HADYN
Vanya snores when she sleeps and it’s adorable. I roll over and hug her to me. She tries to kick me off like I’m a quilt on a hot summer night, but I stay close and she settles down again.
Satisfied, I stake my elbow on the bed and prop my chin up on my fist. I’m staring at her like a creep, but it’s not like she’s awake to judge me.
Vanya Freaking Beckford.
In my bed.
After not one, not two, but three reminders of what I did after our wedding in Vegas.
This is real life.
I slept with my irritating, beautiful, childhood-friend-turned wife.
And we did it sober this time.
Her body’s sinking into the mattress, soft and languid. A work of art.
She nestles into my chest, her short hair splaying over the pillow. She’s going to kill me for letting her nap on a cotton pillow without her bonnet on. From now on, I’m going to have to keep silk pillowcases on my bed.
I learned about silk sheets, natural hair oils, and how to lay a wig flat all from watching and listening to her. The woman knows hair the way she knows chai. If she ever decides to leave modeling and cookbooks behind, she could probably open a salon.
Vanya mumbles in her sleep and rolls around to her other side. I push myself up so I can keep looking at her face.
She’s naked. The sheet draped around her waist leaves my favorite part of her body exposed. Scratch that. My second favorite part of her body. I got nicely reacquainted with the first-place winner earlier. Enough that she won’t be able to sit without thinking of me.
My chest swells when I recall her throaty little moans.
I dare you to forget this time.
The warmth of her skin against my fingertips drags a smile to my face. I love her lips, her cheeks, her delicate throat. I love her thighs that are perfect for grabbing and locking around my waist. I love those sexy stretch marks dipping and wrapping around her like a painting in gold.
She didn’t shy away when I touched her in places that other women would be self-conscious about. Her stomach. Her love handles. Her thighs. So I rewarded her for it. I followed those lines with my fingers, and then my tongue, kissing my way around and around until she pleaded for mercy.
Vanya’s face wrinkles as she sleeps. She’s always anxious, even when she’s not awake to fuss over everything. I press a finger to her forehead, right between her brows. The wrinkle eases out. Her lashes stay still. Her lips, slightly parted, let loose another snore.
If she weren’t wrung out from our little jaunt down memory lane, I would have rolled her over, dragged the sheet away and parted her legs to wake her up with my tongue.
Instead, I drape an arm around her and curve my legs under hers. This is new for me. I’m not a cuddler. I don’t linger in bed when the deed is done and I certainly don’t fall asleep when it’s over. Oxytocin is real and women need no excuses to be clingy.
But I don’t feel the same need to run this time.
Because its Vanya.
It’s different with her.
She’s my wife.
A smoking hot wife.
And…
And what?
What does this mean for us now?
I decide not to think about it. Knowing Vanya, she’s going to panic for the both of us. I’ll be the voice of reason and calm her down with chai.
And if that doesn’t work, I’ll drag her into my bed again and press reset. I’m willing to keep going in circles until she finds a label that fits us better than ‘husband and wife’. It’s a sacrifice, but hey, we all need to make those every now and again.
My phone buzzes.
I roll over to see a text.
MAX: Should the Belle’s Beauty gala invitation address you and Vanya as Mr. and Mrs.?
A stupid grin rolls on top of my face.
I don’t know why I’m so happy about that question, but I am. Enough to make me levitate.
Before I answer, I glance down at Vanya. We slept together. That must mean something, right?
We’re married.
We’re having a baby.
We’re sleeping in the same bed.
The easiest thing would be to ride this train to the end rather than try to draw more lines in the sand. Especially since we’ve crossed that line. Twice now.
I text back a ‘yes’ and smile like the cat that ate the canary.
Mrs. Vanya Mulliez.
Has a nice ring to it.
Vanya turns on her other side. This time, her face is to me. The wrinkle is back.
I smooth it out again and ease down so I can speak to her stomach. “Hope you had your eyes closed, bud.” I kiss Vanya’s belly and then look up at her sleeping face. “And I hope you like chai because your mother isn’t giving you a break.”
There’s a knock on the front door.
I start to move away when Vanya throws her arm around me. She has a surprisingly strong grip. It takes a while for me to ease out of her embrace without waking her.
My efforts are almost in vain when the thudding on the door continues and Vanya mumbles for it to stop.
Figuring it must be Juniper, I don’t bother getting dressed. I locate my boxers in the trail of clothes discarded next to the bed and hurry down the stairs.
The knocking sounds again.
I wrench the door open.
