Trust Fund Fiance - Naima Simone Page 0,49
as a first love usually does. But...” she swallowed, closing her eyes “...I ended up pregnant.”
Ezekiel stiffened against her, and she braced herself for his reaction. Shock. Disbelief. Pity. Any or all of them would be like a punch to her chest.
He shifted, settling more against his car and drawing her between his spread thighs. Pulling her deeper into his big, hard body. Gentle but implacable fingers gripped her chin and tilted her head back.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart. Look at me.”
She forced herself to comply, and her breath snagged in her lungs. Compassion. Tenderness. Sorrow. But no pity. No disappointment.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, so don’t look down while you give me your truth.”
She stared at him. Nothing to be ashamed of. No one—not her parents, not her brother or sister—had ever said those words to her. But this man did. Against his wishes, she briefly closed her eyes. That or allow him to glimpse the impact of his assurance. He’d said her eyes reflected her feelings, and she didn’t even want to identify the emotion that had her mentally backpedaling. Had fear rattling her ribs and clenching her stomach.
Shoving everything into a lockbox deep inside her, she drew in a breath and lifted her lashes, meeting that piercing green gaze.
“As you can expect, my parents didn’t react well to the news. And yes, I was terrified. Yet I also believed my boyfriend when he said he would never leave me. What I hadn’t counted on was that dedication not measuring up against the check my father waved in front of his face. Dad paid him off, and he disappeared. And my parents... They sent me away. To a girls’ home in Georgia.”
“I remember,” Ezekiel said. “It was just before the school year ended, and Harley was upset because you wouldn’t be with her for the summer. She never mentioned—”
“She didn’t know,” Reagan interrupted, shaking her head. “No one except my family did. My parents didn’t want anyone to find out. I was supposed to go to the home, have the baby and adopt him or her out. I didn’t want to give my baby up, but they were adamant. They were embarrassed and ashamed.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue. “Especially my father. Before, we’d been close. I was a self-admitted daddy’s girl, and there was no man greater than my father in my eyes. But afterward... He couldn’t even look at me,” she whispered.
“And this?” He gently pushed her fingers aside—the fingers that had been absently rubbing the scar on her collarbone.
“When I was about fourteen weeks, I started cramping. I didn’t tell anyone for the first couple of days. But the third morning, pain seized my lower back so hard I doubled over and almost fainted. I did fall, and on the way down I clipped myself on the dresser.” She again stroked the mark that would forever remind her of the worst day of her life. “I lay there on the floor, curled up, bleeding from the wound when I felt a—a wetness between my legs. I was miscarrying.”
“Oh, Ray,” Ezekiel whispered, lowering his forehead to hers, and his breath whispered across her lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Spontaneous miscarriage, they called it,” she continued, needing to purge herself of the whole truth. To cleanse herself of the stain of secrecy. “They told me there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it, but I still felt responsible. That it was my punishment for disobeying my parents, for not being the daughter they deserved, for having unprotected sex, for not being good enough for my boyfriend to stay around, to love me—”
“Sweetheart, no,” he objected fiercely, his brows drawing down in a dark frown as his head jerked back. “None of that is true. It happens. My mother suffered two miscarriages. One before me and one after me. It happens to good people, to women who would’ve made wonderful, loving mothers. It was biological, not penal.” Worry flashed in his eyes. “Were you hurt more than you’re telling me?”
“Do you mean can I still have children? Yes.” Relief swept away the concern from his expression, but she shook her head. “But do I want to? I—I don’t know.” It was a truth she’d never admitted aloud. “It may have happened ten years ago, but the pain, the fear, the grief, the terrible emptiness...” She pressed a palm to her stomach. “I’ll never forget it. And I’m terrified of suffering that again. I don’t want to.