The Surrogate Read Online Penelope Ward

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Forbidden Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
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Lavinia pursed her lips. “Hmm...”

“What now?”

“I have a theory here.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright…”

“Are you also afraid that if she’s around and becomes invested, it will bind you to the child as well? Is this about more than just you and her?”

My stomach churned as a mixture of guilt and fear crept in. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense. There were many layers to this situation. It was like…an onion, I suppose. Christ, Abby has me thinking like her now. Froot Loops. “There could be an element of that fear, too, yes,” I conceded. “I’ve already decided Kate and Phil should raise the baby. I’m not suitable. If Abby’s heart got involved, mine would surely follow. And that would bind me to the situation in a way I’m not prepared for. I don’t want Abby sticking around out of obligation, either. She’s far too young and needs to experience life before settling down in such a way.” I exhaled. “What’s best for both of us is to remain detached from the situation.”

“Detached is a strong word, given the circumstance.”

“It is. But it’s the only way to make it work.”

“Trying to remain detached seems like a lot of effort if your heart is not moving in that direction.” She sighed. “Anyway, not everyone needs to travel the world or experience adventurous things in order to want to settle down, Sigmund. I certainly never cared about the number of worldly experiences I had. I just wanted to find the right person from a very young age. But unfortunately, I never did. That wasn’t in the cards for me. Thus, I’m an old maid.”

“You never fell in love?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say that. I fell in love many times—or thought I did. But most turned out to be bad apples in the end.”

“How is it possible we’ve never talked about this?”

“There’s no one worth talking about anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Lavinia. You deserve better. Anyone whose arse I need to beat?”

“No one who’s still alive.” She laughed. “Anyway, God sent me a consolation prize—a young, strapping man to look after me in my eighties.” She winked. “Can’t get much better than that at this point.”

“Are you kidding? You’re the one looking after me, old woman.”

She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes creasing. “How is Abby’s father doing?” she asked after a moment.

“He’s still undergoing chemo, has been for the past couple of months. Then he’ll need to have surgery to remove a portion of the lung. But the prognosis is good.”

“It must be so hard for her.”

“I’m worried about her.” I rubbed my thumb along the teacup. “If things don’t go well for some reason, she doesn’t really have other family.”

“She has a sister, doesn’t she? They don’t get along very well, though, from what she told me.”

I nodded. “I met the sister—Claire—in Rhode Island. She’s even worse than I expected. She’s a selfish, judgmental bitch.”

“Speaking of judgmental, have you told your mother about the pregnancy yet?” Lavinia could apparently surmise the answer by the look on my face. “Sigmund! You haven’t told her?”

“I haven’t.” I took a long gulp of tea.

“You have to tell her.”

I practically slammed my cup down. “Why?”

“She can’t find out she has a grandchild after it’s born.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

Though I knew she had a point, I attempted to justify my actions. “My mother is very conservative. You know that. She wasn’t supportive of me being with Britney or my marriage. She surely wouldn’t approve of this situation.”

Mum had never understood my relationship with my wife, or how I could get attached to someone I’d just met so quickly. I think she was trying to protect me from getting hurt, but her criticism of my decisions at the time was the last thing I needed, given everything Britney and I were going through. Just like my mother’s criticism would be the last thing I needed now.

Lavinia stirred more sugar into her tea. “Her opinions are merely her opinions. They don’t need to matter. But she’s your mother. She has a right to know what’s going on.” She looked up at me again. “And what about your father?”

“He’s much easier to deal with. Stays quiet for the most part—just goes along with whatever she says and tends to agree with her, or at least he pretends to just to keep the peace.”

“What do you think her problem would be with this situation? I can’t imagine anyone finding fault with such a beautiful thing.”

“You don’t know my mother. What wouldn’t she have a problem with is the appropriate question. She would have a problem with me fathering a child whose mother is dead. She would have a problem with the choice of an American to carry it. She would have a problem with my choice not to raise it and the possibility of the child growing up in the US. It’s not that I give a shit what she thinks—I don’t. But I don’t need the stress, the added noise, of her criticism right now.”


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