Bent not Broken (9 page)

A second chance for us.

Clearing his throat, Ben comes out of his shock. “Are you sure, Cathy?”

Nodding because that is all I can do, I hear Ben say, “Oh, babe. Really?” Nodding again as he looks up at me, he mumbles, “Shit…’Kay. We need to call Dr. Pajaree first thing tomorrow. Get you an appointment with her as early as possible. I don’t care if she is treating the President of the United States, she will make time to fit you in. You need to call Amy, too. She will understand if you can’t make it to work...fuck. Babe, shh. Don’t cry anymore. We will do whatever it takes to make it work.”

“I’m so afraid, Ben. I want this baby so bad…”

I’m crying so hard that I can barely make out Ben’s features as I feel his mouth whispering kisses all over my body. Moving away from his embrace, I kneel in front of him, and we stare at each other. As Ben watches me intensely his eyes sparkling with unshed tears, I see all the love he feels for me written in his face. I hope he can see the love I feel for him reflected in my eyes as well.

I love him so very much that it hurts.

Thickly, Ben whispers, “Come here. It will be okay, babe. We will be okay whatever happens…”

Out of nowhere, as he is bringing our bodies in an all encompassing embrace, an image of blue eyes crosses my mind, but I immediately bury it in the deepest confines of my guilty conscience. For the very brief moment that Arsen sabotages my mind, I am shocked to realize that not a day has gone by since I met him two weeks ago where I haven’t thought of him. But like I’ve done every time the thought of him enters my mind, I pretend that Arsen and what happened between us never occurred. I go back to pretending that he didn’t make me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time; that he didn’t make my body hum with something as temptingly delicious as it was forbidden, bringing it to life. No. He has no right to intrude in my thoughts right now.

As I feel Ben’s arms tighten around me, I make myself believe that Arsen and his words are meaningless and that the only reason why I haven’t been able to get him out my mind is because he will always remain an unknown. And I hate unknowns.

Returning Ben’s hug, I believe my words, even if for a moment they sound like empty excuses to my own ears.

I feel Ben’s breath on my mouth as he mutters that I make him so happy and that I am and will always be his Cathy just before he kisses me.

We are going to be okay. Yes.

The life growing inside of me will be able to seal all the empty holes I’ve carried with me for so long that not even Ben’s deep love has been able to fill since the first time it happened.

God, I want this baby so bad.

When the kiss ends, a flushed looking Ben pulls slightly away to look me in the eye, our bodies still glued to each other. The smile I observe on his face is so big that I can see his dimples peeking at me, taunting me to kiss them. Planting a quick kiss on my nose, Ben gives me with that naughty look of his, the one that means he wants to get lucky.

“Hey, want to give the love couch a celebratory ride?”

I laugh out loud as I swat his shoulder. “Seriously, Ben?”

A smiling Ben lowers his nose to touch mine as he teases me, “Can’t blame a man for trying. By the way, did I tell you how fucking happy you make me? I love you, Cathy.”

Chapter 7

“Cathy…Cathy…Earth calling Cathy. Oh, hi. Hello. Yes, I am still here.”

I laugh as I turn to look at Amy who is sitting across the table from me. Her long red hair is blown out to perfection in soft curls that seem like natural waves flowing down her back and over her shoulders. Dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt, she is so gorgeous.

It’s not fair.

“Yes? By the way, I hate you. Only you could manage to look so freaking gorgeous in a plain black suit,” I say, smirking.

She waves a piece of bread in front of my face before replying, “Please. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately, blondie? Even I, a 100% penis lover, would totally do you. Pregnancy suits you, you know? Anyway, what are you thinking about? You seem lost in thought and haven’t touched your plate. I mean, shouldn’t you be eating for two and enjoying the perks of being preggers, instead of sitting there watching me stuff my face while daydreaming about baby socks or whatever it is you pregnant women like to think about?”

“What makes you think I’m daydreaming about babies and baby gear?” I smile at Amy. Her light teasing about my pregnancy makes me feel better, almost as if it wasn’t such a big deal when in reality it truly is.