“What’s with the racket, Jun—” The name freezes in my mouth when I see who’s standing outside.
“Mr. Beckford?”
“Hadyn?” Vanya’s dad gives me a wide-eyed stare. He’s a tall, well-built man with smooth, dark skin and intelligent brown eyes. The suit he’s wearing is simple but well-tailored and the watch on his wrist speaks of a man who favors elegance over garish displays of wealth.
After losing his entire business years ago, Hugh Beckford scrambled to do everything in his power to pay his wife’s medical debt. The doors kept slamming in his face, but he never stopped getting back up again. Now he runs a well-known international asset firm. It’s a rags-to-riches storyline for the ages.
“What… what are you doing here?” I cough, my hands tightening around the doorknob as I stare into brown eyes that look exactly like Vanya’s.
“What are you doing here?” Hugh fires back, his judgmental gaze dropping to my boxers before moving, pointedly, back to my face.
I stick a hand over my groin as if it can hide the obvious. “Uh…”
“Where is Vanya?” Hugh storms into the room.
Dammit. Dammit.
I follow him urgently. “She’s still sleeping.”
“How do you know that?”
Shoot. “I don’t, sir.”
He gives me a yeah right look.
“She in her bedroom?” He charges up the stairs.
I take off after him. I’m sure our urgent footsteps are making a ruckus. Vanya sleeps deeply, but not during naps.
“She’s not in there,” I say.
“Then where is she?”
My eyes dart to the guest room.
He notices and hurries toward it.
I have to stop him. Vanya isn’t dressed. And from the state of my bed, it’s pretty obvious what we’ve been spending the morning doing.
I skid to a stop in front of him and throw my arms out like a human shield. “Sir…”
“What’s going on here, Hadyn? The last time I checked, you and Vanya couldn’t stand each other.”
“That’s… uh…”
“Why are you staying with her? Why are you naked? And for Pete’s sake, why is my daughter in your bed?”
“I can answer all of that.”
“I’m waiting.” He taps his foot.
“It’s… complicated.”
“Do I look like one of your little friends, Hadyn?” he growls.
“No, sir.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you having some kind of illicit affair with my daughter?”
“Illicit? No, we’re…”
“Dad?” Vanya squeaks. She’s standing in the middle of the hallway wearing the pajama tank top and shorts from earlier.
Hugh moves quickly and sidesteps me to get to Vanya. “Care to explain that?” He makes a gesture to all of me.
If I had thinner skin, I’d be offended.
“That?” She peers past him. “That’s Hadyn. Dad, why are you here?”
Hugh looks like he’s going to bust a vein. “I was in town for a visit. I thought I could spend the afternoon with my daughter. Instead I came face-to-face with Mr. Fruit By the Looms over here.”
“Actually, these are Georgiano boxers,” I mumble.
Hugh slants me a sharp look.
Note to self: Hugh Beckford does not care about designer underwear.
“Dad, you should have told me you were coming,” Vanya says, blinking rapidly.
“So you could hide that you have company? How long has this been going on?”
“It was only one time. Two, actually.”
“We’ve been together for a few weeks.”
Our words overlap.
I stare at Vanya.
She glares at me.
Hugh crosses his ankles next. If he keeps going like that, he’s going to cross his fingers and toes and then he’s going to run out of things to cross. Maybe he’ll want to cross me off next.
Hugh turns to me, catches a glimpse of my boxers again and squeezes his eyes shut. “Hadyn, please put on some clothes. Goodness. Vanya, come with me. We’ll have a discussion in the living room.”
Vanya groans. “Dad.”
“Come on,” he insists.
I expect Vanya to follow him, but she marches to me and grabs my arm. “I need to speak with Hadyn first.”
Hugh shakes his head. “Excuse me?”
Vanya stands her ground, looking fierce and beautiful in the afternoon light.
“Fine.” Hugh gives in. “But don’t think you can push him through a window. I will find him.”
Vanya rolls her eyes. “Dad, we’re fourteen floors up. Where is he supposed to go?”
Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, Hugh trumps down the stairs.
Vanya drags me into my bedroom and shuts the door. One side of her hair is sticking up and there’s a pillow crease under her left eye. She has no makeup on, no fancy earrings, no extensions. Her natural face looks even more exquisite than when she’s dolled up.
She paces up and down, her bare feet stomping over my sweatpants and T-shirt. Her toenails are painted pink and it’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself.
“Since he’s here, should we tell him what’s going on?” I suggest.
