Chapter 51

When Freya opened the door, she looked pleasantly surprised to see me. But I watched her pretty face as she clocked my agitation, my husband’s tense presence at my side. The delight on her features quickly evaporated, replaced by darkness and dread. This was clearly not a social call.

“Hey,” she said flatly.

“Hi,” I replied, my voice strangled.

Brian said, “We need to talk to you and Max.”

She hesitated, and for a moment, I feared she’d slam the door in our faces. But she stepped back and ushered us inside.

“Jamie and Brian are here,” she called, her lack of enthusiasm evident in her tone. She sounded resigned, like she’d expected us to show up on her doorstep demanding answers. And maybe she had?

Max walked into the room then, wearing faded jeans and a clinging T-shirt that showed off his physique. But I felt no pitter-patter of attraction, no blush of remembrance. We were here on business. A child’s future hung on this encounter.

“What’s up?” he said, matching his wife’s cool but accepting presentation.

Brian spoke directly to Max. “We just got an anonymous e-mail with a link to your paternity case. The one where you stated—in court—that you’re sterile.”

Max’s handsome face turned into a scowl. “Who sent you that?”

“Someone who thought we should know that the baby”—Brian gestured toward Freya’s bump—“isn’t yours.”

I turned to Freya then. “Is it Brian’s child?” My words wobbled with emotion. And cautious optimism.

But Freya ignored me and turned to Brian. “Max lied in court. That slut was trying to get money out of him. It seemed the easiest solution.”

“The paternity test proved it wasn’t Max’s baby,” Brian countered.

“Yeah, because he didn’t sleep with her,” Freya snapped back. “Not because he’s sterile.”

My husband turned to Max. “So you never had complications from mumps? You lied about all of it?”

“I had mumps,” Max stated. “And I had complications. But I’m not sterile. I just have lower-than-average fertility.”

“We have sex every day,” Freya said. “Sometimes twice.” She looked at Brian with a disdain. “We still have a higher chance of conception than one lame night with you.”

I was simultaneously relieved and insulted that Freya considered my husband a lousy lay. But that was irrelevant right now. “There’s an easy way to solve this,” I said. “You can take a paternity test.”

“Fuck you,” Freya barked. “I’m not risking my baby getting stuck with a needle to put your mind at ease.”

“There are noninvasive ways to test paternity in utero,” I said. “They can take your blood and extract the baby’s DNA from it. It’s perfectly safe.”