Chapter Four

Ryan had had a long, a miserable, annoying, long day, and now, of all things, he had to take his pseudo girlfriend who was pregnant with his child to meet his father, the man the whole charade had been created for just so that Ryan would not loose his inheritance. He had been dreading the dinner since the day it was organized, and, if anything had reassured him that his dread had been justified, it had been the past eight hours.

As soon as he had gotten to work that day, his dad had called him into his office to discuss the dinner for that night. He had wanted to know everything about Marissa, her favorite flowers, her favorite foods, her favorite drinks, so that he could be prepared for her. First impressions with his future daughter-in-law, he had reminded Ryan, were just as if not more important than first impression in a business deal. That night and whether or not they got along, he had stressed, could forever impact their relationship, determining his connection with Marissa and how much interaction he would get with their children.

Ryan had cringed at his father's words, each one seemingly worsening the blow to his mind and conscious. The fact that he was already assuming they would get married, that there would be more than one child startled Ryan, but, that shock quickly turned into fear when he realized that the situation he had put himself in was permanent. There was no way he would be able to wake up one day and have Marissa and their child gone from his life. That one night with her, granted, he conceded to himself as he made his way from his car to his apartment building, it had been unforgettable, had forever altered his life. Nothing would ever be the same again.

How am I supposed to deal with this, Ryan silently asked himself, how am I supposed to live with her day after day, month after month, year after year….ostensibly for the rest of our lives…or at least until my father passes away….and not….give in.

Shaking his head decisively, he punched the key in the elevator to take him to the floor of his apartment, berating himself for having such foolish, sensitive, adolescent thoughts. He was Ryan Atwood after all, a playboy, a man who was famous for having no feelings, for using women, for one night stands, parties, and leaving a trail of broken hearts wherever he walked. It was bad business to get emotionally involved. It made you sloppy and careless, and those were two things a young heir to a multi-billion dollar corporation could not afford. That part of him, the part that was capable of caring, had died long ago; the day he had buried his mother, he had said goodbye to love, because, in the end, loving her had only broken him.

"Marissa," he called out roughly as he stepped into the apartment, taking care to slam the door behind him. No sense in coddling her, he thought to himself. Might as well make it clear that tonight is not a social occasion. It's merely one more ruse we have to pull off in order to finalize our business deal. "Come on, let's go," he yelled, his irritation and impatience evident in his tone. When she didn't say anything nor did he hear or see her anywhere, he moved down the hallway. Can she be any more frustrating, he quietly asked himself. She's just like mom! As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he shut down completely, any last trace of humanity or kindness leaving his voice and manners. "I told you about this dinner weeks ago so that you would have plenty of time to get ready. We are not going to be late tonight. My father sees tardiness as a sign of weakness and ineptitude in a businessman, especially if it's because a woman caused it." That wasn't necessarily true. Ryan could remember his father laughing and teasing his mom would he was younger when she would panic and change her clothes over and over again before a formal gala or charity ball, but Ryan was determined to protect himself, and, if that meant he hurt Marissa in the process, so be it.

"Damn it, Marissa," he exclaimed. His face was red with anger and his hands balled tightly into fists when he violently pushed her bedroom door open, eager and waiting to continue verbally assaulting her, but, as soon as he entered the room, every once of resentment flickered out inside of him. His hands unclenched, his breathing returned to normal, and his face lost its reddened appearance. For several moments, he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even think. Finally, he whispered, "oh my god," moving slowly towards her bed and letting his eyes take in the sight before him.

There Marissa was, curled up in a little ball, her long, honey blonde hair fanned out across the pale blue cover of her pillowcase, her left hand brushed up against her own cheek, as if she had absently been persuading a thin wisp of hair off of her face, her right hand cradling her slightly swollen abdomen.

