Just Married (More than Friends) (6 page)

She felt like a part of him, like his soul had expanded to hold her close, their lives spinning together like a thread. The intensity of it seemed too much, but he couldn’t see a way back. He pumped into her, begging that passionate hazel gaze to release him.

He wouldn’t be the one to let go first. Couldn’t be. But she matched him move for move until he couldn’t tell which one of them was breathing in and which was breathing out. It seemed like an instant and forever when her eyelids started to flutter. Her fingers started slow circles against the back of his scalp.

She kissed him, the gentlest brush of lips. “You’re mine.”

“Yes.” His hushed whisper matched hers.

She smiled and then her eyes fluttered closed. Her back arched and she licked her lips as she let go, giving herself over to him completely. The tight walls of her sex pulsed around him as she came. His orgasm followed as her body held him tight, wringing every last drop of pleasure from him.

The paper gown crinkled as Miranda shifted on the examination table. The nurse had warned her the doctor was running late, but she needed the annual all clear to renew her prescription for birth control pills, so she’d opted to wait. She’d rescheduled the appointment thanks to Cal’s marriage game and had taken her last pill this morning, so she couldn’t put off the visit any longer.

She sighed and refreshed the email on her phone. When she finally made it to the office, she’d have to slip into the Monday morning debriefing and needed to be prepared. The latest message didn’t come from work, but from Cal’s lawyer.

With a shake of her head she opened the email. For the last three weeks she’d been fielding all sorts of unnecessary paperwork. Nothing had proved useful until today, when she’d been able to use his medical insurance to cover the co-pay for the office visit.

“Another life insurance policy?” She spoke to the empty room. From the drone of her doctor’s voice next door, she knew she still had time to kill. Cal’s lawyer was also his godfather, and she had half a mind to call his home number since the man never returned a phone call.

One last time, she dialed his office, and again was offered his voicemail.

“It’s imperative that I speak with him immediately. Tell him Miranda Rose is on the line. I’ll hold.” She looked down at her pink Just Married toes. She needed to make time for a pedicure before she went to New York next weekend to visit Cal.

“Miss Rose? Mr. O’Roarke is in a meeting. Why don’t you—”

“Tell Mickey it’s Miranda Kerr, Callum’s wife.” She didn’t have time to play phone tag anymore.

“Oh, of course Mrs. Kerr. Just one moment.” Celtic music filled the line.

Mrs. Kerr. As if. She spun the diamond on her finger. She’d taken to wearing it with the stone toward her palm. It kept people from staring.

“Miranda, how are you?” Mickey’s jolly voice would have been welcome if he’d responded to any of her previous calls.

“I’m a little annoyed actually. Is there a reason why you’re screening out my calls?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I don’t have any messages from you.”

“Let’s not play games. I’ve been calling and emailing since you started stuffing my inbox with tax forms and insurance policies.”

“There isn’t a single message on my desk from Miranda Kerr.”

She clenched her fist to hold back the groan. “That’s because Miranda Kerr is a supermodel. I am not. You of all people should understand that, Mickey O’Roarke.”

“Touché. But it is easier if you accept the name, at least in personal matters. What you use professionally is up to you.”

“I don’t need your permission, or approval. Cal and I will keep our property and bank accounts separate, so I don’t need my name on his titles or to see his finances unless he is in some kind of trouble. Please apprise your team accordingly.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kerr.” The smile shone through his voice.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Mickey?”

“Immensely.” The old man had the nerve to chuckle. “Callum said you’ll be in town next weekend. Are you staying in the city, or heading out to the Hamptons? Vera and I would love to have you both to dinner.”

“If you’re offering to be a buffer for my obligatory visit with Bridie, you have a deal.”

“She’s not the typical mother-in-law, but she’s part of the package.”

“She is indeed. About all these life insurance policies. It’s excessive, especially with me as the beneficiary.”

“Callum is an intellectual asset, so there are policies for each of the businesses and the trust as well. They’re given to you to provide for the companies and for any minor children.”

