.

she had managed to grasp.

      And she’d thought better of him.

      “Of all my mom’s questions that you avoided answering, that’s the one I care least about. Tell me why you got fired and why you’re hiding from your dad, and I won’t bat an eye when you tell me that your grandparents are from Jupiter.”

      “Is that why you didn’t stop your mom from combining dinner with a security clearance interview?”

      He didn’t sigh, but she could feel the frustration come off his body in waves at her remark. “Vivian,” he said finally, “I haven’t known you very long, but you don’t strike me as the type of person who wants a man to rescue her just so he can prove he’s not neutered. You were holding your own. If you had needed to be saved, I would have done so.”

      “What do you call me living in your apartment, eating your food and using the transit cards you leave on the table?” Suddenly she needed the parameters of their relationship defined. If he didn’t see her as helpless and dependent, how did he see her?

      “Providing you with a helping hand isn’t the same as a rescue. If I were rescuing you, I’d have done this whole thing differently.”

      “How?”

      “I’d have a suit of armor and horse,” he said with the same flat tone with which he said everything else.

      Something between a snicker and a sigh escaped her mouth. She hadn’t told his mother anything about her heritage because she was offended that it seemed to matter. When Karl said he didn’t care, she believed him.

      Besides, if she offered him some answers, perhaps she’d win a reprieve from the questions about her father and why she was fired. She didn’t know that much about “her people” anyway. Her father had a habit of alienating people, even family. Maybe especially family.

      “The last name and most of the blood on my father’s side is Chinese, but there’s some Mexican and Sicilian in there, too, I think. There were lots of different ethnic groups working on the railroads, fighting forest fires and mining out west. My mom’s a hundred percent Chinese, though.” She let the silence consume the oxygen in the car and extinguish her fear. “Would your mom like me more if I had Polish blood?”

      She didn’t want to care what his mother thought, but this was his baby, too, and that woman was the baby’s grandmother. If the baby’s grandmother couldn’t get past her nonwhite skin, well...well, she’d figure out something. She always had.

      “It would give her something to hang on to until she got to know you better. Being Catholic would work just as well.” Her leather seat creaked as she turned from the window to look at her husband, but the darkness swallowed his expression—if he had one.

      She turned back to the window, disappointed in his answer and disappointed in herself for caring. “The Mexican and Sicilian parts are probably Catholic.”

      She started when his hand rested on her knee and squeezed. She’d touched him once or twice, but he’d steadfastly avoided initiating any contact with her since putting his hand on her back as they’d left the library that day. She’d noticed that he watched her when they were in the apartment together—whether out of suspicion, curiosity or some other emotion she didn’t know and his expression didn’t reveal—but he never touched her.

      “It’s not about you. My mom is mad at me for marrying someone she doesn’t know and didn’t get a chance to approve of, first. Since I am otherwise the golden child, she’s not used to feeling disappointed in me and her disapproval is landing on you. She’ll get over it, and you shouldn’t feel that you need to put up with it. If she continues, I’ll tell her to knock it off. Or you can opt out of future family dinners. Attendance isn’t a requirement for my help.”

      If she hadn’t been staring so intently at his expression, she wouldn’t have noticed the slight lift of his mouth when he said “golden child.” As it was, she wasn’t sure she believed her own eyes. She ticked off her memories on her fingers, a laugh, two smiles and a touch all in the span of a couple days.

      But the hint of a smile disappeared as quickly as it had come when he continued talking. “I don’t know if that helps. I’ve never been—”

      “Anything but the perfect man all mothers dream their beloved daughter will marry?”

      He laughed. If she wasn’t careful, she might have to take off her socks to keep track of the number of times she got a reaction out of him. “I was going to say ‘on the receiving end of a mother’s interrogation,’ but we can let your statement stand.”

      “How your mother feels about me doesn’t matter in the long run, I guess. I’ll get a job, get my own health insurance. We’ll have a baby and get a divorce. You’ll be free to marry a Polish Catholic girl your mom has known since birth.”

      Karl didn’t respond. But neither did he remove his hand from her knee until it was time to get off the freeway.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      VIVIAN WAS SHIFTING, trying to get comfortable in the waiting room chair and filling out yet another form with her medical history, when Karl came in.

      “Hi,” she said, surprised. She’d told him the time and date of her first doctor’s appointment, and he’d said he’d come, but she’d expected some work emergency to conveniently detain him. Despite his touch of her knee on the way home from his mother’s and his promise they would be friends, he’d been the same distant man of the previous week. And he still seemed to work all the time. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

      “I’m sorry. Scheduling my own doctor’s appointment made me late.” He put a heavy hand on her head, smoothing down her hair before giving her neck a reassuring squeeze and sitting down. No, she wasn’t being honest with herself. He hadn’t been quite the same man. Instead of going straight to work after the gym, he’d come home and eaten breakfast with her yesterday and today. They’d talked about how her job search was going, and she’d reminded him of today’s appointment.

      And yesterday, instead of getting home from work after she’d gone to bed, he’d come home and taken her out to dinner. As she’d taken a bite of her stuffed mushrooms and peered at the pictures on the wall of the steakhouse that seemed to be a Chicago institution, Karl had turned into a different man.

      No fewer than ten people, not including the gruff waitstaff, came to their table to say hello. Each time, he introduced her as his wife, accepted their congratulations, ignored their looks of surprise with ease and asked about their families. She’d started to wonder if the taciturn man she shared an apartment with had fallen into the twilight zone and been replaced by a politician. Then she’d noticed his glad-handing didn’t extend to his eyes. He smiled, but the twinkle wasn’t there. Her husband played Mr. Important out in public, but he didn’t enjoy it.

      The man next to her in the waiting room, silent, steady and present, was the natural Karl.

      “What are all the forms for?”

      “Everything.” She handed the clipboard to him, embarrassed to be sharing her complete medical history with a man she barely knew. But he was going to learn more about her as soon as they got into the doctor’s office so why hide it now? Jelly Bean was his baby, too. “Family medical history. Vitamins I take. Past illnesses. My doctor in Vegas hasn’t sent over all my records yet, but I think they’d make me fill everything out, anyway.”

      “You missed information here.”

      She looked at the space he was pointing to. “I don’t remember how old I was when I had my first period.”

      Karl’s head jerked and he started to blush. “I guess, I didn’t, I mean...”

      This time she put the supportive hand on his knee. “It’s okay. We have one night of sex and now my menstrual cycle has become important to both of us.” She chuckled because her other option was to cry. “When