Accidental Father (2 page)

Though she tried not to judge people, she'd learned enough about Lejardin from Marissa's stories to sum him up. This guy had superficial written all over him. He was too good-looking, from the obviously fake highlights in his hair—what kind of a man indulged in hair color if he couldn't even pay child support?—to his clean, trimmed fingernails, to the soles of his fine leather loafers.

She could see how the average woman would find him very attractive. But how in the world had Marissa fallen for a man like this? Her sister had always seemed above superficialities. It was simply the nature of her work as a foreign aid worker. Marissa was a humanitarian. She'd been attracted to men with a social conscience, men who put themselves on the front line to help others like she did.
Not pretty boys who hid behind a law degree in a Parisian office.

With a shaky hand, she took off her glasses and fought the urge to curl her lip. It was easier to look him square in his green-rimmed hazel eyes when her vision was slightly blurry. It distracted her from the way he was staring so intently at her.

“I'm not the one who needs your help.” She held his gaze as his smile morphed from congenial into concern. “I'm here on behalf of your son.”

The smile stayed firmly in place even as incomprehension clouded those hazel eyes. “Pardon? I must have misunderstood. I thought you said
my son?
”

Julianne shook her head. “No, you heard me correctly. I'm here on behalf of your son. Liam. Marissa may have let you off the hook, but I'm here to tell you that it is time for you to step up and take responsibility for your child.”

She waited for him to say something. Anything. Or at least to act contrite, to show some emotion other than denial. But all he did was stare at her as if she were a mad woman.

Then he cleared his throat. “I'm sorry. You must have the wrong man. I do not have a child.”

She frowned. Now he was making her mad. She hadn't come here to listen to lies.

“What kind of a man denies his son's existence? Do you think if you pretend he isn't there he'll go away? That may have worked with my sister, but she's gone now and so you have to deal with me. I'm not going to accept your shoddy excuses.”

 

Alex was used to dealing with difficult people who flung crazy accusations. It was the nature of his position at iWITNESS—hearing reports of human rights abuse, verifying them and then exposing the heinous acts to the world and using his considerable contacts to apply political pressure so that the countries where these injustices happened were forced to stop the inhumane action.

What threw him was being the subject of the accusation. Especially when the allegation simply wasn't true. He didn't have a son. If he did, he certainly wouldn't deny his child's existence. It took him less than ten seconds to regroup.

“Ms. Waterford, please sit down.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Obviously, there's been a misunderstanding. Perhaps we can talk and clear up the confusion?”

She looked agitated. Even after removing her glasses, her blue eyes were a tempestuous sea that threatened to batter him with a storm of fury.

When she remained standing, he repeated, “Sit
down. Please.” His words were softer this time. “You're Marissa's sister, aren't you?”

She leveled him with a dark, layered glare.

“Of course I am. I'd have no reason to be here otherwise.”

He nodded.

Finally, she sat, smoothing the fabric of black slacks that peeked out from beneath the folds of her tan coat. Perching on the edge of the seat as if she didn't plan to stay long, she brushed her long, dark hair off her shoulder.

That's when he noticed her fingers were shaking.

She was obviously distraught—overwrought, even. Why else would she think he had a son? Why would she take it so personally?

With all the experience he had helping people who'd been through tragedy and lived through hell on earth, he should've known the perfect thing to say to Julianne to comfort her. But for a moment, words failed him. Until all he could say was, “Will you start from the beginning?”

She seemed to size him up for an eternity. “You and Marissa obviously had your differences.”

Differences?
“No. Not really. We were good friends. I was deeply saddened by her death.”

Julianne silenced him with a raised hand.

“Good friends? That's all she was to you? A good friend? Is that how you rationalized leaving her and Liam?”

Alex heard the rising pitch of her voice. The woman looked ready to launch out of her chair at him. And for what? What on earth did he have to do with someone else's child?

“Who is Liam? Look, you've been talking in riddles since you arrived. I can't help you unless you help me understand. Are you in some sort of trouble? If you are, I will help you in any way I'm able. Because your sister was a very dear friend.”

Friends. That's all they'd been.
Yet, that old familiar pang coursed through him as memories of
that night,
that moment of weakness, that horrendous breach of good sense when he'd failed Marissa and jeopardized their friendship by crossing the line.

The way Julianne was looking at him, it was almost as if she knew.

Mon Dieu, would Marissa have told her sister?

Alex bit back an oath and hid his rising panic from Julianne by turning toward his desk, under the guise of sitting down.

When he was facing her again, he asked, “Is this Liam you speak of Marissa's son?”