Good night, he was on the same team as Bridie. “We’re not having kids.”

“It’s a protection in case you do.”

Before she could argue the point, she heard a soft knock on the exam room door. She ended the call quickly and looked up at her doctor’s smiling face.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Dr. Lambert pulled a cart behind her with some kind of computer she’d never seen.

“Yes, I can now check the married box.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed. Double congratulations then.” The doctor turned and washed her hands.

“Wait, what were you congratulating me for?”

“Your pregnancy test.” She dried her hands with a paper towel. “It’s positive.”

Miranda’s heart squeezed, holding tight for a long moment before remembering to beat again. She forced a laugh. “You must have me confused with another patient. I’m not pregnant.”

“We can rerun the test, and we’ll order blood work to confirm. I’m sorry, when I saw the positive result I assumed that’s why you were here.”

“No. I’m here for my annual to renew my prescription for birth control. Miranda Rose.”

Dr. Lambert cocked her head to the side. “You’ve been my patient for a decade. I know who you are. After the last laparoscopic procedure we discussed your fertility, and how your best chance would be within the next year. And here you are.”

Miranda shook her head, clearing the fanciful fairy tales that tried to dance through. “I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill and Cal is in New York, so it’s not like—”

“Cal is your husband? Do you want to call him? Or that friend of yours that comes to your procedures?”

Miranda shook her head again, distracting herself by slipping her phone and tablet into her attaché. She lay back, settling her head against the paper-covered pillow. “The test is wrong.”

“Let’s examine you, just to be sure.” Dr. Lambert rubbed her hands together, warming them before she moved the gown aside.

The doctor’s fingers slid over her flat stomach. This might make for a funny story if it were happening to someone else. She turned her head to the side, a diagram of a baby inside a pregnant belly upon the far wall. Educational, sure, but there should be exam rooms for women without the reminder of what could never be.

Mira felt a heaviness low in her belly as the doctor pressed down. She looked back at Dr. Lambert, who had a paper measuring tape across the area. Forget about recycling paper, this place probably killed a tree with each visit.

“Your last period was in May?” The doctor pulled a cardboard circle from a drawer.

“Yes, and then twelve weeks of pills like always. I took the last one this morning.” Which was probably why she felt heavy and crampy where the doctor had been pressing.

“Anything exciting happen in May?”

“My oldest godson’s birthday. He’s four.” She lifted her head to watch as the screen on the cart Dr. Lambert had wheeled in came on with a series of beeps. “Why?”

“Your measurements date the pregnancy to May.”

She propped herself up on her elbows to remind the doctor she had the wrong patient, but her protest died on her lips as she saw the ultrasound gel. The warm goo plopped on her belly with sound effects worthy of a cartoon.

What if?
Her head felt foggy and heavy, so she rested it on the pillow, never taking her gaze off the screen. What would it hurt, really, to believe in miracles for just a moment?

Grainy static filled the screen, as she’d known it would. She’d had ultrasounds before, never with good results. They always led to another painful procedure, then trying to push through recovery with a minimum of time off. Maybe this time she’d have the courage to go for the hysterectomy, accept reality once and for all.

“Well, what do we have here?” Dr. Lambert’s voice lilted in surprise. “Two little peanuts.”

“Excuse me?” Was this some kind of hidden-camera show? Because she’d put them through enough litigation to bankrupt the producers’ children.

“Let me take some measurements, just to be sure.” She held the wand with one hand, maneuvering a mouse with the other, and stopping every so often to key in a few characters on the keyboard.

Everything in the room grew louder. The air-conditioning overhead, the clock ticking on the wall, the click of the computer, her pulse heavy in her ears. Even her breathing seemed to be on eleven. The sounds bounced around the room, but her vision focused on the tiny screen. Two black blobs with gray smudges within.

