The Family They Chose (8 page)

He got up, walked to the door and opened it.

Olivia exited his office. When the door clicked behind her, she was in greater turmoil than when she’d entered.

She dialed Jamison’s cell, but got his voice mail.
Again.

She was tired of pretending their marriage was solid. Would having a baby actually save their troubled relationship? For the first time ever, she wasn’t so sure.

She heard footsteps down at the end of the hall and looked up. It was Chance Demetrios. The man with the results. The answer that was key to the rest of her life.

“There you are.” His voice was maddeningly neutral. Neither happy nor sad. “I got your test results back. Why don’t we go to my office and discuss them.”

They walked in silence. Olivia was glad he didn’t try to make conversation, because she was still suffering aftershock from the conversation with her brothers.

“I have news,” he said. “And I have
better
news. Where would you like me to start?”

Olivia sighed. “Give me the
better
news first. I think I need to start in a good place.”

When Chance nodded, Olivia noticed that he looked solemn. Her gut clenched and she laced her hands protectively over her belly.

“When I was reviewing your file, I saw something I’d overlooked. Apparently, the doctor you saw before I arrived at the Armstrong Institute harvested and flash-froze a couple of emergency stashes of your eggs.”

Olivia tensed. So Derek had gone through with the egg transfer after all, even though he hadn’t mentioned it earlier. She hadn’t really given him a chance to get a word in.

“I’m guessing that despite his not indicating it in your file, the doctor must have suspected there was a problem with egg production since he had the foresight to freeze thirty eggs. That gives us enough for three more in vitro procedures.”

Three more.

Suddenly, with a breath-stealing blow, it dawned on her where this conversation was going.

“What’s the other news you mentioned?”

She braced herself, knowing what he was going to say and feeling queasy because of it.

“I’m sorry, Olivia. Your tests prove that your ovaries
have stopped producing eggs. I hate to be so blunt, but if you want to have a baby, I suggest that we start the procedure as soon as possible since you’ll need to be on the hormones for about three weeks before we can fertilize your eggs and implant the embryos. Would you like to start the hormones today?”

Tongue-tied and shaken, she stared at him. She hadn’t been prepared to act this quickly since she thought they’d simply be discussing the test results.

“So, you’re saying I don’t have any time to waste?”

Dr. Demetrios rubbed his chin with one hand as he regarded her.

“I suggest you not let too much time pass. But if you need to think about it, or perhaps discuss it with your husband, we can start the hormones on your next visit. It’s up to you.”

Why was she hesitating?

Why was she so conflicted?

The need to have a child had driven her here today—without her husband. Was it her conscience, or simply self-doubt making her waver? She wanted a baby more than anything. Yet a little voice deep inside her was whispering that if she walked out that door without setting the process in motion today, it might be hard to come back.

Dr. Demetrios smiled at her. “What would you like to do, Olivia?”

J
amison used the flight to Boston’s Logan Airport and the subsequent ride home to mentally prepare himself for seeing Olivia.

He’d had the days since seeing the photos to weigh all the options, to look at the situation from all angles and to think about what he would do when he saw her.

It had opened up childhood wounds he’d thought had healed over the years, brought back memories of his distraught mother crying over the telephone, desperately trying to track down her husband. In those days of no cell phones or pagers, when a person
wanted to get lost, it was a lot easier than it was today.

Judson Mallory would sometimes
get lost
for days. His staff would cover for him, inventing meetings that Helen had no way of confirming or disproving.

Of course, Jamison had been too young to know what was really going on when his father would disappear. All he knew is that there would be long stretches of absence during which the household staff would care for him and his brothers because his mother “had taken ill.”

As Jamison got older, it didn’t take long to realize his mother wasn’t really sick at all. She was either too drunk to function or too hung over from the benders brought on by her husband’s going MIA.

It wasn’t until years later, long after his father had died, that once-faithful friends and confidants crawled out of the woodwork offering tell-all books detailing that all wasn’t as rosy as it seemed behind the manicured Mallory hedges.

Piece by painful piece, Jamison learned about a much darker side of the man he and an adoring public had idolized. The havoc that his father’s womanizing had wreaked on their family and the subsequent betrayal by friends was enough to convince Jamison that he would never live his personal life the
way his father had—fathering six boys he’d never wanted and leaving all responsibility for them to a mother who was unable to cope.

Jamison did want a family…someday. But he didn’t want to repeat his father’s mistakes. He wanted to wait until he was ready. Obviously with the way he was waffling back and forth—one minute ready to do it because it would make his wife happy, but the next minute feeling so unsure about his marriage, which in turn made him feel uncertain about having kids—meant that he wasn’t.

In the same way that he’d committed to marriage once he’d pledged his life to Olivia, he felt that strongly about waiting until his marriage was on firmer ground before having children. Especially now that there was the possibility that his wife had strayed.