“Your son.” She looked exasperated, as if she wanted to yell,
That's what I've been trying to tell you.

One time. He and Marissa had slept together one time.

But
one time
was all it took.

Obviously.

“How old is the boy?”

It took every bit of strength Alex could muster to keep his voice steady. His mind raced to do the math: If Marissa carried the baby nine months…and it had been nearly two years since he'd last seen her—since
that night
…the child would have to be just over a year to even possibly be his.

“He'll be fourteen months old on the twenty-eighth of this month,” Julianne said. “I have his birth certificate right here. Your name is on it.” Fourteen months.

She'd said the words as though they were any words: “Nice weather we're having” or “I like dogs.”

Fourteen months.

The time frame fit. Oh, hell.

 

As Alex Lejardin studied Liam's birth certificate he looked as if he'd seen a ghost. He sat there and stared at the paper for a long time—his features
blank, the color fading from his sun-bronzed cheeks.

If she didn't know differently, she might believe this was the first he'd heard of Liam. But she knew better. Marissa had told her he knew. Marissa had said Alex left when he found out she was pregnant. That he had chosen not to be part of Liam's life. Marissa had come to terms with it, but Julianne wasn't going to let Alex get away with denying all knowledge of the boy.
The liar.

“Look, don't worry,” she said, mustering the strength to say what she came to say. She had to say it, just spit out the words, because the longer she danced around the issue, the harder it would be. “I'm not here to ask you to take custody of him. But a little financial support would certainly help the boy. Marissa had no life insurance, no benefits—another hazard of the thankless job that cost her her life.”

She choked on the last word and bit her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay. She hated this—everything about it. Losing her sister. Having an orphaned nephew. And now, being forced to face Alex Lejardin with her hand out. Begging for money went against every fiber in her being. She was used to scraping by on her modest income with the orchestra. She'd even learned to plan ahead so
that she survived during the times when the orchestra couldn't make payroll. That was the price she paid for her music, to do what she loved.

The life of the starving artist was fine for a single woman, but not for a baby boy who'd never asked for this fate in life.

Alex raked his hands through his hair. His eyes searched the small, cluttered room as if looking for a way out.

She waited stoically, watching him. The way he went to such great lengths to put on this act sickened her. She disliked him even more, watching him try to squirm his way out. Even though she wanted to tell him to save his act for someone more gullible, she knew she'd stand a better chance of gaining his support if she stayed calm.

She'd do it for Marissa.

For Liam.

“I wouldn't be here if it weren't an emergency.” Her voice was steady now, as emotionless as she could render it. “I am a musician with a symphony orchestra, and the arts are…well, the arts are struggling in America. I simply want to be certain that Liam has what he needs. The money I'm asking for isn't for me; it's for his—”

Alex slammed his hand down on the desk.

Julianne flinched and leaned back into her chair.
Just a little. It was instinctual when a man this vibrant showed such emotion.

“Why didn't she tell me? All this time I've had no idea I have a child.
A son.
”

She met his gaze and the anguish she saw threw her off kilter. Then he looked away and squeezed his eyes shut.

He opened them after a deep exhalation.

“I'm sorry.” He shook his head. “This is a lot to process.” He shook his head again. This time it was as if he was trying to clear the confusion. “Obviously, we have a lot to talk about.”

 

It took a while for Julianne and Alex to put the pieces together, but by the time she left two hours later, Alex was convinced of one thing: Marissa Waterford had lied to both of them. She'd
lied.
How could this woman whom everyone had perceived as such a saint do such a thing?

She'd lied to her sister, painting Alex as a dead-beat who'd disavowed responsibility and run with his tail tucked between his legs when he'd learned Marissa was pregnant.

At the same time, Marissa had simply chosen not to inform him that she was pregnant with his
son—even after he'd called her to try to make amends for
that night.

That fateful night two years ago, when Marissa learned that Alex was leaving Afghanistan to accept the position with iWITNESS in Paris. She'd set out on a mission to convince him to stay, complete with mellowing alcohol and lots of female flesh on display. For one crazy moment, Alex had given in to the temptation she offered, but after they'd made love, he'd known he'd made a colossal mistake.

The next morning as he prepared to leave for Paris, she confessed she hoped that once they'd made love he'd stay. He told her he couldn't. He knew he could help more people in his new position in Paris than he could working the front lines. While he cared deeply for her, all he could be was her friend. He stressed how important she was to him, that he didn't want to lose her
friendship.

But it was too late. The damage had been done.