Then the screen went black and her throat grew achy, too thick to swallow. She wanted it back, just for a few seconds more. And then a familiar image appeared, the curved blackness with a baby inside. She’d seen the giant head and skinny arms and legs before on printouts from Helen’s boys. Molly had announced her pregnancy that way. They all looked the same to her, except this one was moving.

Her breath shook within her lungs and she grabbed for an anchor, coming up with only a paper sheet. The wand moved over her belly and what had once been a recognizable baby turned into a tangle of hands and feet.

“What happened?” She spoke on an intake of breath, wanting to reach out and put the scrambled pieces of baby back together again.

“Baby B wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

The screen went black, then reappeared, the curve of one baby at the bottom, the other at the top. Two wriggling babies with arms and legs. A frantic whooshing sound came from the machine, like nothing she’d ever heard.

“They’re too close together to separate the heartbeats with this machine. You’ll get that when they’re a little bigger.”

“I’m pregnant.” The word seemed dull and foreign on her lips. “I don’t feel pregnant.”

“Pregnancy symptoms vary from woman to woman, and even pregnancy to pregnancy.”

“When?” Lines appeared on the image, measuring heads and arms, legs and the blackness surrounding them. And then they disappeared, the screen turning to a grainy, pulsing gray.

“When did you get pregnant? It’s a bit harder to date with twins, but you’re measuring for a mid-May conception. After a few more measurements I’ll have a better idea.”

Her heart jolted, banging against her ribs. If she’d been pregnant all summer, she’d been so reckless. Her chest squeezed, pain tightening around her lungs as she tried to breathe. She forced a breath and switched her gaze from the gray screen to her doctor.

“I didn’t know.” Her mind flashed, everything she knew about pregnancy popping up like a million Internet search windows. “I took my birth control pills. I haven’t taken any special vitamins and I eat sushi almost every day for lunch. That’s bad, right? Oh hell, I got drunk at my wedding. I drink lots of coffee. I don’t even know how much. I did that three-day antibiotic when I had a sinus infection and couldn’t take time off work. That causes birth defects, doesn’t it? And I do Bikram yoga three nights a week. Could that cook the baby? My God, I can’t be pregnant. I do everything you can’t do.”

“Miranda, slow your breathing for me.” A few beeps and the image of both babies appeared again. “See, they’re okay. You all made it through the first trimester.”

“I’m pregnant with twins.” She recognized her voice, but not the words. She’d promised herself after last year’s procedure that she wouldn’t put herself through it again. She’d closed the door. And a double-engine freight train blasted right through it.

“Yes, about twelve weeks.”

“I didn’t hurt them?” Tears prickled behind her eyes. She’d never forgive herself, not ever.

“We’ll do more testing, but from what I can see they look good. Are you sure you don’t want to call your husband?”

“No, I can’t tell him.” How would she ever explain? She’d been pregnant all this time—at his father’s funeral, during their wedding.

“Okay. We can talk about your options.”

“I don’t need options. I meant I can’t tell him on the phone. It’s all just such a shock.”

Her doctor filled her in on what to expect for office visits and the like. But Miranda barely heard a word. When she woke this morning her world had been neat and orderly. She finally had Cal. Only to lose him because she was having his baby. Babies. Children he never wanted. And nothing would ever be the same again.

“Hello, wife,” Cal said the second Miranda finally answered.

“I’m surprised your phone works.”

Papers rustled in the background, and he tried to recall the layout of her condo. It had been years since he’d been there, which he ought to remedy soon.

“It would work if I held it up like Simba, but that hardly looks professional. When I’m remote, texts work better.” He tried to imagine himself there with her, instead of stuck on the tarmac while the plane refueled.

“You hate texting.” She mumbled around something.

“True. It’s annoying, but better than landing in Shanghai and finally being able to check voicemail, only to find all your messages were asking me to call.”

“A bit too wifey for you?” Again with the paper shuffling.

“Well, yes. I wish you’d said more when you called. I thought Molly had the baby early and you were going to cancel on our weekend.”

“She’s not due until after Labor Day.”

