50. Renee

Sitting on good news with nowhere to share it is one of the most frustrating things in this life. I’ve got a secret burning a hole in my pocket and the one person I most want to tell is the last person in the world who’s gonna be allowed to know.

I”m back at Deacon”s after the mind-melting trip to Weston’s. It takes everything in me to hide my smile. I’ve only got to play the role of dutiful fiancée and future mother to the Carrington line of devil spawn just a little bit longer.

Deacon’s barely suppressing a smile of his own. The man is positively ecstatic. And why wouldn”t he be? He”s won. Everyone who’s anyone knows he”s staked his claim.

And what a claim it is. A marriage and a baby from a DuBois? The only DuBois that can give a meaningful inroad to the DuBois family empire?

He’s basically a spoiled rotten rich kid on Christmas. Grinning from ear to ear, fucking whistling his way around the house.

Honestly, his newfound pleasantness with me is the most off-putting part of the whole shebang.

I liked him more when my mere presence repulsed him.

He comes up behind me while I do my makeup in the mirror. He gazes at me in it, a possessive sort of glint in his eyes.

”You look gorgeous,” he murmurs. The ghost of his breath across my neck feels all wrong and I tense up before I can stop myself.

In the mirror, Deacon smirks. It”s like he derives pleasure from my discomfort. In response, he holds me tighter against his chest. ”Smoke out your eyes more. Don”t want you coming off too rough.”

I hold my tongue about how I”d like to show him “rough”—and not in any kind of way he”d find enjoyable.

Instead, I say, ”Of course. Great idea.”

His smirk deepens as he presses a kiss to my temple. ”Good girl.”

Blech.I could vomit.

I force the bile down and begin to smoke out my eyes as instructed. Thankfully, Deacon leaves me to finish getting ready himself. Just a little drive-by harassment today instead of anything prolonged.

Hold out just a little longer, Renee. Just a little bit longer.

An hour later, we”re a matching pair of midnight blue. Deacon, in his tailored three-piece suit and golden cufflinks, and me in a cocktail gown and matching golden jewelry.

Note to self: burn this dress and piss on the ashes when you’re done with it.

Tonight”s itinerary is pasta at The Rochelle, and then a “romantic” moonlight walk around Laguna. I have no doubt that he’s arranged for some paparazzi to “just so happen” to stumble across us mid-meander.

Since orchestrating his damage control article, Deacon has been keen to lay it on thick how in love we are, how we”re so excited to be getting married and bringing a child into the world. If he wasn”t such a scumbag, I”d commend him for the dedication to the bit.

However, when we get to The Rochelle, I”m immediately set on edge.

Deacon”s mother is there, as well as several business partners of both Deacon and my father”s. What”s decidedly worse, is that my parents are there, too.

My internal alarm bells start ringing.

This isn”t just a normal dinner.

I look up to Deacon. ”I thought this was going to be just the two of us, dear.”

Deacon smirks. I”m convinced this man doesn”t know how to do a normal human smile. It’s like he learned his facial expressions from an alligator.

”It”s a special dinner. I wanted to surprise you.”

Well, color me surprised. Too bad it”s not a good one.

Before I can protest, Deacon plants his hand on the small of my back. In front of people, I don”t think he has the balls to hit me. But the firmness of his palm there tells me all I need to know: I don”t have a choice in this.

He guides me toward the table. Everyone”s eyes go to us. I feel like a specimen behind an observation tank—plus, to make matters worse, Deacon assigns me a place smack dab between him and my mother.

Shoot me now.

”About time you two got here!” Joaquin, one of Deacon’s business partners, drawls around a fat cigar in his mouth, though I”m pretty damn sure this is a nonsmoking restaurant.

”Eh, let them get their premaritals,” Felix, a man Deacon went to college with, adds on. ”Clearly, it”s doing them good.” He winks, nodding toward my stomach.

I could hurl.

Deacon laughs, enjoying the gross attention he”s getting for “successfully” impregnating me among his peers, at least as far as they know. I look to my father and mother. Both their expressions are clear warnings.

Behave yourself.

I have no allies here. And while I can cling to the fact that this is only temporary, being in a pit of snakes is being in a pit of snakes no matter how long you”re in it.

So I order a water and a pricey plate of seafood fettuccine in the hopes it makes me sick as fuck.

Maybe I”ll vomit all over Deacon”s three-piece.

That notion puts me in a slightly better mood. I do my best to ignore everything else around me. Of course, my ease is interrupted by the bane of pregnant women throughout history: bladders.

At least it”s a good excuse to leave the table. I mumble something and make my way to the bathroom so I can hide away into a stall. Sweet, sweet relief.

As I do my business and contemplate how to make my case to the table as a deathly pregnant woman who can”t possibly stay a moment longer, the main bathroom door opens.

”Renee, dear, do you have a moment?”

It”s Anastasia, Deacon’s mother.

I blink. I”m quite literally squatting on a toilet, taking an incredibly extended pee break, and this woman wants to speak to me?

”Uhm… sure?”

I hear a simpering cocktail party laugh and the click of her heels against the floor. She stops just in front of my stall, like a grade-A weirdo.

”You know, I imagine all of this isn”t exactly how you”ve pictured your life,” she remarks. Yeah, no shit. ”You”re a little different than other girls in our circles. Always doing your own thing. But my son has the potential to be a fine husband for you. You may think you know everything now, but when you get to be my age, you”ll see all of this was actually the best thing that could have happened.”

Yeah, I very much doubt that goofy shit.

”Right. Thanks, Anastasia. I”ll try to keep that in mind.”

”Mhm. Also—I know dinner like this was a surprise and I won”t spoil the bigger one, but try to freshen up for the cameras before you come out, dear.”