"What is she now," he quietly pondered out loud to himself, letting his eyes roam her body, a body he was surprised he was still attracted to. He assumed that as soon as she started showing, he would become repulsed by her, but her pregnancy seemed to have the opposite effect. He wanted her even more in that moment than he had the night he had first met her in the loud, pulsating, flashing club. Thinking quickly, he realized, "she must be about four months along already," the tight, figure forming, stretchy dress she had on only serving to highlight her curves and accentuate her baby bell and slightly swollen breasts.

Sitting down beside her, he lightly caressed her face, speaking lowly so as not to startle her when she woke up. "Hey, you have to get up. Marissa," he coaxed when her eye lashes fluttered but stubbornly remained closed, "come on, we're supposed to be at my dad's in an hour. He's expecting us and looking forward to meeting you." Laughing at her disinterest in getting up, he continued, "he has a personal chef who will make you anything you're craving." That did the trick, and before Ryan could remove himself from her side and distance himself from her again by dropping his mask of disinterest and contempt, her eyes flashed open and locked with his, the raw emotions radiating from her sapphire irises making his breath catch in his throat. There, as plain as day, he could see how much she cared…for the baby and for him, how content she was in that moment with him sitting beside her, his hand, forgotten, still resting on her soft, glowing cheek, how happy she was to merely be with him; he see the truth of her feelings burning so openly, so honestly, so unapologetically from her deep eyes of blue…eyes you could fall into and get lost in and not even care….making his heart tear in his chest, scaring him right back into his merciless, cruel behavior towards the mother of his child.

"It's about damn time you woke up," he shouted, standing up from the bed and pulling her up spitefully at the same time. "I can't believe this! I tell you weeks in advance about this dinner, asking you to do one thing for me, ONE THING, and be ready in time and look presentable for my father, and you pull this! While I'm off at work, you're here, sleeping the fucking day away! I'd hate to see what would have happened to you if I wouldn't have demanded you live here. You'd probably loose your child to protective services because you couldn't take care of them on your own, I mean, how could you when you're so lazy!"

"I was tired," she counted, screaming at him, not caring that there were tears of pain and hurt coursing down her face, a face that had been content and at peace moments before, "because I DID work today despite your demands that I call off to make myself look presentable, and working a full day exhausts me because I'm carrying YOUR child. Do you not care at all? Do you not have any compassion for other people?"

"What I care about," he returned, answering her question, "is the fact that you look like cheap trash in that dress. Take it off."

"No!"

Lowering his voice to a menacing whisper, he turned around to glare at her. "I said to take it off. There is no way you're going dressed like that to meet MY father. People of our class and deportment do not wear clothes of such poor quality or low taste."

"If you want this dress off of me," Marissa responded, challenging him with her eyes and words, "you're going to have to take it off of me yourself!"

She had assumed that would win the fight for her, that there was no way he would go so far as to remove her dress, but she was wrong. "Very well," he replied reaching for the hem of the dress and pulling it off her body, "if that's how you want to play this."

What he didn't suspect was that, once he removed the dress, she would be left standing in only her barely there, black, bikini cut panties. "Stay here," he demanded, tearing his eyes away from her exposed, tempting body as quickly as his head could jerk in the opposite direction. "I was prepared for this, knowing your lack of class, so I had my secretary pick something up last week. Why don't you put on a bra while I'm gone."

"Thanks for the advice, but I'll decline," Marissa said. For a moment she had thought she had seen attraction flash across his face, but surely, she dismissed her own instincts, I was wrong. You see," she pointed out taunting him, "my breasts are very tender due to the pregnancy, and the restrictive nature of a bra only makes them more painful, so I only wear them when necessary which is very rarely, but, you would already know that if you paid any attention to me or took an active interest in our child." His back was turned towards her as he walked out the room, so she couldn't see his facial expression or read his eyes, but she knew that somewhere that evening, in the few minutes they had spent together already, she had hit a nerve, and knowing that gave her a sense of delicious satisfaction. The pain that he had evoked in her by what he had said would set in that night when she was alone in her bed with just her small, unborn baby to keep her company, but, for now, she had the advantage that evening, the power to ruin his world by telling his father the truth, so she could not let her guard down.