On the car ride home from the airport, he thought about the photos and what might have driven Olivia into another man’s arms. He knew he’d been a little selfish over the past couple of years, a little insensitive to her needs. The purely rational side of him that could separate facts and emotion—the attorney in him—had leveled the verdict that maybe this had driven her to another man. But that was about as far as the rational side went. The thought of her in another man’s arms nearly drove him over the edge.
So he clung to the last shred of hope he had. That even though the photos showed Olivia in Demetrios’s arms—in an embrace that looked intimate—there wasn’t a single shot of them kissing…or worse.

The fact that there was no kiss left a huge gray area open to interpretation. That’s when common sense dictated that he had to give Olivia the benefit of the doubt. And he still needed to see her face—her eyes—when he presented the photos. That would be key.

He knew her, and he’d be able to recognize if she was lying about something. But at least he’d had time to figure out that he was willing to fight for his marriage if Olivia was willing to meet him halfway.

Of course, they’d be back at awkward square one. Another thought that remained constant in his mind as he sorted out everything was that he was glad there were no children involved.

So, despite his earlier, impulsive change of heart, essentially they were back at the starting line. He’d have to insist that they mend their marriage before they brought a child into their world. He’d grown up in a broken home and, above all else, he’d vowed to never put a child of his own through that hell.

His father had strayed and his mother had put him out. Had Olivia been talking about having his child one minute and then turning to another man the next?

No!

He wouldn’t jump to conclusions. He wouldn’t trip down that slippery path, he reminded himself.

The car turned onto his street and stopped in front of his house—their house.

He’d go inside, hear Olivia out and then they’d decide together if their house was still a home.

Olivia felt bare without her pearls. They’d been a gift from Jamison and in some ways they were like a link to him when he was away. Wearing them made her feel connected to him. They made her feel safe. She’d taken them to the jeweler to be restrung as soon as she’d left the Children’s Home, but because of the holidays, they wouldn’t be ready until next week.

She put her hand up to her naked throat. She’d tried other necklaces, but none felt right. Even though she felt bare without them, and she wanted to look her best for Jamison, she felt better with nothing at her neck than something that was not her pearls.

Maybe she’d opt for a brooch instead. She pulled a white-gold snowflake pin out of her jewelry box and was just about ready to pin it to her emerald-green cashmere sweater when she heard the alarm signal that someone had just opened the front door.

Jamison?

Her heart raced. She was as nervous as a high school girl awaiting her first date—and not being one
hundred percent sure the guy of her dreams would actually show to pick her up.

She breathed a sigh of relief that he was finally home. But that relief was soon pinched by the ugly reminder that for days Jamison hadn’t even had the time or desire to call her.

She considered pretending nothing was wrong, so as not to spoil their time together. Really, the last thing she wanted was another fight. But she knew herself well enough to realize that it would be best to get it off her mind first thing, stating her case plainly and without drama rather than letting it come out explosively at a random moment.

She wasn’t being a nag. She had a valid reason to be upset. First, work had preempted their holiday—and she’d been understanding. But then, he had taken her compliance for granted and decided he didn’t even need to talk to her.

Enough was enough.

Her hand was shaking too badly to pin on the brooch. So she returned it to her jewelry box and headed downstairs to say her piece.

She found him sitting in the living room. He hadn’t fixed himself a drink as she’d imagined he would. He was simply sitting there in the overstuffed burgundy chair with his elbows braced on the arms and his chin in his hand. A large manila envelope lay in his lap.

He didn’t smile when she walked into the room. He just sat there watching her with a neutral expression.

“Well, welcome home, stranger.” Her tone was a touch more sarcastic than she’d intended, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just sat there with a deadpan expression that was starting to annoy her.

She walked over and sat on the edge of the chintz sofa that was closest to him. His chin didn’t move from his hand, but his gaze followed her.

“Jamison, look, I don’t want to fight with you, but I think we need to have a little chat and clear up a few things before we do anything else tonight.”

“You’re right.” Jamison reached over and set the manila envelope on the coffee table in front of her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

He glowered at her “Why don’t you open it and tell me, Olivia?”

Olivia eyed him speculatively, wondering for a moment if she should tell him his envelope would have to wait until after she’d said what she needed to say. But curiosity got the better of her and, a moment later, she found herself holding a stack of five-by-seven photos.

She did a double take when she realized they were photos of herself—in the arms of Dr. Chance Demetrios.

“What is this?” she asked as numbness engulfed her.

“Why don’t you tell me, Olivia? I think you’re the one who needs to explain.”

She blinked at Jamison, confused. Then as her gaze skittered from him to the photos, and back to him, an ugly realization set in.