I know it’s insane to put so much on this pregnancy, but I feel like my marriage and my own sanity are hanging by a very thin thread, and only this baby can save us, save me. Amy’s jokes help to alleviate the ever-present fear that lays dormant like a sleeping volcano at the back of my mind and in my heart. A constant fear that slowly and painfully gnaws my insides raw, yet, all I seem to be able to do is wish and pray.

Getting my hopes up when I know I shouldn’t.

“Due to your medical history of pregnancy losses, Cathy, I must be completely honest with you. You are considered a high-risk pregnancy. According to the date when you had your last period, you are now five weeks pregnant. We need to be very cautious this early in your pregnancy. Until your first trimester is over we are on shaky ground, so I want to see you every two weeks to monitor the growth of the fetus; you must avoid risky substances…”
Dr. Pajaree’s words are still so fresh in my mind; I can hear her sweet voice telling me not to start thinking about baby names. So, yes, I need funny now. I need a lot of jokes.

“Look, I have been stuffing my face with empty but delicious complex carbohydrates that according to my dentist will not only make my ass bigger but give me cavities, so the least you could do is tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours? Wait. Is my teasing bothering you? Because I’ll stop. You know I just do it to try and make you feel better.” The concerned and chastised expression on her face makes my smile grow wider.

“Woman, I love your face. No, don’t worry about it. I was just thinking that Ben’s birthday is coming up and what that means.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you knew. Ben and I got
serious
sometime around his birthday. It depends who’s telling the story, really.”

“No, you hadn’t told me that. How many years now? I know you’ve been married for six years, right?”

“Right. Six years married, but eleven together.”

“That’s a long time to be with one person. In the past eleven years, I’ve been married twice and who knows how many men I’ve slept with in between and after. But if I were married to your hunk of a husband, I would probably still be married. I mean, I remember how amazing he looked in swim trunks when we went to Turks and Caicos to celebrate your birthday. Cathy, no joke. He was built better than my gym instructor and my instructor was rocking a pretty lickable six-pack, just saying.”

I can’t help laughing. If I didn’t know Amy so well, I would totally think she had the hots for Ben. I couldn’t blame her if she did, though. Beautiful women, young or old, are always hitting on him, even when he’s with me.

“Well, don’t waste your time. He only has eyes for me, or so he tells me every time some young intern hits on him.” I lean back in my chair and watch as Amy grins at me, acknowledging my comment.

“You’re a very lucky woman. That man never, ever looks at another woman when you’re in the same room. It’s quite depressing actually. I mean, the way he looks at you even after all the years you’ve been together is as if you are the only person with a pair of breasts in the room. Hot and sweet.”

“Mine are very small sadly,” I say, laughing.

“I want what you have, though. Every woman wants that, a man who looks at her as if she were the only woman in the room. You’re so lucky to still have that.”

As Amy tells me how fortunate I am, all I can do is smile because I am lucky. A week ago, I thought Ben and I were going through a very rough patch in our marriage, and then I took the pregnancy test that changed everything. The results brought hope into my life again, hope that we will be okay after all, hope that we can grow closer again, bridging the space between us, and hope that we will finally get a chance to have that family.

Smiling, I realize that our future doesn’t look bleak. Yes, I may be scared shitless of the what ifs, but as I glance around the restaurant full of people, my hands go to my stomach. My body is not empty anymore. There is magic growing inside of me. There is life.

However, I’m afraid that such hope won’t last forever. Cruel reality has a way of always catching up to you, no matter how fast or how far you run; reality has a way to destroy one’s hopes and dreams. Reality doesn’t caress your cheek, letting you know what’s to come. No, reality slaps you across the face harshly, reminding you that a dream is just that…a dream.

The naïve part of me wants to believe that those feelings are gone, gone since I found out we are expecting again, and that the love we feel for each other is enough. But the logical voice inside my head, the cynical one, tells me to stop fooling myself. It tells me that just because I’m pregnant, those issues, our issues, my issues, aren’t going anywhere. They’re still there, will always be there until I address them. They just happen to be concealed by a blanket made of happy feelings at the moment. A blanket that allows me to ignore the nagging sentiment that not everything is as it should be.

