My father blinks a few times, surprise written all over his face because I dared to speak back to him instead of ducking my head and taking his abuse as if it’s supposed to be love. No more.
When his eyes drift down to my baby bump, the surprise vanishes from his face and is replaced by fury while his skinbecomes red and blotchy. It’s kind of disgusting. And a little bit amusing.
If he weren’t looking at me like I’m a bug he wanted to squish, taking my baby with me, I would laugh at the look on his face. I might be putting on a brave front right now, but I do have some self-preservation instincts still.
He shakes his head as Eric takes a seat in one of the high-back chairs in front of the built-in bookcases filled with leatherbound law books. The smug look on Eric’s face makes me want to throw up all over him, but I swallow down the impulse. He’s a snake; always has been, always will be.
“You know,” my father’s voice pulls my attention back toward him to find him looking me over again, “I thought you were just gaining a little weight.” He chuckles like anything he just said is funny. “I figured you’re getting to the age where women start to let themselves go a little. I didn’t think it was a good idea considering you already knew you were going to need to keep Eric happy as your husband, but…,” he lets his words fall off and punctuates them with a casual shrug like he’s talking about baseball or the weather.
“I will not have a fat wife,” Eric spits out the words, clearly offended at the notion.
My lip curls in disgust before I can stop it and I swear lust shines in Eric’s eyes along with a hint of surprise.
“But then I started hearing whispers and rumors around the office,” my father continues like Eric isn’t a disgusting pig. He waves a hand toward my baby bump, his voice rising and becoming sharper as he plants his hands on his desk and sneers at me as he leans over the furniture, which is a power play all on its own because of its size, “Care to explain?”
My hands go to where my baby is safely growing inside of me. “I’m pregnant,” the words ring out like a shot in the room.
“That’s obvious,” my father mocks with indignation. He points an accusing finger at me, his voice rising an octave, “What I want to know is why you didn’t abort the bastard in your belly the moment you found out about it.”
I gasp, my fingers tightening around my bump as if it’ll be enough to shield my baby from his awful words. It won’t be. Nothing will.
I’ve heard that people’s lives flash in front of them when they face death, and, in this moment, even though I’m not being physically hurt, I don’t see my memories or my regrets. I see the life my baby will have with my father—and my mother who can’t be bothered to love anything beyond herself—in their life. My parents will never be the grandparents to bake cookies or build blanket forts. Their house will never be a place of sanctuary, learning, and fun. With my parents, my baby would learn to be small, to be quiet, to pretend to be something they’re not.
They’ll have the life I had.
I stand up slowly and it has nothing to do with my pregnant belly and everything to do with trying to temper the fire burning inside me.
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, Eric throws out there, “There is no way I’ll be raising another man’s baby.” His voice is casual, but I can hear the threat underneath. “We’ll be announcing our engagement in a month. This won’t reflect well on the Prescott or Page name,” there’s an admonishment in his tone which has me snapping my gaze to him.
Eric is leaning back against the couch as if he has all the time in the world for me to come to my senses, and the overinflatedego which makes him believe I will. He probably wouldn’t have been wrong about me if we were just talking about being trapped in a loveless arranged marriage, one I’d only follow through on in the hope of getting my father’s love, while knowing in my heart it won’t help a damn thing.
But we’re not just talking about me now. We’re also talking about my baby. I can’t even imagine the kind of parent Eric would be under normal circumstances. Add in how this baby isn’t his? I shudder to think about what could happen to my child.
I won’t allow it.
With a glare that should have Eric feeling the hounds of hell nipping at his heels, I turn away from him and look at my father. His eyes widen slightly before he covers his reaction behind a neutral mask. “Did you just call my baby a bastard and tell me I should have aborted them?”
My father snorts, “I thought you were all for a woman’s right to make decisions about her own body?” He rolls his eyes like body autonomy is ridiculous and a woman having a choice about anything is the silliest thing he’s ever heard.
Yes. How ridiculous.
“I am,” I grit the words out through my teeth, “and it’s my choice to keep this baby.”
“Well,” Eric sneers, “I can’t marry you while you’re carrying some other man’s baby. After it’s born and you give it up for adoption, maybe.” He flicks his hand toward me and my mouth parts in shock. His eyes roam over me and darken with lust that makes my skin crawl. “Do you even know who the father is?” He makes a tsking sound and shakes his head like I’ve disappointedhim. “If I thought you were that kind of woman, Avery, we could have been having some fun this whole time.”
“You’re disgusting,” I snarl at him, and he holds his hands up in mock surrender as evident by the look on his stupid fucking face. “I also won’t be putting my baby up for adoption. I’m keeping my baby,” I state without a hint of hesitation or leaving any room for any other option.
“Then I can’t marry you,” Eric states like I should fall at his feet and beg him to reconsider.
“Oh no,” I fake distress as I press my hands to my chest, “whatever will I do?”
“If you don’t marry Eric, you’re of no use to this family,” my father’s voice is cold.
My gaze snaps over to him to see whether he’s serious or not. From the look on his face, he’s more than serious, he’s plotting my demise and my ruin.
He challenges, “You won’t be giving up this baby?” I shake my head no, and my father sighs like I’m the one being difficult and unreasonable. “Then, you’re fired Avery, and you need to move out of the house. We’ll keep your stuff there for 48 hours, but then it’ll all be thrown away or donated.”
His words hit me square in the chest and I stumble back a step. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but before I’m lost in some sort of horrible parent induced shame spiral, I straighten up and stare down my father.
