The Misconception (36 page)

Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Ryan. I do trust you. Can you ever forgive me?”

He kissed the tears away, the salty taste lingering on his lips.

“I already have,” he whispered the instant before he claimed her lips and reclaimed their marriage.

Chapter 22

Marietta stared down at her hands, noticing that the bright lights of the studio illuminated every vein. At least the veins weren’t shaking as much as her insides. Maybe, if she remained perfectly still, Glory Green and her live studio audience wouldn’t guess that a bad case of anxiety had her in a stranglehold.

Not that it wasn’t her own fault.

She’d handled the entire episode poorly from the onset. She should have dealt with Glory Green’s people herself instead of allowing Dean Gerard Pringle to act as a go-between. At the very least, she should have questioned him as to why the show needed an expert on evolutionary biology.

She would have, too, if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in Jax that she spent her working days counting the minutes until she could be with him again.

She, Marietta Dalrymple, who was educated enough to know better, had let herself become blinded by a man’s sex appeal.

Now, sitting on Glory Green’s artfully designed stage, with the lemon-colored walls and vases full of morning glories, she was paying the price. A single mother was positioned on either side of her with Glory to the far left, none of whom knew that Marietta’s loosely constructed dress hid a pregnancy already five months gone. All were waiting for the audience furor to die down so Marietta could answer Glory’s question.

Could you explain, Dr. Dalrymple, your controversial theory about the superfluousness of men after conception?

“Go ahead, doctor,” Glory prompted, smiling her telegenic smile. “We’ve heard from single mothers, some of who discussed the difficulties of raising a child on their own. We’re all interested in what you have to say.”

“First of all, I’d like to state that I’m presenting a
theory
.” Marietta emphasized the word. She took a deep breath. She could do this. She’d been reciting the words for so long that they should come automatically. “Because of the emergence of the economically independent female, mothers no longer need to rely on men to support and protect themselves and their offspring.”

A contingent of women in the audience rose in unison and cheered, shouting encouragement and indulging in palm-punishing clapping. Marietta recognized their petite, olive-skinned leader and blanched. Oh, no. Vicky Valenzuela had brought the fan club to New York City.

In response to the support from the FOCs, another segment of the audience erupted into loud boos. Marietta pursed her lips, sure that Jax’s response to her statement would be closer to a boo than a cheer. Although she’d been overwhelmed with guilt over her omission, she was suddenly fiercely glad she hadn’t told him she was appearing on the show.

Glory, no doubt sensing that dissension made for good television, walked off the stage and up the aisle separating the two halves of the audience. A large black man with a shaved head and nose ring practically ripped the microphone from her when she called on him for his question.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. My kids need me way more than they need my ex-wife. She pays more attention to the bottle than she does them.”

“I don’t doubt—” Marietta began, but the noisy audience drowned her out. She bit her lip and thought how best to neutralize the situation.

Never, in all her years of academia, had she run into an audience like this one.
Morning Glory, Live
was a cut above the popular talk shows which sensationalized the bizarre, but the difference was that the other shows were taped. A live show, by its very nature, was unpredictable.

Expect the unexpected was the single bit of advice Glory’s assistant had conveyed before sending her out to be slaughtered.

So Marietta was only mildly horrified when Glory tripped lightly down the aisle stairs and stopped in front of a heavily pregnant woman who had trouble rising to her feet. She looked like she was about to either burst or keel over from exhaustion.

“Theory’s all well and good, but reality’s something altogether different.” The pregnant woman spoke into the microphone in a voice that trembled. “I’ve got enough money, and I know I can support my child when it’s born. I don’t have a choice, seeing my husband died a month ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Marietta said automatically, but the woman brushed her off.

“I didn’t raise my hand for sympathy. I raised it ’cause I got a question. If
you
were pregnant and the father of
your
baby wanted to be a part of
your
life, are you honestly telling us that you’d turn him away?”

The audience immediately quieted, waiting for the answer that was integral to the way Marietta would live the rest of her life. Without knowing it, the woman, in effect, was asking whether Marietta wanted Jax in her life. That wasn’t something she wished to answer on national television.

“I think some of you have misunderstood my position,” she said. “
Motherhood Without Males
isn’t for everyone. It’s an alternative to the traditional method of child rearing. Even in the animal kingdom, where it’s prevalent, there are exceptions. Male emperor penguins and prairie voles, for example, are very attentive to their young. Their female mates might not need them, but they’re happy to have them around.”

“I’m not asking about penguins or prairie voles,” the pregnant woman cut in. “I’m asking about you.”

“I’m getting to that,” Marietta said. “But first I want to talk about the coyote.”

“The coyote?” Glory and the pregnant woman parroted in unison.

“Coyotes don’t seem like the most noble of animals, considering they howl and bark and scavenge,” Marietta said. “Sheep farmers wouldn’t agree with me, but I think coyotes are quite admirable.”

“How so?” Glory asked.

“Coyotes mate for life. A singular male hooks up with a singular female months before either animal comes into heat, signifying that compatibility and not hormones is the basis for the pair bond.” Marietta took a breath. “The commendable thing is that Father Coyote doesn’t run off in search of greener pastures once Mother Coyote gives birth. He stays by her side, helping her care for the young. Those sheep he sometimes slaughters provide food for his family. Even after the young are grown, he sticks around.”