****

After lunch, I drop Amy off at the office and drive to SoHo to pick up Charles Parker. He’s one of the most exclusive and expensive interior designers in the world. His clientele includes many people with famous last names, Hollywood A-listers, and members of the European Jet-Set. Charles has also been featured in every magazine geared for high-end homeowners and the very, very wealthy.

Curious as to what kind of man he really is, I’m excited to finally meet him in person and take him to the future Radcliff residence. Based on the estimates he gave me for his services, I hope he’s amazing because I almost fell out of my chair when the numbers came out of his assistant’s mouth.

“Yes, how may I help you today?” A very chic receptionist asks upon seeing me approach her desk.

“Hi. My name is Cathy Stanwood. I believe Mr. Parker is expecting me,” I tell the drop-dead gorgeous brunette girl with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. She looks to be no older than twenty.

“Mrs. Stanwood. What a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Natalie, we’ve spoken on the phone before.” I notice that Sexy Natalie speaks with a slight Russian accent that only makes her more attractive in my opinion.

I smile. “Hi, Natalie. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Her red lips smile back. “Yes. Would you like to have a seat for a moment while I let him know that you are here? Charles has been waiting for you.”

“Of course.” I make my way to sit on a posh white leather couch that reminds me of one I saw not too long ago in Architectural Digest. As my hands caress the smooth texture of the leather, my eyes spot a newspaper on the coffee table in front of me. I open it and go straight to Page six, the gossip column.

I feel like the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. I stare at the headline of the article and the profligate beauty of the man whose face is plastered on the front of the page. A defiant Arsen is looking directly at the camera as a sexy smirk plays around the corners of his lips.

He’s so beautiful.

The picture shows Arsen, drunk and exiting an exclusive nightclub with a famous model wrapped around each arm, and a third one on his back, piggyback riding him. He looks like a kid in a candy store. The hand of one of the girls is inside his pants, wrapped around his huge erection no doubt, and a thong is wrapped around his neck. I know how his
night ended
. Disgusted by his behavior, and with myself for not being able to look away, I read the banner of the article.

“Arsen=Arson? Manhattan’s new favorite bad boy.”

That’s an understatement.

Curiosity gets the best of me, so I read the article about him. According to the columnist, the photographers asked Arsen his secret to staying in such good shape.

“I fuck a lot.”

When they asked him if it was true he banged the newest Hollywood “it” girl, he answered, “No comment. I’m a gentleman. I don’t fuck and tell…unless they want me to.”

“Handsome devil, isn’t he?”

Lifting my eyes, I see a very attractive man in his mid-forties smiling at me. I blush because I’ve been caught reading trash about his clients, and my boss’ son. I close the newspaper and place it on the table as quickly as possible and stand up to extend my hand.

“Hi, Mr. Parker. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Cathy Stanwood, your chauffeur for the day.”

He takes my hand and shakes it. “Hi, Cathy. What a lovely surprise. Let’s just say that I’ve never been so glad to be driven around as I am today.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Parker.”

“You’re as beautiful as your voice is over the phone. And please, call me Charles.” We’ve stopped shaking hands, but he hasn’t let go of mine yet. “I love when pretty women like you call me by my name.”

I can’t help smiling into his grey eyes as he flirts with me. “Sure.” Taking in his appearance, I note that he’s wearing dark denim fitted jeans with a light blue button down shirt and a cream-colored sports jacket. His longish brown hair is parted to the side, lending his handsome face a very preppy and boyish look.

“You flatter me, but I feel obligated to let you know that I’m not that good of a driver. Anyway, should we go? Driving to Westchester is quite a hike at this time of the day.”

“Of course. Please lead the way.” He moves to the side to let me pass and walk in front of him.

“Well, what a gentleman,” I tease as I grab my bag and move past him.

“Always, Darling. Always,” he teases back.

Somehow he beats me to the door, opening it for me. “After you.”

Laughing, the two of us get in my car. I turn to look at him as I start the engine. “About before…the newspaper isn’t mine. It was just sitting there and…”