“Maybe she has two of them in there. She looked ready to pop at the wedding.”

Mira dissolved into a coughing fit, her phone clattering to the ground. He called her name until she picked it up again.

“Sorry about that.”

“What are you doing over there?”

“Eating ice cream and reading magazines.” She sounded flat, like she might be coming down with something.

“Why, did we break up?” He laughed, but she didn’t. The rhythm of their normal conversations demanded she quip back, but he didn’t get more than a heavy breath. “Are you feeling poorly? Did something happen? You need me to send in a hit man for an annoying client?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Sometimes I just take a little mind break.”

He wanted the smile back in her voice. He always called Mira after these tedious trips to bring his mind back around. “If you find any sex tips in those magazines, I’m happy to help you try them out on Saturday.”

“Did you already have something else in mind for Friday?”

He cleared his throat. “About Friday.”

“Cal, we’re having dinner with your mother and godparents on Friday. Making me take them on alone is grounds for divorce.”

“Careful, doll. They can smell fear.”

“If I go alone, you’re the one who should be afraid.”

“I’ll reschedule. I need to check out a manufacturing site in Belarus before I head back. Which will add an extra day to the trip. It’s not the traditional route, but with shipping channels to both Europe and Asia, it might be worth the extra setup costs.”

“I have to fly back on Sunday. I have court on Monday.”

“I know it isn’t the long weekend we’d planned. But we can roll with it, right?”

“Roly-poly, that’s me.” Her voice dropped, saddened. It wasn’t like her to make a big deal of things.

“Hardly. But we make the best of it, right?” She must be ill, or having one of her wretched monthlies. Back in law school there had been days where she wouldn’t even leave her bedroom. “I promised once a month, and I don’t want to cancel. Do you?”

Radio silence from the other end of the call.

Her unwillingness to share what had her so bothered annoyed him. But he was too tired to call her on it, and besides, they could get it sorted on the weekend. “Come on, Mira, we can do this. One night is better than nothing, right?”

“You sweet talker, you.”

“I do my best.” He waited a beat for a wisecrack that didn’t come. Maybe he should skip Belarus so he could see her sooner. But that would mean another overseas trip he didn’t have time for. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. And I wouldn’t send you in to deal with my mother’s baby demands alone.”

Her deep sigh echoed across the miles.

“I’ve told her we don’t want to have children. I’m sorry she pushed it on you, given your condition.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I have no desire to ever have kids, Mira. You know that, right? I don’t want you to think I’m going to change my mind and throw you off for one of my mother’s bridal options who would have tried to trap me with a baby the first time I dropped my pants.”

Her laugh seemed cold, almost sad. Not at all what he hoped for when he’d dialed her number. Talking with Mira gave his life a little sparkle, an ease and humor sorely lacking from the drone of mundane business trips. Something had her down and he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t talk about it until she was good and ready. All he could do was try to lift her up.

“You know what, doll? You still owe me birthday pizza.”

“We were in Vegas. They don’t have Emilio’s, or thirty-minute delivery.” The normal lilt in her voice returned. They made sure to race the buzzer every time. Thinking about it had him smiling too.

“Naked pizza Saturday. I’m excited already.”

“That does sound like your idea of a perfect day.”

“It is. Writing our own definition of marriage is the smartest thing we’ve ever done.”

Mira wanted to wrestle her bag from the driver, dart past the doorman, and take the damned stairs to the penthouse. Even if it was thirty floors up.

“Mrs. Kerr, I’m sure it will be just a moment longer before Mrs. Kerr disengages the dedicated elevator.” The doorman tried to smile. He knew better. He was a permanent fixture in the art deco building that was a landmark on the west side of Central Park. One of the few built before the city ordinance keeping high rises to nineteen stories and below.

“Schmidt, like I told you two minutes ago. I’m tired. It’s almost midnight, and I have half a mind to get a hotel. There is no telling what Mrs. Kerr is doing up there. I’ll take the stairs.”