“No.” She rubs her forehead. “We can’t under any circumstances admit that we’re married.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not telling my dad who adores me that I got drunk in Vegas and eloped with you. He’s going to have a heart attack.” She frowns at me. “You know how protective he is.”
I do know. In the beginning, Vanya kept her modeling a secret from her father. She told me and Max that she didn’t want him feeling guilty about her paying back their family’s debt. But I know it was really that she didn’t want him finding out what kind of shoots she was doing.
Back when Vanya first started, the only gigs she could book were the sexy kind. Swimsuits. Lingerie. She rocked every assignment, but her gigs weren’t exactly the cover of American Vogue. The fact that clients just wanted her, a curvy woman, to wear a skimpy bikini wasn’t something she was willing to admit to her dad.
It wasn’t until she won her first real ad campaign for a brand that she informed him of her decision to pursue modeling along with her college degree.
Vanya adores her dad as much as I resent mine.
I’ve always respected and feared Hugh because of it.
“It’s the truth, V. We did get married in Vegas.” I place my hand on her stomach. “We’re having a baby. How do you expect to hide Project Vegas from your dad?”
“Lower your voice,” she hisses.
“I’m not talking that loudly,” I snap.
She glares at me.
I glare back.
“What’s your grand plan then?” I arch both eyebrows.
She sweeps my sweatpants off the ground and tosses it at me. I catch it right out of the air.
“I need chai to think,” she moans.
“Vanya, I’m going to say this in the nicest way possible. Screw chai. Your dad is downstairs about to kill me. We need to let him know what’s going on.”
“I’m going to tell him when the time is right,” she hisses.
“Not everything in life has to go perfectly to plan, V. Sometimes, it’s best to just,” I make a ripping motion, “tear the band-aid off.”
“Oh, so now you’re full of life advice?”
“You had a lot to say at the hospital yesterday. How does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot?”
She huffs. “I’m not telling my father we’re married.”
“He’s seen us. He knows we’re sleeping together.” I reach down to pick up my shirt. “So that leaves us with what option? Running?”
Her brown eyes glint at me. “They say a lie is more convincing when it’s sandwiched in the truth.”
I groan. “I’m scared to even ask.”
“Then don’t.” She crooks a finger. “Follow me.”
If she wasn’t so gorgeous, I probably would have sent her downstairs by herself. But I know Hugh wasn’t lying when he said he would find me if I tried to escape. And I’m not going to run from any of the obstacles that show up in front of us.
Hugh is sitting in the sofa, his arms folded and one knee bent over the other. He’s staring ahead, his back ramrod straight.
Vanya shuffles to the love seat opposite her father. I sit beside her, ignoring the stink eye she gives me. I want to be close enough that we can communicate without her father overhearing.
Hugh arches a black brow. “Talk, Vanya. Now.”
She lifts her head high. “Dad, Hadyn and I are friends with benefits.”
Her dad starts choking.
I start coughing.
Vanya’s prim little smile gets tighter.
That was her grand plan? To claim we’re having no-strings attached sex in front of her father? Was that honestly the better option than admitting to being married?
“Uh. Okay.” Hugh blinks rapidly as if he’s seen something he wishes he could scrub out of his mind. “Can I get some water?”
“I’ll get it for you.” I hop to my feet.
Vanya clasps a hand over her knee. “We originally intended it to be a one-time thing. But Hadyn’s very experienced in the bedroom. One time turned into two.”
I hurry out just as Hugh holds up a hand and begs. “Stop. Please.”
Vanya is insane.
The living room falls into silence until I return with a cup of water and an emergency bottle of chai tea that I bought and kept hidden from Vanya behind the broccoli in the fridge.
Hugh accepts the water with a ‘thanks’ and then guzzles it down. I fall into the seat beside Vanya and pop the tab on the chai soda.
Her eyes brighten and she squeals. “Thank you.”
I hold the can back. “This is for me.”
She pouts. “Hadyn.”
I take a sip because she doesn’t deserve it.
Vanya yanks the bottle from me and smiles as she drinks. The addict.
Hugh watches us both keenly. After plunking the glass on the coffee table, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at his daughter, who I’m half-sure is mentally unstable.
“Hadyn.”
“Yes, sir.” I straighten up.
“Since Vanya’s not doing a good job, do you want to explain what’s going on?”
Vanya tilts her head. “Dad, I already told you—”
“Not you.” He holds a hand up.
Vanya shuts her mouth.
Hugh pins me with dark eyes. “Are you having a casual fling with my daughter?”