Obviously stung, Marissa had insisted it was best that they made a clean break. Her goodbye was civil, chilly and punctuated with the firm click of his hotel room door as she walked out on him. After he'd settled in Paris, Alex had called her
several times to salvage their friendship, but she'd made it clear she wanted no contact.

She'd told him that hearing his voice hurt. She'd asked him to quit calling. Not wanting to hurt her any more than he already had, he respected her wishes.

For two years. Then the sad news of her death had reached him through their mutual colleagues, and he'd grieved for the friend he'd lost, for the friendship he'd never been able to repair. Now, three months later, her sister was standing in front of him, informing him that Marissa had borne his child. It was almost too much to comprehend.

But one thing was certain: Even though he was never in love with Marissa, he would never have turned his back on her and their child…if only she'd informed him she was pregnant.

Now, as he sat in his dark office, lit only by the amber hues of the setting sun streaming through the lone window to the left of his desk, Alex knew how it felt for the world to spin out of control.

Or he might know if he weren't so numb.

Even so, with Julianne's utterance of those fateful four words—
You have a son
—nothing in his world would ever be the same.

The office was so still that the thoughts in his mind seemed to scream as he replayed their
conversation over in his head: How, at first, neither of them had believed the other. While he'd confirmed that he'd been intimate with her sister, he couldn't bring himself to tell Julianne the details of what had happened between him and Marissa.

As she dug in, pouring on the guilt, accusing him of sidestepping responsibility, it crossed Alex's mind that Julianne might be an opportunist. Given his family's situation—less than two years ago his brother, Luc Lejardin, had married Sophie Baldwin, the heir to the throne of St. Michel, and had become the prince consort of that wealthy principality. Maybe Julianne smelled an opportunity to cash in.

But then she'd suggested a paternity test—insisted on one, in fact—before he could even bring up the idea himself. Then she'd asked for so little, and for that paltry amount to be administered with a strict accounting of how it was spent on the child. Even though his head cautioned him to proceed carefully, little by little, the evidence had mounted until his reasons
why not
fell away, leaving him with a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach that Julianne Waterford's claims just might be real.

He had a son and tomorrow he would meet him for the very first time.

J
ulianne Waterford bounced the fussy baby in her arms as she waited by the octagonal pond in Luxembourg Gardens. She pointed to the numerous model boats that sailed on the water.

“Look, Liam. Aren't they beautiful?”

He squirmed and rubbed his eyes, and she was sorry for dragging him out on such a cold, windy March afternoon.

Yesterday, she'd agreed to meet Alex Lejardin in Luxembourg Gardens so that he could meet his son for the first time. The park was close to her hotel and it had seemed like a good idea…at the time.

After the tumultuous couple of hours they'd
spent sorting out the facts, they'd come to terms with the bottom line: Marissa had lied to both of them. They'd finally agreed the best thing to do at this point was for Alex to meet Liam.

Alex had suggested Luxembourg Gardens because it was “a kid-friendly place,” where they could rent a small boat and Liam could watch it sail on the Grand Bassin. It might have been
a kid-friendly place
on a warm, sunny day. Today, however, Paris was cold and gray with a biting wind that wasn't friendly to anyone.

Maybe Liam would be more comfortable in the stroller? At least it would shield him from the breeze. She tried to lay him down, but he cried and reached for her, uttering “Mama,” which completely melted her heart. So she held him.

Where was Alex?

Squinting at her watch—in her haste to get to the park, she'd forgotten her glasses—she saw that he was nearly fifteen minutes late. Her lips puckered in annoyance.

She bounced Liam and glanced around the sparsely populated park as if she expected Alex's blurry image to materialize out of the mist of her irritation. But the only people she saw were the handful of kids and adults sailing boats in the fountain, a couple canoodling on a nearby park bench
and two strange fellows dressed in suits, wearing sunglasses standing in the distance.

Who did they think they were? The Men in Black?

The strangest thing was that they stood far enough apart from each other so that she couldn't tell if they were at the park together or not.

Then again, it was hard to discern details in the distance without her glasses. A protective sense told her it might be best to hold Liam and keep an eye on the creepy guys.

Ugh…great. She had half a mind to take Liam back to the hotel and tell Alex he'd have to come to them. Especially because Agents Kay and Jay were making her feel a little uncomfortable.

But before she left, she'd give Alex a few more minutes. Nobody was going to snatch her baby away from her in broad daylight.

Where in the world was Lejardin?

Careful not to take her frustration out on the baby, she gently hitched him higher on her hip, shifting his weight. She didn't realize it until after the fact, but his heavy eyelids had fallen shut and the motion must've startled him awake because he flung his head back and whined.