The pregnant woman tried to take the microphone again, but Glory wouldn’t let her.

“I’m not sure how we got off on this coyote tangent, but we’ve lost sight of the question.” Glory put her hands on her slim hips. “In light of your learned theories, Dr. Dalrymple, would
you
want the father of
your
child around if you were pregnant?”

“Wouldn’t you rather hear about how the coyote’s primary social unit is the pair rather than the pack?” Marietta asked.

Glory shook her head emphatically. “No. I’d like to hear about you.”

Marietta swallowed. A lifetime of telling the truth had brought her to this point. Glory Green had asked, point blank, whether she was better off without the father of her child. Whether she was better off without Jax.

Mere months ago, her answer would have been heartfelt and immediate. Biology and its vital urges had compelled her to get pregnant, and she neither wanted nor needed a man. But that was before Jax had reappeared in her life, before her heart had started performing their unpredictable flip-flops.

Did she want Jax in her life? The time had come for her to face the truth.

“What all of you don’t know is that I’m nearly five months pregnant.” While Marietta waited for the murmuring of the audience to die down, a funny thing happened. The anxiety pressing her into the seat lifted, and happiness replaced it. Because she knew, in that instant, that what she was about to say was unalterably right. “The benefits of parental involvement, of course, depend on the man. The father of my child happens to be a wonderful, caring man who will be an excellent parent. I’d no sooner cut him out of my life than I would my own hand.”

Every segment of the audience, with the notable exception of Vicky Valenzuela’s FOC contingent, clapped wildly. Glory Green’s telegenic face, which had features nearly as symmetrical as Jax’s, broke into a wide smile.

“Isn’t that sweet?” Glory asked. “Unfortunately that’s all the time we have. Thanks for watching, and may all your mornings be as glorious as this one.”

Bright, upbeat music filled the stage, signaling the end of the show. The other guests and most of the audience members rose, preparing to leave. Marietta felt as though her body had been secured to her seat with super glue. She’d admitted, on national television no less, that Jax was as vital to her existence as a body part.

She stared out at the audience. For some unfathomable reason, her eyes went to the back row, near the exit. A larger-than-life man with the body of Adonis and a face of evenly proportioned perfection stood there, beaming at her. She blinked, but he was still there when she opened her eyes. Jax.

She would have kept on gaping at him if Tracy, waving wildly and wearing neon orange, hadn’t stepped in front of him and fought her way through the crowd to the stage. Tracy climbed the steps, took Marietta’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Please don’t be angry with me for telling Jax you were going to be on the show.” Tracy bit her lip. “It sort of slipped. Then, when he said he’d pay for us to come see you, I couldn’t pass up the trip. I would have told you, but I didn’t want you to be nervous. That’s why we sat in the back row.”

Marietta barely heard her sister, because she was looking over her shoulder, her eyes locked on Jax. His well-cut designer suit was deep blue, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and length of his legs. He was smiling his evenly balanced smile, looking so good he should have been arrested for inciting Marietta’s hormones to riot. When Tracy let go of Marietta, Jax didn’t hesitate. He came straight at her and pulled her into his arms, heedless that half the audience was still watching them.

“Did you mean it?” He smoothed the hair back from her face, overwhelming her, as he always did, with the sex appeal that oozed from his pores like an aphrodisiac. Mutely, she nodded, and his grin grew brighter than the overhead studio lights.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He laughed aloud, a joyous, robust sound. “It means you love me back.”

Marietta opened her mouth, but he put his fingers to her lips, silencing her.

“No, don’t ruin the moment with any of that intellectual biological stuff,” Jax said. “Just say you’ll marry me.”

She gave up. Her brain was so muddled, she wasn’t sure what she’d been about to say anyway. All she could do was respond to the warmth in his eyes. An answering smile lit hers.

“I’ll marry you,” she said.

A raucous cheer went up at the same moment that Jax pulled her to him for a promise-sealing kiss. Only then did Marietta realize that her microphone was on and the audience had heard every word they’d said.

She was too far gone with happiness to care.

A MAN COULDN’T GET any happier than this, Jax thought as Smashing Headhunter pulled him into a headlock and pounded his scalp with quick, staccato punches while screaming with blood-curdling glee. The punches were designed to be grazing blows meant to look like the real thing, but Headhunter’s rhythm was off, and half of them connected with dull thuds.

Jax barely felt the pain. His life was brimming with such wonderful possibilities that the kind of physical pain Headhunter inflicted was superficial.

Jax, quite simply, had it all. A stimulating profession. Good health. A baby on the way. And a fascinating, sexy bride-to-be who he was crazy in love with. True, Marietta hadn’t yet admitted she loved him, but she would. Once he proved that her theory about men and infidelity didn’t apply to him, she wouldn’t have a choice.

Smashing Headhunter released him, and Jax staggered around the ring the way they’d agreed on. In reality, Jax had enough energy to pick up the other wrestler and hurl him into the audience, but that wasn’t in tonight’s script.