I blink rapidly. “Uh…”
Vanya places her hand on my knee and squeezes.
I nod because I’m under duress. “Yeah, I, uh, I guess so.”
“Dad, you were never supposed to find out about this, but I’d like to assure you that it’s not a long-term thing. We decided we were better off being friends and we’re going our separate ways.”
I whip my head around. “Now hold up a minute.”
Hugh turns stiff as a board. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Vanya stands. “Breakfast, anyone?”
I grab her arm and haul her back down. She falls into the seat beside me, her arm brushing mine and sending electricity skittering all over my body.
How can one woman give me the greatest pleasure of my life and the biggest headache of my life in one morning?
“Who said anything about leaving?” I demand.
“We had a one-night stand,” she answers. “What happens when it’s over, Hadyn? You walk away.”
“Says who?” I roar.
She frowns. “Did you think because we slept together once, we’re dating now?”
My eyes almost pop out of my face.
“I’m with Hadyn here. You’re already taking this step. What’s keeping you two from having a real relationship?” Hugh scoots to the edge of his seat. “You’ve known each other since childhood. And you’re comfortable enough with Hadyn to,” he stutters over his words, “get… uh, acquainted with his Fruit Of The Looms—”
“They’re Georgiano.”
Hugh ignores the correction. “He can be a bit obnoxious, but he’s a good kid.”
“He’s my booty call, dad.”
Hugh almost falls out of his chair.
“What if I don’t want to be a booty call?” I snap.
Vanya gives me a blistering look.
I don’t care.
This is her ridiculous way of drawing a line in the sand.
I’m not okay with that.
Sure, I used to be the one who called a one-night stand what it was. I was the one who didn’t sugarcoat with women. I was the one used to doing the rejecting. But now that I’m sitting next to my wife and the mother of my child and she’s talking about me being a booty call, I’m having a serious freaking problem.
Brows wrinkling, Hugh takes a deep breath. “I need a drink.”
“You and me both,” I mumble.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Vanya mumbles.
“The big deal?” Hugh scowls. “You used this poor young man for his body and now you’re just throwing him out…”
I nod and try to make myself look as pathetic as possible.
“… Is that how I raised you?” Hugh spits.
“You’ve never gotten involved in my relationships before. Why start now?”
“I’ve never walked in on one of your… relationships before.” He shakes his head. “Vanya, I need some time to process all this.”
A phone rings in the tense silence.
We all glance down to check where the ringing is coming from.
“It’s mine.” I lift my cell in triumph.
“It’s your mom.” Vanya notes the name reflected on the screen. “She must want you at the hospital.”
“Give me a sec. I’ll take this in the kitchen.”
“Go.” Vanya gives me a little nudge.
I sail into the next room.
Mom’s voice is a whisper on the phone. “Hadyn, do you mind coming over and staying with your father while I get a few things from home to bring with me to the hospital? Will is going to take me and no one will be with your dad.”
I stiffen at the thought of being in dad’s hospital room alone. Then I remember Vanya’s advice to clear the air and I force myself to agree.
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Thank you, son. And,” mom hesitates, “I know you don’t see eye-to-eye, but your dad is in a very fragile state. Can you please avoid arguing with him? For me?”
“No promises.”
“I’ll need more than that, Hadyn.”
I scrub a hand over my chin. “I’m sorry, mom. That’s all I can give you right now.”
She sighs and hangs up.
I walk back to the living room.
Hugh rises to his feet. His expression is less ‘overprotective dad’ and more ‘concerned family friend’. “Hadyn, I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. They need me at the hospital.”
Vanya walks toward me and squeezes my arm. “Drive safe.”
“I will.” I stay in place and look down at her. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Mm-hm.”
Her upturned face is just begging for a kiss, but I resist dropping one on her lips and simply stare at her mouth instead.
“And since your dad is here, ask him before you move anything heavy or go climbing on anything high,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “You do realize that I wear seven-inch heels for a living?”
“Which is why your clumsiness will never fail to astound me.” I push her hair behind her ear. “Be good.”
She scowls. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
I turn to Hugh, who’s watching us with a perplexed expression. “I’m sorry that I can’t stay longer.”
“Understandable.” He waves me out. “Go on, son.”
Vanya smiles. “Call me if you need me too.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll be home soon.”
She nods.
Home. As I leave, an odd sensation floods my chest. Since when did I think of Vanya as home?
From the hallway, I spot dad on the hospital cot. He’s sitting up and working on his laptop. Shaking my head at his stubbornness, I draw a few steps back and make my footsteps more pronounced.