“You had me followed? Why, Jamison? Why would you do that?”

He gestured toward the photos. “For obvious reasons that are self-explanatory.”

Her heart drummed a furious cadence, and she stared at the photos again, this time taking a longer look.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Tell me exactly what it is you think you see.”

He scooted to the edge of his chair and braced his arms on his knees. “I see my wife in another man’s arms. The very man who called my house on the morning I left for D.C.”

What?
Olivia squinted at him. “How do you know he called?”

His brows shot up. “I checked the caller ID when I went back into the bedroom. Chance Demetrios’s number came up. Do you deny that you talked to him?”

Jamison sounded like a lawyer prosecuting his case. She hated it when he took that superior tone with her.

“Stop talking down to me.” She flung the photos onto the coffee table. “I am not on trial.”

Jamison flinched and his face softened to a heartbreaking look of anguish.

“No, you’re not. But…” He gestured to the photos. Then, as he reached down and picked up one, Olivia saw that he had tears in his eyes.

Oh, my God. This is why he wouldn’t return my calls.

“Jamison, listen to me. This is
wrong
on so many levels that I don’t even know where to begin. Except to say it’s not what it looks like. I am not having an affair with Chance Demetrios.”

His throat worked in a hard swallow, and he looked her square in the eyes. She held his gaze. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

The beginning? Where did the story begin? Their relationship had been deteriorating for so long, she really didn’t know where to start. Even so, she knew she had to tell him the truth.

“Chance Demetrios is my doctor.”

Jamison nodded. “I’m aware of that. Until the photos, I was aware that you’d seen him once a few months ago. For professional reasons.”

“He called the morning you left because I told Paul I’d like to schedule another appointment with him.”

Jamison’s brows knit together. “An appointment? Why?”

Olivia sucked in a deep breath. This was it. She had to fess up. Level with him. “After Christmas with your mom and seeing Payton the baby-making machine, I just…I
needed
to try and have a baby, Jamison. For
both
of us. I decided to go ahead with another in vitro procedure on my own.”

Jamison’s confused expression deepened. “Exactly what are you saying?”

“It’s pretty simple. Except, actually, it’s not. When I went in for the appointment—on that day right there—” she pointed to the photos and grimaced at him, making it clear that they’d revisit the issue of the P.I. photos “—Dr. Demetrios delivered news I didn’t want to hear. He told me that tests proved that my body is going through early menopause, and most likely, that’s why we’re having trouble conceiving. He said that there was a very limited opportunity left for me to get pregnant. So, as you can imagine, I was quite upset. When I ran out of his office, he came after me in the parking lot because he didn’t want me to drive. Sure, he hugged me—that’s what you’re seeing there. He was comforting me—as my brothers might have comforted me. There certainly wasn’t anything illicit going on. Believe me.”

Jamison stared at the photo for a moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Liv?” His voice was so soft it was almost a whisper.

“I tried, but you didn’t return my calls.”

“Oh, my God.” He raked a hand over his anguished face and sighed a miserable sigh. “I am so sorry.”

“Jamison, look at me.”

He did. Square in the eyes. With their gazes locked, she said, “There has never been another man for me. Never has, never will be. I love
you.
”

He got up and went over to her, sat next to her and pulled her close.

As he kissed her tenderly, first her lips, then her neck and her collarbones, she decided that there was no need to rake him over the coals over having her followed. She had nothing to hide. She’d told him everything…and now she wanted to give him everything.

He’d never felt such overwhelming relief in his entire life. Deep inside he’d known Olivia was true to their marriage, to
him,
but he hadn’t realized just how afraid he was to lose her.

He felt as if he’d been given a second chance, a new lease on life, on their marriage, and he was so overwhelmingly happy that they’d wiped the slate clean, that they were starting over.

He wanted to show her how much he’d ached for her, how much he’d missed her and longed for this reunion. He wanted to show her with his lips and hands and body why he was the only man for her.

Right there in the living room, on the chintz couch, she responded as he held her and touched her and tasted her. In response his own body swelled and hardened. He loved the feel of her slight body, so fragile to his touch. When he moved his hands to her hips, cupping her body and pulling her closer, she arched against him, firing the hardness of his desire.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she murmured breathlessly.

He raised his hands to her small breasts, cupping them through her thin sweater, savoring their slight curves before teasing her hard nipples. She gasped. Her head fell back and she seemed to lose herself in his touch.

But only for a moment when she slid her hand down the front of his trousers and claimed his erection. Over and over she teased him, rubbing and stroking his desire through the layers of his wool pants and briefs. It had been so long and the sensation was almost too much to bear.

He wanted to savor this moment. So, he took her hands in his and eased her down on the couch,
kissing her throat and playfully biting down on her earlobe as he did.