Yes, she was positively pregnant. And her time for mindless moping must come to an end. She needed to make some decisions about her life. A whole lot of decisions, actually.
She wiggled her toes, creating mayhem in the starry skies. Good at that, wasn’t she? If someone had paid her, she couldn’t have managed to sabotage her careful, comfortable life better than what she’d accomplished last weekend.
As Ben would say, “Bravo Zulu, Anne.”
Ben. What should she do about him? Would he even speak to her? The memory of his unforgiving expression was accompanied by his cruel words, “Don’t see any need to talk this to death. You were right. I’m vanilla, and I don’t need this kink shit. Thanks for the taste.”
He was done with her. Done.
As anguish expanded from her chest throughout her entire body, she froze, trying to breathe despite the pain. Trying not to burst into tears.
After a few seconds, a few lifetimes, the agony receded, leaving aching emptiness behind. She let out a breath and picked up her tea. Right. She did have to think about Ben, but…this wasn’t the place. She needed to wait until she had her home around her.
She took a sip and forced herself to swallow.
No matter what she decided, she had to tell him about the baby. He was the father. She didn’t want child support, but…but being Ben, he’d insist on providing it. And he’d want to be part of the baby’s life.
That would hurt. And yet—she rested her hand on her stomach—whether girl or boy, the child could only be better for having an example of the finest of men.
For her baby’s sake, she would manage to cope with seeing Ben, and he’d do the same.
She pulled in a breath and blinked back tears. Why did life have to be so painful?
Onward, Anne. Next up, the Shadowlands.
Unable to swallow any longer, she set the tea down with a thump.
“Miss.” The man standing beside her table had gleaming white hair. Dressed in all white, he leaned on a black cane. His blue eyes were faded, yet observant. “I fear I am interrupting, but child, is there anything I can do to help?”
“I’m sorry?” She frowned, not following. Had she dropped something or—
“I’ve never seen anyone outside a hospital look so in agony. Would you permit me to help if I can?” The question brought more pain and yet—a sweetness accompanied it.
The world still contained wonderful people. She held out her hand. Her voice came out husky with unconquered tears. “A recent loss.” So many losses. “But time will take care of it, I’m sure.” Never. “Thank you for your concern.”
Much like the masseur, Marc, the senior tilted his head in acknowledgment and gave her fingers a squeeze. “All right then, missy. You take good care now.”
“And you.”
He had helped after all, boosting her up and out of her grief. Reminded of the balance of life, she blessed the stranger, and then set her mind to considering that night at the Shadowlands, Cullen and Raoul, and her behavior.
Not good. No matter what they’d said, she herself had overreacted and lost her temper. She couldn’t exactly blame them for doing the same.
If necessary, a talk would see things right between them. But, maybe even that wouldn’t be needed. She wasn’t in the Shadowlands any longer.
And she didn’t plan to reinstate her membership. Ben worked there, and…for both their sakes, she’d keep a distance. And, in all reality, it would be a long, long time before she opened up to accepting a submissive again, even for lightweight play.
But she’d miss seeing her friends there. Not only the Masters and Mistresses, but also the submissive women, Jessica, Beth, Kim…all of them. She’d always had casual friends, but this group had become more. They were an important part of her life.
Just another change she hadn’t noticed sneaking up on her.
Her mouth firmed. The Shadowlands was out, but she wouldn’t lose her girlfriends. She’d never willingly left a friend behind. Not when she was a child and dragged away by her father. Not now. Maybe they’d find it awkward to be friends with both her and Ben, but they’d manage, because loyalty was one of their finest qualities.
Next subject to fret about: her occupation.
She smiled. The job topic wasn’t nearly as painful. Wasn’t that nice?
Leaning her head back on the chair, she considered her options.
First possibility. She was a very, very good skip tracer and team leader, and Robert truly was incompetent. The uncles might well reconsider and want her back.
Second possibility. She could pursue other jobs. If she tightened her belt—uh, bad phrasing. She patted her stomach. Sorry, baby. If she pinched her pennies, she could take her time finding a new position. She’d banked most of her wages so her savings account was healthy. Her beach house had been a gift, so she had no rent or mortgage to pay each month. Thanks, Mom.