After Midnight - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Neurotic Temptress
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 8

Paternity.

One small word. Four tiny syllables. A whole truckload of complications. It had hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water. Like a ton of bricks. Like a knife to the heart. She didn’t think there were enough metaphors for the complete unexpectedness of it all.

Remy was being sued for paternity. For fathering another woman’s child. Wasn’t that the charge against him? She couldn’t even wrap her brain around it. Remy -- her Remy -- in the arms of another woman, doing things that he only did with her.

She shot away from the support of the bedroom door and began a hard pace across the carpet. That was wrong, of course, believing that he had only done such things with her. She didn’t believe it really; she knew for a fact that it wasn’t true. The man was twenty-four years old. He certainly had a past filled with old girlfriends, meaningless flings and a multitude of one-night stands. She knew this. She’d accepted it. But that didn’t mean she had to think about it. It didn’t matter anyway. The past was past, and she was the present. Old ghosts couldn’t come back to haunt you.

In the first two years that she had known Remy, she’d heard first-hand all the accounts of his ‘conquests,’ everyone from the latest girlfriend to the adoring groupies that had camped outside his hotel for two days. It had never bothered her back then because she was the friend, the buddy, the one to swap all the sordid details with. But now…

Could it be that he missed that life? Did he miss being the suave, cool, unattached bachelor who could pick up any woman he wanted to and have his wicked way with her? They had been together for a little over a year already. Had his seven-year itch come six years earlier than expected?

She shook her head as if to rearrange her wayward thoughts. He loves you, she told herself sternly. It was evident in the way he treated her, the way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her. He was always showing her his love in one way or another. She remembered the last time they were together. Hadn’t he gone to the trouble of filling her entire room with rose petals? And then the very next day, surprised her at dawn with a tantalizing bath? She had no reason to doubt his love.

Her face fell suddenly. A memory floated into her mind, again of their last night together. Remy’s abrupt change in mood, and then the desperate, almost fierce, way he had made love to her immediately afterwards. Had that been out of… guilt? Had lying in bed with her suddenly reminded him of lying in bed with… her?

She wondered who this woman was. What did she look like? Was she pretty? Beautiful? So stunning and alluring that Remy had no choice but to be enchanted by her? What did she give him that Rogue herself couldn’t provide? Time? Attention? Love?

She choked on her last thought, her heart painfully twisting in her chest. She stopped her pacing for a second as her vision momentarily darkened. Did he love this woman? As he claimed to love her? Did he surprise her with morning baths and sweet-smelling roses? Did he softly whisper professions of undying devotion into her ear while driving every nerve in her body insane with his touch? Rogue shut her eyes tightly as a wave of bitter cold washed over her and enveloped her body completely.

She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe in him, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what went on during the times they were apart, where or with whom he shared his nights. She knew what he told her -- she desperately wanted to believe what he told her -- but she wasn’t sure. And she couldn’t be sure because there was no evidence to support or deny the things he said he did during his free time. For all she knew he could have spent every night with a different woman… or a multitude of women. She felt like vomiting as an image of Remy in a ménage a trois pranced unwanted through her thoughts. She kicked angrily at the mattress, trying to purge the scene from her mind’s eye.

The point was that he could have been carrying on a number of relationships during their year together, and no one would have known. She knew the man was an impeccable liar. He could sit, straight-faced, through the most ludicrous of statements. Jean-Luc had taught his son well, training him to deal with clients in the family business. He could either dissuade or persuade a person with regards to an item’s value, depending on whether he was trying to buy or sell that particular item. It was a useful skill in their line of work, one he sometimes used to manipulate the press. But she never thought he would use it on her, would lie to her.

The news report had said ‘unborn child,’ a range of anywhere from one to nine months. They had been together for fourteen months now. If the allegations were true -- if Remy was indeed the father of this woman’s child -- then he had cheated on her. Screwed around behind her back. Lied to her.

She sank to the floor, her knees no longer capable of supporting her. Her gaze was listless, unfocused, as she leaned against the side of the bed. Her track record with men was horrible, she realized. From Cody to Remy, to every bloody sap in between, she always seemed to get hurt. No matter how hard she tried to prevent it, it always ended up biting her in the backside. She’d thought Remy would be different… special.

Despite the dull ache in the pit of her stomach, she smiled. She knew in her heart that Remy was different; he was special. There was something about him that set him apart from other men. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she knew it was there. The question was, would it be enough? Was this unnamable quality enough to overcome the cold hand that encircled her heart whenever she thought about him with another woman? She wasn’t sure. She simply didn’t know. And that not knowing scared her to no end.

As if directed by some unseen force, she lifted herself off the floor and made her way to the bedside telephone. She felt numb. Like she was in a dream, detached, and in no way in control of her own actions. She lifted the receiver and dialed a familiar number. Her mind was void of any thoughts as she listened to the consistent ringing of the call being connected. She was almost startled when someone answered on the other end.

“Allo?”

It took her a few seconds to find her voice. “It’s me.”

“Chère?” He sounded surprised, and a little… nervous?