“I can’t let you do that, Mrs. Kerr.”

She pointed up and shook her head. “Mrs. Kerr is occupying the elevator for some reason. Ms. Rose is about to leave.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have security check and see why the car is not responding.” He picked up a corded phone. Who knew they still had those.

“Wait a minute. How will security get there? I can take the stairs as well as anyone.”

“They’ll take the freight elevator, Mrs. Kerr.”

She looked straight at the security camera marking the plaster wall beside the entry desk. This had to be some kind of prank Cal thought would be funny. She took a deep breath before turning her attention back to the doorman. “Did Mr. Kerr tell you not to use my correct name?”

Schmidt cast his gaze down. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Have you ever heard of the phrase, ‘happy wife, happy life’?” A genuine smile lifted his face as he looked at her.

“Yes, Ms. Rose.”

“Let’s not bother Mrs. Kerr. I’ll take the freight elevator up and she can keep the penthouse elevator to herself.” The last thing she wanted to deal with tonight was Bridie Kerr’s questions and demands.

Since Cal canceled their Friday together, she’d worked most of the day and caught a later flight. And though it wasn’t even nine o’clock on the West Coast, it seemed she fell asleep a bit earlier every day. Perhaps she’d even camp out in the freight elevator since her mother-in-law decided to do the same in the posh marble-and-mirrors version.

“Ms. Rose, the freight elevator is really just for staff. And on the penthouse level it opens into their storage. I’ll just have security check—”

The driver cleared his throat. Bless him. Mira smiled and leaned an arm on the desk. “I know where it opens. The storage leads to the laundry room and I’ll enter the apartment that way. I’ll be asleep in ten minutes and forget this ever happened.”

The driver started walking before she’d finished speaking. Mira caught up quickly and followed through the maze of doors and hallways.

“I take it you’ve done this before,” Mira asked after door number three.

“Mrs. Kerr likes to know when the elevator is needed.” The driver spoke as they passed through a long corridor that led to some kind of loading zone. “I think she’s still expecting Mr. Kerr to return tonight.”

“I’ll let her know.” Mira winced. She’d send the text and then turn off her phone and deal with the fallout tomorrow.

“I’m to see you inside the apartment safely, Mrs. Kerr.” The driver pulled up the rolling door on the garage-sized freight elevator. Probably meant for hauling grand pianos like the one in Bridie’s living room.

“Cal’s orders? Like this whole ‘Mrs. Kerr’ business? I’ll be sure to get to the bottom of that before my next trip.” She held out her hand for the rolling bag. He spun it and gave her the handle.

“Thank you.”

“If you need anything, even takeout tonight or coffee in the morning, please call. The staff is in the building around the clock. We’ll take care of whatever you need.”

“He has a whole team of you. I shouldn’t be surprised.” She shook her head and stepped onto the metal floor of the freight elevator. She found the panel on the side and grinned because instead of the pretentious “P” for penthouse, it had an unassuming “30.”

The driver smiled and pulled the door shut.

As the car ascended reality crept back in. How heavy was that door? Heavier than she should be lifting? As she looked around she realized this box would fit one of those obnoxiously large double strollers with ease.

When the elevator finally made it to the top floor Mira pursed her lips and stared at the door handle. Surely it wouldn’t be too heavy. Plenty of women in New York got pregnant while living in studio apartments with the exact same setup. The door lifted with less effort than she’d feared. Trailing her bag behind her she stepped into the storage ghost town that held decades of furniture the Kerrs’ interior designers had cast off.

“Callum?” A voice squeaked and Mira jumped back, nearly tripping over her case.

Bridie Kerr pushed an antique rocking chair into the walkway. Or someone with Bridie’s face. This incarnation had her pale hair tied back with a black scarf and wore a black velour track suit. Like Fifth Avenue Bridie went to Brooklyn.

