Two Weeks in Geneva: Book Two (2 page)

“He’s still sleeping, but he should be up soon,” Quinn said, her voice a million miles away.

“What’s his name? His full name.”

“Ethan Alexander Jeffries.”

He closed his eyes and allowed the words sink in, trying not to let the fact that she’d acknowledged him in his son’s name soften his anger too much. After a moment, he glanced back at Quinn, partially for a chance to ask her how she’d chosen the baby’s name and partially to steal a few seconds to calm the maelstrom that swirled inside him at full force. But as he glanced at her stricken face, a tiny, unfamiliar sound, at least to his ears, rose from the crib. He turned back instantly, all else forgotten.

The boy lay on his back, head facing away from them, his chubby little arms and legs churning, and with what Alexander believed was a smile on his face. A wispy riot of dark curls sprang from the top of his head, and his light brown, pink-tinted skin had that smooth, unlined, baby-soft look about it. As if acting of its own volition, his hand reached out and touched Ethan, settling on the baby’s belly, the warmth that flowed through his onesie, the sound of his even breathing, the rapid beat of his heart, making all of this real.

I have a son
.

Alexander stood, hand still on Ethan’s belly, tears pooling in his eyes. The rustle of fabric caught his attention, and when he looked up, he saw Quinn slip out of the door and close it behind her, leaving the two of them alone. He had no idea how long he stood there staring, but Ethan started to stir, his movements becoming more frantic. Then without warning, Ethan opened his eyes and looked directly at him, and all questions or potential doubt flew out the window. Those were his grandfather’s eyes, his father’s eyes, eyes that stared back at him every time he looked at his reflection.

I have a son!

Joy, pure and unadulterated, flooded through him. No matter what happened in the future, what had happened in the past, he was in Ethan’s life and would be forever.

••••

Quinn fluttered around the living room and kitchen, moving from the sofa to the kitchen table and back again, her gaze repeatedly landing on the baby monitor that sat on the counter. Leaving Alexander and Ethan to share that private moment had felt like the right thing to do, but now that she was alone, the rush of what-ifs and maybes flew at her unabated. Alexander had every right to curse her, hate her, but would it go further? She swallowed the lump in her throat, almost too terrified to think the words.

Would he try to take Ethan?

She had to believe he wouldn’t, had to pray he’d be reasonable. But what did she know about being reasonable? While she’d accepted that no one could take the place of a father—the close, loving relationship she’d shared with her own was proof of that—she’d also known Ethan would have a strong, loving, supportive community around him, known that, God willing, he’d be okay. But seeing Alexander as he’d looked at Ethan for the first time, his face a beautiful, terrible mix of pain and exultation, had made her understand in a way she hadn’t before what she’d done to him, what she had taken from him, what she’d never be able to give him back.

She didn’t deserve his pity or his mercy, but she’d ask, beg if she needed to, do anything to try to make it up to him and to keep Ethan with her.

So she sat, listening to Ethan’s soft, cooing sleep noises, letting her love of her baby comfort her as it had so often before. No matter what, she loved that boy in a way she hadn’t even imagined possible, and she knew Alexander would come to feel the same, assuming he already didn’t. She could hear Ethan getting restless; it almost time for him to wake up. She took a breath and quieted her thoughts, wanting to be in the best possible frame of mind when she saw him, mindful that, although he was a baby, he could still be frightened, and the anxious, edgy woman she’d been when Alexander had walked into her office was not the mommy Ethan had come to know.

Calmed and looking forward to holding him again, Quinn stood and walked toward the staircase, but before she’d made it up more than one step, a looming shadow fell across her, and she looked up to see Alexander holding a now-awake Ethan and heading down toward her. Ethan was squirmy, on his way to being fussy, and Alexander descended the stairs and handed him to her without a word, though she could see the pain on his face when Ethan’s whine turned into a coo and he smiled up at her.