To be honest, I had begun to check out. By the time my brain registers what Anastasia said, she”s already out of the bathroom.

Freshen up for the cameras? We didn”t have any kind of official photo op planned tonight, right?

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Panic won’t solve anything.

Breathing slowly through my nose, I finish up, wash my hands—because I”m not a total barbarian—and text Weston.

RENEE: Something weird is going on with Deacon and my family. Can you get here soon? I”ll make an excuse to dip.

I send him my location and a second later, he replies.

WESTON: On it.

That immediately puts me more at ease. I slip my phone back into my clutch, take one more deep breath, then step back into the restaurant.

As I take my place back at the table. I notice everyone kind of… watching me. Like they”re in on a joke that I have yet to comprehend. It makes me uncomfortable and I have to remind myself that I”ll only be here a little while longer.

”Ah, the lady of the hour returns,” Anastasia observes with another charity gala laugh.

”Thought you may have fallen in,” guffaws Felix.

”If only,” I mutter under my breath.

”What”s that, love?” Deacon asks. Despite the sweet-sounding nickname, there”s still a venomous bite there.

”Nothing, darling. I’m famished. Shall we eat?”

I”m saved from any more humiliation by the food finally arriving. Rounds of pasta dishes, fish and meat platters, and more wine. I eye the glasses wistfully, wishing I could indulge.

Unfortunately, I’m stuck dealing with reality stone-cold sober.

I tuck into my pasta, aiming to get as much of it down as soon as possible. Maybe if I overload my system quickly, it”ll make me sicker. It”s kind of a shame, because the food is actually delicious here, even if it”s grossly overpriced.

”Could you at least try to eat like a civilized person?” my mother whisper-chides into my ear.

”The baby”s hungry.”

”I”m sure the baby has patience.”

I can see why she only ever had one child. Real motherly warmth is lacking here, to say the least.

Out of pure pettiness and a little flicker of rebellion, I shove a towering forkful of scallops into my mouth, looking Mother dead in the eyes the whole time. Her visible displeasure entertains me long enough…

Until I’m distracted by the fact that Deacon has stood up.

Clink, clink, clink.

I swallow, blinking. He”s got his glass of wine in his hand and a fork in the other.

We”re doing toasts now? Spare me.

”Now that I have everyone”s attention…” He smirks down at me. ”As you know, I”ve made this wonderful woman my fiancé. After a bit of… misplaced press.”

A rippling chuckle goes through the table.

”But it made me realize the importance of doing things in the moment, at my own pace. You can plan all the perfect dates, the perfect venues, down to the letter, and someone else will try to steal your thunder. Well, not this time. Not when it comes to something as important as making Renee DuBois my wife.”

Deacon sets down his glass and fork. I”m perplexed. What the ever-loving fuck is he doing? When he holds out his hand to me, I”m leery, though I know I have to take it. I finally do and he promptly drags me up to stand at his side as he drops a very much unwanted arm over my shoulders.

”So I had an idea…” His sneer deepens. ”Why not cut out the extra bits and get right to the end goal?”

My stomach plummets. He doesn”t even have to say it before the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. ”Deacon?—”

”Come now, Renee. Isn”t this the spontaneity you like? I figured we could get married now and still have a big ceremony like we planned later on. What really matters, though, is that we”re husband and wife. Officially. Legally. We don”t need a big, fancy event for that now, do we? I even have a justice of the peace coming in tonight—just for us.”

This.

Fucking.

Bastard.

It isn”t enough that he”s already locked me in publicly—he”s trying to lock me in legally, too, before I can do something to ruin it for him.

”I figure you don”t need a big, fancy event, period.”

That’s a new voice.

That’s Weston’s voice.

The whole table collectively whips their heads in the direction it’s coming from. He strolls through, with the hostess hot on his heels looking supremely flustered.

”I”m so sorry, Mr. Carrington! He kind of just came barging through?—”

”You don”t need to apologize. I”m only here for one thing and then we”re leaving.” Weston nods to me. ”Come on, Renee.”

Weston doesn”t have to tell me twice. I start to go into his hold but Deacon keeps a tight grip on me by the back of my neck.

”Come now, Renee—don”t be silly.”

He has that same look in his eyes that he”s always had every moment before he”s hit me. That simmering, nauseating violence. The thought occurs to me that maybe this will be the moment he chooses to do it in front of people. It”d make a hell of a statement, albeit an insane one—and Deacon is clearly at the end of his sanity rope.

I swallow and look at Weston. He”s mostly calm, but there”s definitely a glint of murder in his eyes.

”You’ve got about three seconds to get your hands off her before things get ugly, Carrington.”

Deacon doesn”t let go of me. His nails dig into the nape of my neck. ”Leave now,” he grits out. “I will call the police?—”

”I already said I”m good with leaving—as long as Renee comes with me.”

”Well, this is all getting a little ridiculous, don”t you think?”

My father is standing now. He comes around the table, walking over to Weston. They size each other up, though Weston seems placid about it all, whereas my father looks to Weston like he”s beneath him.

I commend Weston. Most men back down when my father starts looking at them like that.

But Weston Scott is not most men.

”What”s ridiculous, Mr. DuBois, is this little shindig. I”d have thought I”d at least get an invitation.”

Deacon scoffs. ”And why on Earth would you get an invitation? Some jock who clearly doesn”t know the meaning of boundaries?”

Weston looks to Deacon. ”Oh. You”re still here? Long three seconds there, buddy.”

”I”m not taking orders from some bloodthirsty thug when it concerns my fiancé.”

Weston smirks. ”About that…” He looks to my father. ”You know, I didn”t realize you were gonna be here, sir. But since you are, you”re actually the man I want to speak to. You are the father of my wife, after all—and for better or worse, the grandfather to my kid.”

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Weston brought some bombshells of his own.