Right now, though, I couldn’t worry about JC. He had my eternity—at least, he did if he still wanted that when everything was resolved. This moment had to be about laying the groundwork for a possible lifelong connection with Chandler, whether or not JC still wanted to be part of it.
Under the table, I tightened my fingers around JC’s. Then I gently slid my other hand out from beneath Chandler’s. “I’m fond of you, Chandler.” Beside me, I felt JC bristle. “But that’s all there is for us. If this baby is yours, I know you’ll be an excellent father. We will do everything we can to make sure you have every input you deserve in the upbringing. But JC is where my life is. Whether this baby is his or not. That isn’t going to change, no matter what the paternity test says.”
Chandler’s expression fell. “Sure. I just had to say it while I had the chance.” He stood up. “I’ll go take that test now.” He was gone before I could even tell him thank you.
***
We were silent on the drive home.
I thought about my grocery list. And the wax appointment I needed before the wedding. And whether or not we should try to sell the car we were in since city driving was a bitch. I thought about anything and everything that wasn’t the baby growing inside me or Chandler’s proclamation or what JC must be thinking.
At the condo, I headed to the bedroom, planning to hit the sack. I’d napped earlier, but I was tired now. So very, very tired.
JC followed me. “I’ll pick up prenatal vitamins tonight,” he said, kicking off his shoes. “Do you think I should reschedule the painters? Maybe it’s not good for the baby to be around the fumes.”
I stared at him in disbelief. He’d just found out our baby—the one that he wanted so badly—might not actually be his, just listened to another man declare his love for me, and he was concerned about paint fumes?
JC misread my expression. “You know, the painters we have scheduled for the office? They could come while we’re in Santorini instead.”
He was still thinking about our honeymoon. That should have made me feel better. Obviously, he still wanted to marry me, even if he wasn’t the father. Even if someone else loved me too.
But as the wall of ice around me came down, it wasn’t relief I felt. It was anger.
I was furious with myself. Furious with unreliable contraception. Furious with my body. Most of all, unreasonable as it was, I was furious with JC. Not only because he’d left me alone for long enough to look for sexual satisfaction elsewhere, but also because he seemed to be perfectly okay with the fact that I had.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked, not hiding my rage.
His expression said he was confused by the question, but it seemed to ignore my temperament. “What do you mean?”
I repeated myself, even more forcefully. “I mean, what’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you upset?” I was bordering on distraught, and he was coolly going on with his routine, as if our entire world hadn’t just changed dramatically.
He shrugged then took off his jacket and draped it over the end of the bed. “I guess I don’t think there’s anything to be upset about.”
My face morphed into cruel disbelief. “Your fiancée might be pregnant with another man’s baby, another man who tried to win me over in front of you, and you don’t think there’s anything to be upset about?”
“You weren’t my fiancée when you got pregnant. If it’s not mine, I mean.” He turned away to unbutton his shirt, the only indication that he might be affected.
I circled around him, forcing his attention on me directly. “But you weren’t with anyone that whole time we were apart. And I was. That doesn’t bother you?”
He paused undressing and let out a huff of frustrated air. “We’ve been over this, Gwen. I knew I was coming back. You didn’t. I can’t hold a grudge about anything you did while I was gone.” He brushed past me, headed toward his closet.
“Hold a grudge?” If he’d been with someone else, I would have been hurt, devastated, jealous as hell. A grudge would not have even come close to describing how I would have felt.
He spun around to face me. “What is it you want me to say? Because obviously I’m not saying the right thing.” There was more energy in his tone now, but it was exasperation, which wasn’t at all what I was looking for.
“I want you to say it bothers you.” I was practically yelling. “I want you to say that you’re mad.”
“At you?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Why don’t you hate me? You should hate that my relationship with Chandler might have ruined the rest of our lives.”