Quinn caught Alexander’s gaze, hoping to convey at least a little of how sorry she was before she turned her attention to Ethan.

“Did you have a good nap, sweetie?” she said as she gently bounced him. “I bet you’re hungry. Is your diaper wet?”

“May I help?”

She looked back over at Alexander, who still seem shell-shocked and now looked uneasy, as if he wanted to do something but didn’t quite know what or how.

“Of course.” She smiled at him, hoping the expression was reassuring.

“Somebody needs a diaper change, so why don’t you grab that bag there and bring it to the dining room?” She nodded toward the mammoth black-and-gold duffel she’d converted to a diaper bag.

He sprang into action, grabbing the bag and following her into the small dining room, where she lay Ethan on the changing pad she’d set up there.

“It’s not ideal, the dining-room-nursery-changing-table-multiuse room, but I didn’t consider how often I’d need to go up the stairs if I wanted to change diapers in the nursery exclusively. That alone would have been worth a choosing a ranch instead,” she said as retrieved the items she needed.

“Is the house new? You didn’t live here before?” Alexander asked, his voice somewhat casual even though she could tell he was intently watching her actions.

“Oh, no. I lived in Charlotte, and was condo all the way, but then”—she considered her words carefully, and more importantly considered how Alexander might take them—“it seemed like a good idea to get something bigger, move outside the city, because, you know…” She trailed off, her voice lowering to a whisper as she changed Ethan with the efficiency born of practice.

Alexander didn’t speak, but she could assume what he was thinking.

“Would you like to feed him?” she asked after a few moments of thick silence.

Alexander’s gaze flew up to hers, a mix of longing and fear plain for anyone to see.

“Yes, I would like that very much,” he said.

“Okie doke. Grab the munchkin, and I’ll make his bottle,” she said and waited expectantly, breath a little heavy as she watched Alexander carefully pick Ethan up and settle him against his chest.

“You’re a pro.”

“No. I’ve never done this before. I never had the chance,” he said, bitterness creeping into his words.

“Well then, you’re a natural,” she said brightly, refusing to pay credence to the tension that still simmered.

She headed into the kitchen and washed her hands before grabbing the can of formula and filtered water that she kept to mix it.

“He is three months old, yes?”

“Near four, actually.” She measured the mix and began shaking.

“Why are you not breast-feeding then while he is so young? Everyone says it’s healthier.”

She shook the bottle a little harder before she responded, “It wasn’t feasible, so we switched to formula.”

“Who is ‘we,’ and why was it not feasible?” he said, voice initially sharp before he lowered it after glancing at Ethan, who let out a wail.

She hurried her preparations as Ethan’s wail was followed by another, then another, until he was full-on crying. When she finished, she pulled away from the counter, crossed the kitchen to stand in front of them, smiled at the baby, patted his head, trying to comfort him, and then looked up at Alexander. “We’ll take about this later. Right now, somebody’s hungry,” she said as she blew a kiss at Ethan, an extra-high-pitched wail his response.

Alexander’s eyes widened slightly at the sound, and a look of panic crossed his face. But that didn’t keep him from saying, “Yes, we will, Quinn. We’ll talk about a lot of things later.”

His unyielding tone promised—or threatened—that they would.

She shook off the ominous words and grabbed a blanket off the table and threw it over his shoulder.

“This is a very necessary precaution,” she ensured after his quizzical look. “And it probably still won’t protect you that much. The kid has a knack for finding unprotected places to drool, puke, pee, or poop, but we do what we can.”

A thin line of a smile crossed his face, and she handed him the bottle before helping him settle the baby just so in the crook of his arm. Ethan hungrily latched on and begin sucking, one hand waving wildly in the air and the other lying on top of Alexander’s as he held the bottle. But, unlike most other feedings, where Ethan’s gaze excitedly jumped from one thing to another in the room, this time, his gaze found Alexander’s and stayed there. Tears pooled in Alexander’s eyes, making them spring up in her own. She knew firsthand the awe and wonder he now felt, remembered so well the first time she’d looked into her son’s eyes and had him look back at her, remembered how a piece of her heart, actually probably the whole damned thing, had been irretrievably taken by that gaze.

