Page 20 of Massive Size Mountain Man
Avalon
“Hey girl,” my friend Marnie chirps into the phone. “How are you?”
I lean back on my couch and then grimace because the sofa is so old that the cushions are lumpy and uncomfortable, providing no support for my pregnant weight. My belly is only a minuscule bump right now, but it feels significant, and it’s hard to get comfortable in any position.
Still, I’m glad to be back in my own apartment because after I had the talk with Jimmy Warren, I decided to vacate Liam’s mansion. There was no need for me to stay there when he obviously expected me to become a breeder for him. There’s no other word to describe it, either. Some girls call themselves “babymamas,” but I’d say that “babymama” is too familiar and cozy for what I am. Instead, Liam literally has a property in the burbs where he parks his breeders. Sure, we’ll have our own houses, our own yards, and probably a slew of cooks, nannies, and chauffeurs to help us with our children, but it doesn’t matter. The luxury doesn’t hide the fact that I’d be a part of a breeding project, my womb dedicated to the greater purpose.
The concept alone makes me shudder because this isn’t what I wanted at all. I never signed up to be part of some hive project where Liam’s the King Bee, mating with workers to keep the population going. Plus, I’m definitely not living with the other “wives,” pretending that everything’s hunky-dory when it’s not. Again, that’s a sci-fi horror story that I want no part of.
But the worst realization was knowing that actually, I mean nothing to Liam and I never did. Somehow, I got it in my head that we were falling in love, one on one, with the kind of relationship that leads to happily ever after and even a ring on my finger. But of course, it turns out that the opposite is true. I was being groomed for a role out of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, and it’s totally unacceptable, not to mention scary.
At least I have Marnie on my side. She’s a good friend from high school, and we used to get up to so many shenanigans when we were seniors, including sneaking off campus, going shopping when we weren’t supposed to, and generally being bratty, irresponsible teens. Those times were awesome, although of course, we couldn’t act like that forever. Everyone grows up someday, including us, and now we have normal, respectable jobs (me at the Northstar Café and her as a paralegal at some law firm). Still, I wish I could see Marnie daily, like back in high school, although we’re still as close as ever. At least I have her on the phone right now, and I’m grateful to have Marnie’s ear to bend.
“So what do you think you’re going to do?” she asks quizzically through the screen, looking cute in a button-down shirt. Marnie probably just got back from work, and hasn’t changed yet. “I swear, it’s so weird! I mean, how did Liam even come up with the idea of a compound?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “You know just as much as me. The first time I heard of the compound was from his lawyer, and it sounds like it’s been in the works for a while now. I mean, his oldest daughter is nine, so I guess at least a few years?”
“Still, a compound,” Marnie says with wonder in his voice. “Who even does that?”
“A billionaire, excuse me, trillionaire, who has too much money,” I reply in a grim voice. “That’s who.”
Marnie shakes her head on screen, chestnut strands rippling.
“But still, you’re not going to live there, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” I say in a firm tone. “The compound isn’t who I am, and it’s not what I want for my baby either. I understand why Liam wants his kids to think of each other as siblings because siblings can be an amazing experience. But that doesn’t mean that I have to buy into the lifestyle. Me and my child can stay here, at my apartment,” I say emphatically. “There’s no need to uproot ourselves.”
Marnie nods, her blue eyes thoughtful.
“But are you still going to get the fifteen million dollar payout if you don’t live with the other wives?” she asks. “Or is that a requirement?”
“I don’t know,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I hope not, but I just don’t know the answer to that.”
Marnie squints at me, looking a bit concerned.
“So Liam hasn’t called you since?”
I grimace a bit, my heart breaking into small pieces in my chest as I speak.
“Unfortunately, no. In fact, I’m not expecting to hear from Liam Carrington ever again. I think that going forward, the only person that I’ll be speaking to is his attorney. Isn’t that so sad?” I ask, trying to keep my tears at bay. “I basically played right into his strategy. The billionaire lovebombed me, knocked me up, and then the moment we discovered my pregnancy, his lawyer called. It’s so sad, and I was so stupid!”
This time, the tears break through my resolve, and I begin to sob for the umpteenth time. My shoulders heave as waterfalls stream down my cheeks because I really have been a stupid, silly girl. I showed up at a man’s cabin as a dirty gift via Sweet Lies. That was my first mistake. I was nothing more than a warm body to him then, and yet somehow, I let myself get carried away into thinking that Liam actually cared about me.
But now, I haven’t heard from the CEO in days. He obviously found the positive pregnancy test, but hasn’t called, texted, nor emailed. Heck, we were having non-stop sex before the fateful pregnancy test, but now, it’s total silence. It’s like I never existed. Who even does that? I’d almost say that I’ve been ghosted, except that Liam sent his lawyer to talk to me, so I guess it's not complete no-contact.
Still, how unoriginal, unimaginative, and downright despicable for Liam to send Jimmy Warren as his substitute. I’m at once filled with rage and sadness that it’s come to this: attorneys, offers, and settlements. Yet I suppose this is how Mr. Carrington does business. Instead of handling problems himself, he has attack dogs on his payroll to do his dirty work. No need for the trillionaire to sully his hands when you can hire people do it. Even worse, I bet he treats all the mothers of his children this way. I daresay Belinda and Magda have had multiple conversations with Jimmy Warren over the years, and likely Liam doesn’t get involved even though we’re discussing his kids.
Meanwhile, Marnie watches empathetically as I cry my heart out, unable to contain my sobs.
“There, there,” she coos over the phone. “You’re going to be okay. Do you want me to come over?”
I shake my head, wiping at my slobby nose with a crumpled Kleenex.
“No, because you’d be shocked at how messy my apartment is. I’ve only been back a few days but it already looks like a pigsty.”
My pretty friend smiles.
“You known I don’t care about that,” she hums. “I can come over, no problem!”
