The Black Sheep's Secret Child. Cat Schield

      “The only thing of value left is Dylan’s shares in the company,” she continued. “But I can’t touch that.”

      “I don’t want money,” Trent said.

      No, of course not. He could buy West Coast Records three times over. “What do you want?”

      That she was putting herself in his hands occurred to her the instant the words were past her lips. But what else could she do? Siggy was willing to clear her debt but insisted she and Dylan move in with him. Her father-in-law’s opinion of her was low. He hadn’t approved of his son marrying her and he’d let her know that on several occasions. The thought of living in that toxic environment made her panic.

      “Why did you marry my brother?”

      The question came out of nowhere, and for several seconds Savannah didn’t know what to say. Discussing her marriage with Trent was fraught with too many complications. Trent would never understand or approve of what she’d done, because he couldn’t understand how her circumstances had left her feeling vulnerable and alone.

      “You knew what I wanted. What was the most important thing to me.”

      Something Trent was never going to give her—a family. They stared at each other while her unspoken answer hung between them. Speaking of her longing would open up old wounds and she couldn’t bear that.

      I can’t give you what you want.

      Her heart had shattered when he’d uttered those words two years earlier.

      At last she sighed. “I wanted to be married. To have children.”

      “I don’t understand why you chose Rafe. Was it because you were pregnant?”

      Savannah noticed he didn’t ask her if she’d loved his brother. Why bother when the math was obvious? Dylan had been born six months after Savannah and Rafe had promised to love, honor and cherish each other until death.

      “That played into it.” She’d been devastated that the man she loved couldn’t give her what she wanted and terrified of raising a child on her own.

      Why had she chosen Rafe? Because he’d wanted her.

      “Rafe was excited about being a father. Family was important to him.”

      More important than she’d initially understood. And he’d been very persuasive. At the time she’d believed she could trust him. She wouldn’t have married him if he’d been like Trent. But he’d never once made her doubt his desire to be a father, and he’d been over-the-moon excited that she was carrying a boy.

      “Rafe and Siggy were exactly alike,” Trent scoffed. “People mean no more to them than as a means to an end.”

      It was humiliating to know just how right Trent was about that. She’d thought Rafe was her friend. Growing up he’d been the nice one, always upbeat and well mannered. He’d never hurt Savannah’s feelings when she’d tried to cheer him out of a bad mood. He’d been the one to lift her spirits.

      From when they were kids, he’d known how she felt about his brother. A couple times he’d come upon her crying in the midst of teenage angst over Trent. And he’d made her feel less unwanted.

      Rafe had been the one who’d encouraged her to take the modeling job in New York. And after she quit the soap opera and returned to LA, he’d been the one who’d helped her find a rental.

      She’d never questioned why Rafe was so accepting about the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy. Nor had her suspicions been aroused by the fact that he’d been the one who’d handed her a box of condoms and sent her to Las Vegas to visit Trent and get him out of her system once and for all.

      It wasn’t until after Dylan was born, when Rafe collapsed and she discovered the illness he’d been hiding, that she’d learned how he’d tricked her. That he’d sabotaged the box of condoms. Gambled that she would get pregnant.

      He’d bought into his father’s notions of a dynasty. Wanted a son, but his cancer treatments had left him impotent and sterile. So he’d taken a chance and tricked her into getting pregnant by his brother.

      At first she’d been shocked and appalled at being manipulated by someone she trusted. But in the end she couldn’t hate a man who’d made such poor decisions with a death sentence hanging over his head.

      “That last time we were together,” Trent began, his voice pitched low. “Were you and Rafe already involved?”

      Savannah came out of her musing to find Trent standing within arm’s reach. Closer than she’d expected. He stood with his head cocked, his manner watchful, as if waiting for a sign from her. Suddenly she was having trouble catching her breath.

      He hadn’t touched her. He showed no inclination that he wanted to. So why was she suddenly craving his kiss?

      “Does it matter?” She should back away. Put the width of the room between them. A table. A chair. Better yet, a door. Several corridors. A couple dozen floors.

      “Not to me.” His tone was light but his gaze was intense. “But my brother might have appreciated knowing you were cheating on him with me.”

      “I wasn’t cheating on him. With you or anyone else.”

      In her rush to vindicate herself in his eyes, she neglected to remember that little matter of math. Would Trent realize that nine months after they had been together in Las Vegas, she’d given birth to Dylan? The thought terrified her. What if he wouldn’t help her after discovering she’d kept the truth about his son from him? It was a practical concern, but not her bigger fear.

      It hadn’t taken a lot for Rafe to convince her that once Trent learned the truth that he would still reject her and his son.

      Which is why she hadn’t told him about Dylan when she’d discovered she was pregnant. Was it cowardly of her to hide the truth because she was assuming the worst outcome? Of course, but nothing Trent had ever said to her gave her reason to hope that he’d miraculously alter his way of thinking because he was going to be a father.

      “I don’t want to talk about my marriage.”

      “Then we’ve run out of things to say to each other.” Trent gestured toward his office door.

      “That isn’t necessarily true,” she countered, snatching at something to keep the conversation rolling. If she kept him talking, he wouldn’t be able to throw her out of his office and maybe she could get the topic back around to the record label.

      “What else did you have in mind?”

      “You could ask me about Murphy.”

      He’d gotten her the French bulldog as a Christmas present three years ago. At the time she’d thought he’d bought the cream-colored snore monster because he was starting to get ideas of taking their relationship to the next level. She’d been in heaven.

      Having Trent all to herself for those two weeks had been magical. They’d snuggled on the couch and opened presents at midnight on Christmas Eve. The week leading up to New Year’s, they’d walked the puppy, browsed through Chinatown and the East Village, taken in a couple Broadway shows. They’d rung in the New Year with a bottle of champagne and the most perfect lovemaking of Savannah’s life.

      Then, six weeks later, he’d canceled on her last minute, and she’d spent Valentine’s Day crying into Murphy’s soft puppy coat. She’d realized that the long-distance thing wasn’t working for her and she’d decided to quit the soap opera and move back to LA.

      “How is he?”

      “Wonderful. He’s devoted to Dylan. Follows him everywhere. Curls up with him at nap time.”

      “How did Rafe enjoy sharing his bed with the dog?”

      Questions like these were a minefield. How did she answer? She couldn’t reveal that she’d entered into a loveless marriage