Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1) - R.S. Grey Page 0,95
no betro—”
“Freddie!” Caroline shrieked, suddenly on the brink of tears. “Please don’t do this.”
Her hand was pressed to her stomach as if she were about to be sick, and then there were actual tears slipping down her cheeks.
I reached back and gripped her arm to drag her off the carpet. There would be no honest interviews as long as she was present. I pulled her into the party and bypassed the coat check and the cocktails. I found the first quiet corner and turned to lay into her.
“I’m not playing this game, Caroline.”
She laughed, all signs of tears and sickness completely gone. I knew it’d been an act, but it was still jarring to see how quickly she could change characters. Truly, I’d have nominated her for an Oscar had she not been attempting to ruin my life.
“Do you hear me, Caroline? This isn’t a game.”
“I know, Frederick. Games have multiple outcomes, but the sport we’re playing only has one.”
She was pulling something out of her purse then, a small, square piece of paper. It took me a fraction of a second to realize what it was. A fraction of a second was all it took for my life to come screeching to a halt before my eyes. A fraction of a second was all it took…
“I was hoping to surprise you under more positive circumstances, but after your little outburst, I suppose tonight will do.” She held the square photo up against her stomach for me to see. “Meet your future child, Freddie.”
I HELD THE sonogram in my hand, stunned. “But how…”
She laughed. “When two people have unprotected intercourse, Frederick, sometimes—”
“Shut up. Just shut up.”
I couldn’t stand her mocking me.
“What a way to speak to the mother of your child.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Do try not to get anything on your suit. I’d like to get a few photos of the two of us dressed up. They’ll need a proper photo to run with the pregnancy news.”
My body was shaking with an angry, uncontrollable current. “I won’t let you do this to me.”
She smiled. “Oh yes you will Frederick. You know why? Because you love that little American whore, and you wouldn’t want to make things worse for her.”
I nearly slapped her then. My hand stopped within an inch of her cheek before I remembered we were in the middle of a party.
She tutted. “Striking a pregnant woman?” She brushed my hand away. “Really, Frederick? Don’t make this harder for yourself than it has to be.”
“I won’t ever love you.”
She laughed. “I don’t want your love. I just want to be Her Grace, the Duchess of Farlington.”
Her words hardly surprised me any more. “I’m getting a paternity test.”
“Wise.” She smiled before leaning forward and grabbing hold of my tie. “I assure you though, my dear fiancé, you are the father of this baby.”
The color drained from my face. If this was true and Caroline was pregnant with my child, I had no one to blame but myself. I always used protection, but that last night I’d seen Caroline before Rio was fuzzy. We’d been at my friend’s flat together. I’d spotted her across the room and once I’d stumbled over, she’d gotten me a glass of water and sat me down. Sometime after that, I’d invited her back to my flat so we could have a chat. I wanted to get to know the woman I was supposed to marry. I wanted to know if she was funny or dull, shy or confident.
I had thought she’d turn me down, but she’d come willingly. She’d taken a seat on my couch and unbuttoned her shirt all on her own. I remembered grappling with my equilibrium as I watched her undress. The details were so muddled; I wasn’t sure who made the first move, but I did remember fucking her there, too drunk to register the gravity of the situation.
She was gone in the morning, but she’d left a note beneath a pastry on my kitchen counter.
Perhaps this doesn’t have to be so bad… - C
I saw red. Caroline stared up at me with her big, round eyes. I wanted to kill her then. I could have killed her. The supposed mother of my child. She was evil incarnate and I wanted her out of my life once and for all. I reached down and squeezed the hand she had clamped around my tie. Her brows furrowed and her delicate features contorted in pain.