Society Wives: Secret Lives: The Rags-To-Riches Wife. Jennifer Greene
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one—not four or five years down the line.”
“But surely you realize a baby needs to be with its mother,” she insisted and he could hear the thread of alarm in her voice.
“It needs its father, too. I have no intention of being a parttime father, one of those men who has visitation every other weekend and alternates holidays. I want to be a part of it all—the late-night feedings, the first steps. Everything.”
Lily pushed to her feet. “I won’t let you take my baby from me,” she told him, her voice firm, defiance in her eyes. “I don’t care who your family is or how much money you have, I’ll fight you. I’ll fight you with every breath in me before I let you take my baby.”
“It’s our baby, Lily. Our baby.”
She folded her arms protectively over her abdomen. But her eyes never wavered as she spat out, “I mean it, Jack.
I’ll fight you every step of the way. I won’t let you take the baby from me.”
Standing, he walked over to her. He had a good six inches on her and knew he could be intimidating. Hadn’t he been told time and again that his strong physical presence was as big an asset in the courtroom as was his skill as a lawyer? But if she was intimidated, Lily didn’t show it. She held her ground, stood with him toe-to-toe. With her claws drawn and her eyes sparking fire, she reminded him of a cornered mama cat, fighting to protect her kitten. And he couldn’t help but admire her for it. “Do you really think I’m such a heartless monster? That I would take our baby from its mother?” he asked.
She eyed him warily. “But you said you wanted to be there for everything.”
“And I do,” he said and touched her cheek. “A baby needs a mother and a father.”
“I don’t understand. The baby can’t be with both of us all the time.”
“Sure it can. All we have to do is get married.”
Three
“You can’t be serious,” Lily told Jack, unable to believe the man had actually suggested that they marry.
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
“Then you’re either crazy or you’re a fool,” she said and moved away from him. She retreated behind her desk, wanting the sense of normalcy and control that it represented.
“Why? Because I want to give our baby a real home with both of its parents? It sounds pretty reasonable to me.”
“But we don’t know anything about each other.”
He walked over to the desk and took the seat directly across from her. “That’s easily fixed. Ask away. What do you want to know about me?”
“Jack …”
“All right, I’ll start. My full name is John Ryan Cartwright, IV, but I’ve been called Jack since I was in diapers. I’m single, never been married. My parents are Sandra and John Cartwright. I have two sisters, Courtney and Elizabeth. My Cartwright ancestors were English Puritans from Massachusetts who were among the first settlers in the state. On my mother’s side my claim to fame is Nathan Hale as an ancestor,” he said.
“Jack, this isn’t necessary,” she informed him, because just listening to him drove home how truly unsuitable they were. She didn’t belong in his world, never would.
“It is necessary because we’ve created a child together, a child who’s going to need both of its parents. If the only way to achieve that is by the two of us learning about each other, then I want you to know everything there is to know about me.”
Seeing the determined look on his face, Lily didn’t waste her breath trying to reason with him. Once he was finished, she would try to make him see that marriage was not a viable option.
“Now let’s see, where was I? You already know that I’m a lawyer with the firm of Cartwright and Associates which was founded by my great-great-great grandfather. I became the firm’s managing partner last year when my father retired. I serve on the board of Eastwick Cares. I also serve on the boards of two other nonprofit agencies because I believe one person can make a difference and that by giving back to the community we make that difference. I own my home and have a boat that I like to take out on Long Island Sound whenever I get the chance. I gross roughly $250,000 a year from my law practice and have a stock portfolio that produces another six figures. My favorite food is spaghetti. My favorite dessert is bananas Foster.” Rising, he came around the desk to where she stood. He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “And I have a real weakness for redheads with skin like silk.”
Lily closed her eyes a moment and, just as she had done that night in December, felt herself grow weak at his touch.
“Marry me, Lily. Make a home with me for our baby.”
He made it sound so simple. Get married, raise their baby together.
“It is that simple,” he told her.
Only then did Lily realize she’d spoken aloud. Needing to break the hypnotic pull he seemed to have on her, she stepped back and crossed her arms. “You’re wrong. It isn’t simple,” she insisted. And she couldn’t afford to make the mistake of believing it was. She’d done that far too often growing up. She wouldn’t do it now. Not when she had her baby’s happiness at stake.
“Why not?”
“Because we come from entirely different worlds.”
“If you’re talking about the money—“
“I’m not,” she said. “But it is a factor. For starters, I don’t own my home. I live in a rental apartment. My annual salary is substantially less than yours. I have a modest savings account and a small IRA account, but no stock portfolio. I have a five-year-old car and a bike, but no boat.”
“Those are material things. They’re not important.”
“It’s not just the monetary differences, Jack. You have ancestors you can trace back for generations. You have parents, sisters, a family. You know who you are, where you came from,” she said, trying to explain. “Do you know how far back I can trace my ancestors? Twenty-seven years ago—to me. I do know that my name is Lily because that’s what the note pinned on my blanket said and there’s an L engraved on this locket that I was wearing,” she said, lifting the gold locket. “As for the name Miller, it was the name of the street where the church I was left in was located.”
“Lily, I’m sorry—“
“Don’t be,” she said and turned away, not wanting to see pity in his eyes, not wanting him to see the tears threatening in hers. “Surely you can see now that the idea of us marrying, even if it is for the baby’s sake, is ridiculous.”
“Why? Because you don’t have some pedigree? Do you really think that I’m that shallow? That I would judge you on the basis of something as inconsequential as where you were born and who your parents were?”
“I’d hardly call not knowing who you are or where you came from inconsequential. For all we know, I could be the daughter of an ax murderer.”
“Or the daughter of a king,” he countered.
But kings didn’t leave their babies. And wealthy, handsome men from prestigious families didn’t marry orphans who not even their mothers had wanted.
She felt him come up behind her. “So maybe I don’t know where you were born or who your family is, but you know what I do know?” He rested his hands upon her shoulders. “I know that you’re kind and caring. I know that as a counselor, you’ve made a difference in the lives of dozens and dozens of kids. I know that because of you a lot of the kids who’ve come through that door have a chance to make it, because counseling them isn’t just a job to you. You care about them.”
Since she’d