blood type, O, to produce a child of my AB type.”

His long pause was telling. “And why on earth are you getting blood tests? I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“I’m pregnant, Dad.” Wow, that came out way smoother than she’d practiced. It felt liberating, actually. “And I wanted to know if I had the disease. I don’t, by the way. But then, you probably already knew that, considering Mum isn’t really my mother.”

She’d never seen him so still. Wow, she’d actually robbed him of speech—an ironic first. Swallowing the hysterical little laugh, she just slowly folded her arms and stared at him. And yet, he said nothing.

Great. It was up to her, then.

“Did you have an affair? Did the woman leave you with the baby?”

“No!” He flushed again, this time deeper. “That’s ridiculous.”

“So I’m adopted.”

His nod, when it came, was frustratingly short.

She clamped down hard on her anger, but it still ended up bubbling over. “Oh, my God, Dad! I’ve had that disease hanging over my head for
years,
sitting there in the back of my mind, a death sentence.” She sprung to her feet, fury flushing her face hot. “How the
hell
can you justify not telling me? Why on earth would you let me go through all those years of worry, of thinking...of thinking...” She couldn’t stand there and finish the sentence, not with her father’s face twisted into such uncharacteristic lines of pain that it hurt her heart just to look at him.

It was like the night of her mother’s death, the only time she’d ever seen him weak and vulnerable, a man without power, without control. Just a man.

It had scared the hell out of her. Just as it did now.

She slowly sat, hands gripped on the armrests. “So why adopt? And why keep it a secret?” Her gaze softened. “Dad, if Mum couldn’t have kids, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Because we made a promise.”

“To whom?”

When he shook his head, her irritation spiked again. “Dad, tell me!”

He scowled. “Why bring this up now, Kat? Don’t you have other things to worry about—like how the press is going to react to you being pregnant?”

She blinked and bit back a curse.
That
was what he was worried about? “I’m handling that.”

His expression was borderline skeptical. “Right.”

Dark, hot anger surged, making her skin tingle with the power of it, but her voice was calm, unwavering. “We’re talking about my blood tests, Dad.”

Oh, she desperately wanted to spill the entire story of the past few days, throw the false positive in his face and reveal her anguish, anger and every other single emotion that had accompanied it. She even choked on a sob as the words caught in her throat, but at the very last minute she clenched her fists and bit her tongue.

He lapsed into silence again, and she just stared at him. She knew her face reflected all the thoughts and emotions bubbling to the surface, every single one of them. When he broke eye contact first, she took just a little joy in that.

“Your mother wanted to tell you, you know,” he said, carefully moving his coffee cup from the corner of the desk to the middle. “Many times.”

“Why didn’t she?”

He sighed. “The timing was never quite right. Because she knew you’d start asking questions, and she couldn’t answer any of them.” He slid her a glance. “That was why we never pushed you to get tested. The likelihood of you being positive was practically nonexistent.”

She swallowed, dragged in a shaky breath as the past few days crashed over her.
You’re negative. The test was negative, remember?
“Who are my birth parents?”

He paused a moment. “I can’t tell you. I gave my word.”

“Who on earth would make you promise something like that? Who would hold either so much power or so much loyalty...that...that...” She petered out, her mind clicking through the possibilities until she finally latched on to something crazy, something so far-fetched that she realized it fit perfectly.

No. It couldn’t be
him.

And yet...

It so totally could.

But that would mean...

Her back straightened in the chair. “It’s Stephen Blair, isn’t it?”

“No,” he snapped quickly, the tight lines bracketing his mouth deepening.

It was so quick she barely had time to register it—the tiny twitch of a muscle near his eye, the clench of his hand. The almost imperceptible thinning of his lips. All signs of guilt.

“It so is.” She stood, head spinning. “And I’m going to ask him.”

“You will not!”

Her father’s harsh command stopped her midturn. Slowly she turned back to face him, and his expression—a mix of fury, tension and...yes, fear—was enough to temper her anger.

“Tell me, Dad,” she said softly. “Please.”

He paused, pursing his lips. She could practically see his brain working through the different outcomes of telling versus silence.

Thankfully, he made his decision quickly. “You can’t say anything. Not even to Connor.”

She blinked, gripping the chair back for support as the implication suddenly sank in.
Oh, God. Connor was...

Connor was her
brother.
This was...

She couldn’t even wrap her head around this. Connor. Her brother. Stephen. Her father. So...

“Who’s my mother?”

He sighed then nodded to the chair. “Sit.”