Anita Collins, the woman who watched Liam while Julianne rehearsed and performed with the
orchestra, had warned her that Liam hadn't taken his morning nap. Even though Julianne was paying the cranky price for Liam's lack of sleep, it wasn't Anita's fault. The woman was the best babysitter a person in Julianne's situation could ask for. The wife of Graham Collins, the orchestra's oboe player, Anita was a grandmotherly type whose own kids had not given her grandchildren. She cheerfully, almost possessively, kept Liam while Julianne worked.

Because Anita traveled with her husband when the orchestra played out-of-town engagements, it was as if Liam had his very own nanny—with one important difference: Anita refused to accept monetary compensation. She said that the two kept each other company while the musicians worked and that was payment enough.

Julianne's parents had passed away years ago, and Marissa had been overseas for nearly as long. So friends like Anita and the rest of the orchestra were Julianne's only family. Her musical family had propped her up through the tragedy of Marissa's death. They'd secured substitutes to fill in for her when she'd traveled to Afghanistan right after Marissa was killed. And they'd stood by her on bad days. Sometimes it seemed as if the bad days would never end.

Music had always been her solace, the one orderly constant she could grab on to when her world was crumbling under her feet. Now she'd come to appreciate her musical family as much, if not more. They gave her a foundation in between the notes, during those rough, silent times when she didn't know how on earth she'd survive.

Then there was Liam, who, in the three short months he'd been with her, had become the center of her world. When she brought him home, her colleagues had lent her a crib, high chair, and playpen; they'd given gifts of baby clothes and offered gentle advice.

If not for her musical family…

Well, she didn't even want to contemplate the
what-ifs
. Reality was harsh enough. She blinked away the thought just as Liam unleashed another protest.

“I know, pumpkin.” She kissed his temple, inhaling the sweet baby scent of him and tugged his coat zipper as high as it would go. “This isn't much fun is it? Even if you are going to meet your…daddy.”

Saying that powerful word out loud caused a vague uneasiness to shimmer to the surface of the murky emotions that had emerged since meeting Alex yesterday.

She hugged Liam a little closer and squinted at the chestnut trees in the distance. When she spied a tall man with light hair among the people in the park, her stomach did a fast, nervous turn, but it only took seconds for her to realize it wasn't him.
Him.

Maybe he wasn't coming.

Maybe he'd changed his mind.

Julianne shivered against a sudden gust of wind.

Yesterday, she'd left Alex's office convinced he was telling the truth. That he didn't know about Liam, but he did want to be part of his son's life. While that revelation helped where Liam was concerned, it tore a dark, gaping hole in the already-bruised place in her heart that ached for her sister.

Marissa, the sister she'd so admired, had lied about Alex's noninvolvement.

There was so much she still needed to sort out. She just couldn't process everything right now. She didn't know if being around Alex would help or make things more confusing. But even worse was the thought that he'd stand them up.

She wasn't asking him to share custody, she simply needed Alex to contribute and, for the boy's sake as he grew older, to show that he cared.

Time was of the essence. Paris was the last stop on the orchestra's European tour. The day after they played their concert, which was scheduled for tomorrow night, she and Liam would board a plane and head home with the rest of the musicians.

Suddenly Liam stiffened and erupted into a full-blown wail.

“Shh,” she whispered gently. “Don't cry, honey.” She reached into the diaper bag, which hung on the back of the stroller, pulled out a blanket and did her best to drape it over the boy with her one free hand. He burrowed down into it, resting his little head on the spot on her chest that ached for Marissa. His eyes were so heavy, yet with each gust of wind, with every peal of laughter and boisterous outburst of the kids merrily sailing boats in the fountain, he'd jerk awake and whimper.

She wanted to say,
“I know exactly how you feel, sweet boy. I want to cry, too,”
but instead, she whispered. “Let's go. We'll call him and reschedule.”

She was turning to leave when she thought she spied Alex's tall, lanky frame hurrying across the green.

Or maybe we won't.

 

Alex waved to Julianne, who stood next to the Grand Bassin with a stroller by her side and what
looked like a bundle of blankets hugged close to her chest. It had to be the boy—his son. Though he couldn't see him through the mound of cloth.

The thought that his child was only a few paces away unleashed an anxious sensation in the pit of his stomach, the likes of which he'd never known—even when his job had taken him to some unsettling situations.

They looked like Madonna and Child standing there, he thought, as he closed the distance between them.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I was detained by a telephone call. I realized I had neglected to get your cell number, so I couldn't call and let you know I was going to be late.”