“Oh, Miranda.” She lowered her voice, the disappointment thick. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Mira closed the door to give herself a breather before turning back toward her newly minted mother-in-law. She had the urge to cover her belly, but considering she didn’t have a problem buttoning her jeans yet, she knew the odds of Bridie guessing her dream had come true were slim.

“Where is Callum?” Bridie asked, brushing dust off her pants.

“Checking distribution channels in Belarus, I think. I’m never sure.” She eyed the long march to the freedom of the laundry room and the empty apartment. “Doing a little late-night redecorating?”

“Oh.” Bridie ran her hand along the back of the ornately carved rocking chair. “I wanted to show Callum this piece. He used to love it, so I hoped it might help change his mind about having a baby.”

This time she couldn’t help the way her hand drifted to her middle, as if she could protect the babies from hearing that truth. “It is lovely.”

“Isn’t it? See how it has the Kerr crest right here?” She ran her thin hand across the symbol and smiled brighter than Mira had ever seen. “Maybe you could use it in your room.”

“My room?”

“He had the exercise room cleared so you could have a space of your own. He wasn’t sure if you’d want a dressing room or an office. He even mentioned a library.” The older woman’s personality seemed to have rolled back in time to when Bridie had been eager to please and damn near nice.

“He didn’t mention anything.” Her heart squeezed, wondering if he’d allow a nursery. She knew he wouldn’t turn his back on the situation entirely, but would he invite them in? Or would he prefer she keep everything at a safe emotional distance, all the way across the country?

“Callum is like Hamish that way. Everything is an offhand comment you have to jump on in order to catch.” She sighed, then straightened as if she remembered herself. The rigid posture returned, as had the poker face Mira had always attributed to Botox. “Is he coming back tomorrow?”

Mira nodded, suddenly realizing that Bridie had blocked the penthouse elevator so she could wait in the storage space to ambush her. “Sometime in the late afternoon.”

“I see. How long are you staying?”

“I fly back Sunday.” There was no love lost between the women, yet Mira found herself wanting the softer Bridie back. She was likely to be the only other person happy about this pregnancy. “I think the chair will be useful in my room. I can rock and decide what I’ll do with the space.”

A smile flashed across Bridie’s schooled features. She picked up the chair as if it were hollow and carried it toward the double doors open to the laundry room. Mira shook her head and followed her out of this Twilight Zone.

Cal’s penthouse was the polar opposite of his mother’s carefully decorated one. He’d had thick carpet installed over the inlaid wood flooring, and much to her chagrin, most of his furniture was dark leather. The masculine minimalist decor was a tangible example of his rebellion.

The bulky chair didn’t slow Bridie. She’d already set it in front of the corner windows by the time Mira got to the room.

“This was going to be Callum’s nursery,” Bridie spoke to the windows. “But we switched spaces with Hamish’s parents before he was born since the other penthouse is twice the size. We should do that soon.”

“Or not. I don’t think the storage could hold all the furniture Cal would want removed.” She made her way to the windows, taking in the beautiful summer view of Central Park.

“Setting up a nursery would make room. I have two of everything because I duplicated his room at the Southampton house.”

Two. Of everything. “And you saved it all this time?”

“I always thought there would be more children.” Sorrow slashed across her features. “Of course now it’s dated and probably not your style.”

Wanting to comfort a woman you’d thought didn’t possess feelings was a strange predicament indeed. Mira cleared her throat and ran her hand along the soft worn wood arm of the rocking chair. “Do you have two of these as well?”

“Sadly, no. Hamish found this at Kentigern and had it shipped back and restored.”

“Like Cal’s bed.” She wanted the words back the second they left her mouth. She didn’t care to discuss the bedroom or what went on in there.

A dreamy smile changed Bridie’s entire face, reminding Mira she wasn’t even sixty. “Cal calls it treasure hunting. He’s found some amazing things in that relic. Every time we had him convinced to let the project go he’d find something else that had him pouring more money into the castle.” She shook her head. “Hamish used to say Callum was Peter Pan and Kentigern was his Neverland.”