* * *

Marco sat in the waiting room, flicking through his phone and resisting the urge to get up and pace. For the fifth time he glanced up at the receptionist, and just as she had those five times before, she quickly dropped her gaze and hurriedly pretended to be doing something else.

Finally he strode over to the huge twentieth-floor window, to the panoramic view of Brisbane spread before him.

He sighed. When Kat was growing up, Keith Jackson had been the quintessential workaholic, but where he was gruff, terse and had little time for people other than his social circle, Kat’s mother, Nina, had been his polar opposite. Whenever Kat talked about her mother, her face lit up, her eyes alight with love, even though she hadn’t been a perfect parent herself. Marco had lost count of how many times he’d watched Kat swallow disappointment over her mother’s prior commitments and broken promises. Yet all of that had become unimportant in the wake of her illness. And boy, he clearly remembered the time Kat had turned up on his doorstep in France, barely a few weeks after her mother had died. It was as if something essential had been stolen, something he wasn’t sure she’d get back. But slowly, over time, she’d found her way back to who she was—his Kat. Changed, with added maturity, yes. But still Kat, deep down.

“I’m sorry, but aren’t you Marco Corelli?”

His thoughts scattered, and as he glanced up at the receptionist, he quickly put on an automatic polite smile. “I am.”

Her grin widened. “I knew it! My little brother plays local league and watches the European games religiously on cable. He’s so excited for the World Cup selection next year, I can’t tell you.” She laughed. “He’ll be so jealous I got to meet you.”

Marco couldn’t help but return her smile. “Thanks. We’re all pretty excited about the selection, too.”

“So will you be calling the match again? Our whole neighborhood stops to watch, you know,” she added, rising from her seat, clutching pen and paper.

“That’s the plan.” When he held out his hand, she shook it in silent awe, and for the next few minutes, he answered her breathless questions, signed an autograph and smiled for a photo.

“Congratulations on the FFA award, by the way,” she said, finally returning to her seat as the phone began to ring. “My cousins in Sydney will be stalking the red carpet on the night.” She paused and picked up the handset with a smirk. “I’ll have to text them that photo and make them jealous. Good morning, Jackson & Blair. How may I help you?”

“Marco?”

His soft laugh abruptly cut off and he whirled at the sound of Kat’s voice, her pale face choking off the last of his amusement. He said nothing, just pushed the doors open for her, sent the receptionist a smile and a wave and followed Kat to the elevators.

“Well?” he asked as they rode down to the ground floor. “What did he say?”

She opened her mouth once, then closed it, then just stared at him, a dumbfounded expression on her face.

He gently took her shoulders. “Kat?”

“I am...” She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe it. “My father is...”

“Yes?”

She dragged in a harsh breath. “My birth father is Stephen Blair. Connor is my half brother.”

His soft expletive bounced off the walls, but she barely winced, just turned back to the elevator doors, staring as the descending floor numbers lit up.

“Apparently Stephen had an affair with his housekeeper’s daughter and I was the result.” Her mouth thinned. “This was after my mum discovered she had motor neuron and decided not to have kids.”

“And where’s the housekeeper now?”

“They paid her off and she moved back to New Zealand. She died a few years ago.”

He scowled.

“So they adopted you? Why keep it a secret? And how?”

“They went to the States for a year to hide the fact my mother couldn’t get pregnant.” She sighed. “Stephen begged my father not to say anything—gave him the whole ‘my wife will divorce me, my life will be ruined, the company will suffer’ spiel. Dad agreed.”

“And your dad just told you this voluntarily.”

“Well, not at first.” Her mouth thinned.

He paused, digesting that information.

“So are you going to tell Connor?”

The doors slid open and they walked through the elegant marble and crystal ground floor. “If you were him, would you want to know?”

He nodded. “Yes, I would. What about Stephen? Are you going to tell him you know?”

She remained silent as they pushed through the turnstile doors out onto George Street.

“I don’t know.” Her expression tightened. “I think it’s a fair bet to say he won’t care.”

“Yeah.” He glanced around then leaned in. “Whatever you decide, if you tell Connor—things always have a way of getting out.” At her look, he added, “I’m not saying any of us would deliberately say anything. But the more people who know, the higher the chances.”

She nodded then cast a casual glance up then down the busy Brisbane street, scanning the people going about their day. He noticed one or two do a double take as they passed, and he knew it was Kat they recognized and not him. The pull of her celebrity still amazed him, even after nearly a year of absence from the headlines.