Beneath a curtain of dark bangs, Julianne studied him with ice-blue eyes. She wasn't smiling, and the Madonna sweetness he thought he'd glimpsed as he approached was replaced by a demeanor that felt more remote. She seemed quite different from her sister. Marissa had been a passionate, strawberry blond ball of fire.

Granted, he was late and he'd only known Julianne for a single day, but his impression of her was that she was a woman of quiet reserve.

One of the things that made him good at his job was his ability to sum up people correctly in
a flash. It was a gut feeling—a sixth sense—and usually it wasn't wrong. That's why he'd pretty much accepted Julianne's claims at face value. His gut told him she was telling the truth. Still, he was too accustomed to the importance of accurate fact-checking. After she'd left he'd set his sources on the task to verify that she was indeed Marissa Waterford's sister and that Marissa had given birth when and where Julianne claimed.

It all checked out.

Even Liam's blood type, which was compatible with his own.

“Calling would've been nice,” she said, a cool edge to her voice.

Now, his gut was telling him this woman was a dark, proud ice queen—with stunning blue eyes. Although why that last bit should even enter his brain at a time like this, he didn't know.

“We were just about to leave,” her voice was frosty. “Liam is cold and tired. He missed his nap today.”

At the sound of his name, the boy lifted his head off her chest and peered out from under the blanket. When his eyes met Liam's for the first time, Alex was taken aback by the commotion that reared up inside him. This was
his son.

Right here.

The boy regarded him with sleepy brown eyes that were unmistakably Marissa's. So were the strawberry blond curls that sprang out from under the hood of his jacket as if attempting a brash getaway.

But what floored him was the dimple in the boy's little chin and a particular set of his tiny jaw. Alex wasn't sure if it was the penetrating way Liam stared at him or whether it was the intent way the boy pursed his lips, but something in his face gave Alex the sensation that he was looking at a living baby picture of himself.

His heart rate quickened and for a moment, all he could do was gape at the boy. Alex was…a
father.

This was his son.

Part him. Part Marissa.

A woman who'd lied and robbed him of his son's first year of life.

A woman who'd died doing humanitarian work.

How could a decent man hold a grudge against a dead woman?

Suddenly, a lump of emotion seemed to block his windpipe. Alex cleared his throat hoping it would
allow him to breathe again. Then he sucked in a great gulp of air.

“Hi, Liam,” he heard himself utter, unsure of where the words came from. “I'm your…father.”

Unsure of whether to reach for him.

Or not.

Unsure of
how
to go about it if he did.

He'd never held a baby. His brothers didn't have kids yet. Luc and Sophie had been married a little over a year and had just announced that they were expecting their first child. Henri was a well-confirmed bachelor allergic to the thought of marriage, much less bringing another life into the world.

Though, obviously one didn't have to be married to have a…son.

“Would you like to hold him?” Julianne held Liam out to him, as if reading his earlier thoughts. “Here, he's kind of heavy.”

Alex took Liam from her, and was surprised by how solid and sturdy the boy's small frame felt in his big, clumsy hands.

The boy squirmed. Alex brought him to his chest, shifting awkwardly, wrapping one protective arm around him and supporting his diapered bottom with the other.

His touch must've been too rough because the boy let loose a piercing wail that startled a flock of
pigeons, causing them to kick up dirt and gravel as they took flight, scattering in all directions. Liam cried and reached for Julianne.

This wasn't going well at all.

“He's tired and cold.” Her voice sounded apologetic. Even after yesterday's dealings, it was the first time she'd allowed him to glimpse a softer emotion in her.

“Right. Sorry.” He handed the baby back to her. “I guess meeting here wasn't such a brilliant idea. I should've taken the weather into account when I suggested it.”

There was an awkward pause as Liam settled down, snuggling into Julianne, resting his little head on her shoulder. Seeing them like that, it dawned on him that she couldn't be a complete ice queen if the boy was so fond of her.

Maybe he needed to step back and reframe the situation.

“Would you like to go get some coffee?” Alex suggested. “Perhaps Liam could have hot chocolate to warm him up.”

She shook her head. “He's too young for hot chocolate.”

“Really? I thought all kids drank hot chocolate or at least chocolate milk. I didn't realize there was an age restriction.”

She looked at him as if he'd suggested giving the boy whiskey.

“Technically, I guess there's not an age restriction. If it's going in a sippy cup, it would have to be only tepid chocolate, not hot. But really, I'm simply trying to teach him good habits.”

What the heck was a sippy cup?

“Is chocolate a bad habit?” He smiled hoping she'd realize he was simply trying to lighten the mood, not indict her. “
You
must not like it if you think it's so bad?”