By the time I step into the room, dad is on his side, curled up like a ball.
There’s no laptop in sight.
I stop at the base of his bed and fold my arms over my chest. “Cut the act, Mulliez. I saw you checking stocks a few seconds ago.”
Dad growls and sits up. “Then why didn’t you make your presence known?”
“I wanted to see what you’d do when you were caught red-handed.”
He frowns at me, his wizened face looking ten times older than usual. “You’ll tell your mother?”
“I can be bought.”
“Name your price.”
“I’ve got questions that need answers.”
He gives me a suspicious look. “What kind of questions?”
I pull a chair up next to his bed and fold my arms over my chest. “About Ollie.”
Dad turns pale.
I don’t let him off the hook. Sure, he might have just come out of surgery, but he’s well enough to do business behind mom’s back. It means he’s well enough to drag up the past and duke it out with me.
He squirms higher on the bed so he’s looking down at me. The man is sicker than a dog and yet he has to have the upper hand.
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
I stare at him, hesitating.
The shades are drawn so the room is dark. Even so, sunshine still finds a way in to illuminate dad’s clenched hands.
“Why didn’t you push Ollie to get treatment?” The words come out harsher and more bitter than I intended. I can’t help the rage that simmers in my gut. My brother is dead and dad allowed it to happen. “You were the only one he told. The only one who could have saved him. And you didn’t.”
“You think I didn’t want to?” Dad hisses.
“I think you only pretend to care about things. But when it’s time to show up, you’re magically absent,” I bite back.
His mouth starts trembling. “Why don’t you continue to hate me? You won’t believe anything I say anyway.”
I lean my elbows on my knees and rein in my emotions. If dad sees me losing my cool, he’ll just feel more confident. He always used to say that the way to win any negotiation was to get the other side emotional. Emotions cloud judgement and can turn a smart man into a fool.
Taking in a deep breath, I stare at him. “Let me decide whether I believe you or not. You don’t get to make that choice for me.”
The corner of his lips eases up, but it doesn’t bloom into a full smile. “He said you were too stubborn to tame.”
“Who?” A lump jumps into my throat. “Ollie?”
Dad looks up at the ceiling. “The day he got his diagnosis, Ollie came to my office with a plan for the media house. He wanted a sports section. Wanted to turn it into a mini-ESPN. He brought all these plans for me to see and I rejected them. I told him it didn’t make sense for us to go that niche.” Dad’s eyes drift to me. “Do you know why he did that?”
“Because he loved racing?”
“Because he wanted you to have a place that belonged to you.”
My heart squeezes so tightly I’m not sure it’ll ever be the same again. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought he was acting strangely, so I kept an eye on him.”
“You spied on him,” I interpret.
“I did what I had to in order to make sure my son was alright,” dad says firmly. “That’s when I found out about the hospital.”
“So… Ollie never told you?”
“No. He had no intention of telling anyone. Which is what he admitted when I confronted him about it.” Dad strains to sit up straighter, but beads of sweat crawl over his forehead and he flops back down. “I begged him to stop working and seek treatment, but he refused. He said his illness had already reached its terminal stage. He said he’d rather build something he could be proud of. A legacy he could leave behind.”
My ears are ringing.
My eyes are burning.
I shake my head. “No, h-he wouldn’t have rejected treatment if you’d begged him. You should have dragged him there. You shouldn’t have given him a choice.”
“What father can look at his son and deny his last wish?” dad asks, his nostrils flaring.
“You should have done something.” I sob.
“I did. I helped him work. I took all the plans he wanted to finish and I rallied around him. We did it together. There were times he was tired and I pushed him. I pushed him because I knew it wouldn’t feel earned if I did all the work for him. He wanted to earn it. He wanted that chance.”
It hurts too much. I want to hate my dad. I want to blame him for everything. That’s the easiest option.
“I don’t care if you blame me,” dad says. “I blame myself.”
The spikes on his heart rate monitor spike.
“I should have died instead of him.”
For the first time in my entire life, I see tears in my father’s eyes.
“I shouldn’t have let him make that choice. I should have stripped him of every choice so there was only one left.”
His face is getting red.
A vein throbs in his neck.
Something deep inside tells me what I’m seeing isn’t good.
“Dad.” I reach forward. “Dad?”
“I should have…” His words turn to nothing.
The heart monitor starts shrieking.
Dad’s body pulses up and down. The cot crashes against the wall. The machines go ballistic.
I step back in horror as the door bangs open and the medical team rushes in.
