Chapter 11 11
Stefan gave a light chuckle, but the smile didn't reach his eyes, “I beg to differ,” he said, “It's my business. Seeing as Juliana is in the picture. Are you dating him already?”
She could believe that he'd asked her that, "No, Stefan. I am not. If I wanted to date anyone, I would, and your opinion or feelings on the matter wouldn't stop me, but I don't want to date anyone."
"So you're going to close yourself off because you have a child?''
"No, I don't plan to, but she's young and she needs me right now.'' Alana smiled at her daughter. "I'd rather be with her than out on a date any day."
Stefan released a breath. He could understand that. Being with Juliana was more pleasurable than anything. His gaze snapped to Alana. Well, almost anything, he thought, then tried to cut the chicken marsala using one hand.
"Can I cut that for you, or do you want to put her in her bed now?'' Alana asked.
He handed her the knife. Alana rose up a bit to help, laughing as she said, "I imagined doing this for her, not you."
"I bet you didn't imagine doing anything for me.''
Her hands stilled before she went on cutting. "That's not true."
"Really?"
"Let me ask you something. What would you have done if you learned I was pregnant when I was pregnant."
"Come home and married you."
"I thought so. But you couldn't come home, so we'd still be just like this. In this situation."
"I'd have convinced you to marry me."
"No, you wouldn't have. It has nothing to do with you, the man. It's me." She pushed the plate closer to him.
"Tell me, then."
"I can't marry a man for the sake of a child."
"I know, low expectations, which is garbage, but you and I…we're good together."
"In bed, yes."
"It was more than that."
She didn't answer. She couldn't let herself believe that or she'd be helpless around him, and she was already trying to deal with her need for him. "I don't know."
She'd made mistakes before and didn't want to repeat them. She had her daughter to think about now, and what she did affected her, too.
"So you just shut me out?" he said.
She sighed, fingering the stem of her wineglass. She watched her movements. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Stefan."
"And how do you know I can't? It's the job, isn't it."
That was one of her concerns, "Yes, but it's not just that." He was gone for long periods of time, and usually even his family didn't know where he was.
"My daughter needs my name."
"But her mother doesn't."
"Dammit." Juliana fussed and Stefan stood. "I'll put her down," he said when she reached for the baby. "At least give me that."
She nodded. He was gone for only a few minutes and Alana sipped her wine. She could hear him and was tempted to go look, to check if he'd covered the baby, then somehow she knew he would. She just knew. Stefan wasn't a man who did things halfway.
When he came back she was exactly as he'd left her, twiddling, moving food around her plate. He was pushing her and couldn't help it. The longer his daughter didn't have his name, the angrier he grew. He tried to see reason but one look at his child, he couldn't.
"I'll back off, if that's what you want," he said.
Alana's head jerked up.
"I'll stop pestering you to marry me." For now he thought, since they were butting heads like two bulls. "But I want to be in Juliana's life and on that I'm not budging."
Alana's gaze locked with his. She nodded. "Okay."
"Good."
"Why don't you come over during the day?"
He was well aware of the ploy. Be here when the sitter was and not when Alana was. "You're setting limits?"
"No, it's just that—"
"Can't handle being near me, Alana?" he interrupted. "Afraid you'll like it?"
"Of course I can handle it," she said.
"Outstanding. Because I have two months' leave and this is the only place I plan to be."
Two months, she thought. Oh, no.
He leaned back in the chair, chewing his dinner, and then grinned. Alana looked nervous already. This was going to be interesting, he thought, and poured her more wine.
—-----------
The Maynard estate looked exactly as Stefan remembered — grand, silent, and utterly indifferent. The long driveway wound past manicured lawns and marble fountains, lined with trees that seemed to bow toward the sprawling mansion. The place wasn’t home so much as a monument — a reminder of money and expectations that never quite fit him.
His car crunched over the white gravel until it came to a stop before the entrance. Even from inside, he could hear the faint sound of a piano drifting through one of the open windows — a hired pianist, no doubt. His father always insisted on “a bit of civility in the air.”
Stefan stepped out. The Maynard crest — a golden “M” carved into the double oak doors — gleamed faintly in the weak afternoon light. He stared at it for a moment before knocking.
A butler he vaguely remembered opened the door.
“Mr. Stefan, welcome back,” the man greeted with professional calm. “Mr. Maynard is in the study.”
“Of course he is,” Stefan muttered under his breath, stepping into the foyer.
The study door was half open. His father sat behind a massive mahogany desk, a decanter of amber whiskey catching the light beside him. Richard Maynard —impeccably dressed in a suit, silver hair combed neatly back — looked like a man who hadn’t changed a single thing since Stefan left.
“Father.”
Richard looked up from a file, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his features. “Stefan.” His tone carried that same quiet authority that had once ruled every inch of Stefan’s childhood. “Didn’t expect to see you today… Seeing as you've been around for a while now without caring to call or visit. Come in.”
Stefan entered, glancing around at the bookshelves lined with legal texts and company awards — reminders of the world his father had built and expected him to inherit. Instead, Stefan had traded it for a gun, and a life lived in the shadows.
“I apologise,” he said, “but I had some matters to attend to,”