Then Ethan looked away, attention caught by something or another, and the moment was broken. Alexander looked at her then, tears still in his eyes, and she knew a reckoning was coming.

Several hours later, or three diaper changes and another bottle, depending on how she counted, it was time for Ethan’s bath and bedtime. Alexander had been there the entire afternoon, helping out where he could and holding Ethan as much as the baby would allow. The two seemed fascinated with each other. Ethan, a normally happy baby anyway, smiled and stared at Alexander more than he had any other new person. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, an attempt to assuage her guilt. Whatever the case, her heart soared at the soft look in Alexander’s eyes when he gazed at Ethan, and alternately sank at the crushing defeat she saw there when Ethan reached for her or squirmed away from Alexander’s grasp.

“He seems upset,” Alexander said, some of the few words that hadn’t been directed at Ethan in the past couple hours.

“I usually give him a bath and put him down around this time, and he definitely needs to slee—”

A knock on the door cut her off midsentence.

Quinn’s gaze flitted to the door, and then she walked over and looked through the peephole, the softening of her mouth and eyes making him wonder who was on the other side. She quickly unlocked and opened the door, and in walked a man, his easy stride suggesting he was not unfamiliar with entering Quinn’s home.

The stranger smiled at Quinn and leaned down to place a quick kiss on her cheek, and given how tall he was, he bent pretty far to reach the relatively diminutive Quinn. He placed an arm around Quinn’s shoulders, projecting an air of casualness that Alexander didn’t buy for a second. The man had a keen gaze, and in the few moments he’d been inside, he’d assessed Quinn, spotted Ethan, and sized up Alexander.

“Verna send you over here, Joe?”

“You know that woman wouldn’t ask me for anything. I just wanted to drop in, see how you and the munchkin were doing. Is everything okay here?”

The words were said to Quinn, but the man looked directly at him as he pulled Quinn closer, tucking her under his arm, his calm demeanor and loose-limbed stance only serving to convince Alexander he was far more dangerous than he appeared. And the man, a couple inches taller than Alexander’s own almost two-meter height, with heavily muscled frame, looked plenty dangerous. He was again heartened that Quinn, and by extension Ethan, had someone looking out for them, and this man seemed more than capable. But still, his masculine pride and a previously unknown possessive streak rose inside him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to stake his claim, make it clear that he could take care of what was his.

He leveled an icy stare at them and felt an undeniable surge of satisfaction when Quinn put space between she and Joe.

“I am Alexander Montague. Ethan’s father.”

It was the first time he’d spoken the words out loud, and he was struck by how right they felt coming from his mouth.

The man—Joe—held Alexander’s gaze for a moment longer, and then seemingly mollified, nodded and looked back down at Quinn.

“Remember I’m next door, Quinn,” he said and walked out the door.

“A friend of yours?” Alexander asked as the
click
of the closing door faded, hating that the question in his tone revealed how unhappy the idea made him.

Quinn nodded. “That’s Joe, my friend and next-door neighbor. Only a friend,” she said with a finality that comforted him.

Still, he wasn’t ready to let the issue go and used the opportunity to plunge headlong into the undoubtedly unpleasant conversation that lay ahead. “And he knows Ethan? Spent time with him when his father didn’t even know he existed?”

Her could see her deflate, appear to physically sink into herself, and a woeful look crossed her face, tears pooling in her eyes. But Alexander refused to feel guilty. He’d missed the first months of his son’s life; he was entitled to anger and harsh words, entitled to much more than that.

“I’m sorry, Alexander. I know I can’t ever make up for the time you’ve lost, but I am, truly, deeply, sorry,” she said.