Surprising Ryan, his father had greeted them at the door….right on time despite the fight he and Marissa had before they left. The car ride there had been absolutely silent. While Ryan drove, Marissa read a book. Of course, he had complained to himself, it just has to be a book on pregnancy and preparing to be a mother. The fact that she cared so much for the child she was carrying bothered him.

"Come in, come in," he father had warmly commanded as soon as he swung the door open, a wide smile on his slightly stodgy face. "What, no coat," he had playfully asked Marissa, "but it's January."

"And I'm pregnant," Marissa laughed. "You have no idea how hot I can get. Be fair warned that if I disappear during dinner, it's just to go and find an open window. If it's this bad when I'm young and with child, I don't even want to think about hot flashes when I'm older."

Her honest, forthright nature surprised Ryan; no one spoke to his father like that, especially not a stranger, but, astonishing him even more, his father seemed to enjoy her innocent, playful banter and chuckled right along with her. Sighing in acceptance, Ryan went off on his own to the dining room, already frustrated with the way the evening was going. Sure, he had hoped his father and Marissa would at least be able to be civil to each other but best friends was a whole different thing. The sudden harsh voice of his father, edged with fear, startled Ryan out of his self-pitying thoughts.

"Marissa, are you alright," James asked, concerned. Turning around, Ryan noticed Marissa had stopped dead in her tracks and was staring off at the far wall of the foyer. Her face was unreadable. "Ryan," his father demanded, "talk to her. Fine out what's wrong."

Setting his jaw, he walked back to Marissa. "Hey, what are you doing," he demanded from her, finally breaking her from the spell she was apparently under.

"What," she asked confused before realization set in and she turned towards James. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, it's just….,' she paused, turning an enraptured face back towards Ryan's, "is that a REAL Georgia O'Keeffe painting?"

"Jesus Christ," Ryan mumbled, moving away from her and turning his back on both Marissa and his father who was laughing good-naturedly at her obvious awe of the painting, missing seeing his father go over to her and place a caring arm across her shoulder to walk her towards the dining room.

"Yes it is," James answered Marissa's question. "She was Ryan's Mother's favorite painter. I have several of her prints, but that's the only one I keep up anymore because it reminds of her….of Evelyn, my wife. If you'd like, you can take the others. They're just boxed away in the attic where no one can appreciate them, and it seems as if you're quite the fan yourself."

"Oh no," she refused, smiling at his offer but declining nonetheless, "I couldn't…I mean, I just met you. It wouldn't be right of me to accept something like that."

"Perfectly alright," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "I'll just give them to Ryan. I'm sure that way they'll end up in the hands of someone who will treasure them. But back to you," he changed the subject, "this interest in paintings, does it mean you're an art student. Ryan said you're in school…."

"I do paint, portraits mainly, but that's not what I'm studying," Marissa replied, surprised and curious as to what all Ryan had told his father about her. "I'm actually in graduate school, studying to become a nutritionist."

"That's a unique and admirable career goal," he commented, smiling down at her. "Tell me, whatever made you choose that area of expertise."

"That's a long, complicated, and, ultimately, emotional story." Winking playfully at him, she continued, "let's save that for our second dinner."

As they made their way to the table in the dining room, James nodded to show his agreement to her request, postponing their discussion of her job inspiration. Pulling out her chair for her, he glared slightly at his son. "Although this is something Ryan should be doing for you, it's a pleasure to help you take your seat, my dear." Great, Ryan sarcastically complained to himself, he's already given her an endearing nickname. What's next, she's going to be put into the will, too? "And so I don't forget to mention it," James said sweetly, motioning towards Marissa, "I just wanted to let you know how lovely you look tonight. I was surprised though that you hid your pregnancy so much. I remember Ryan's mother wearing form fitting clothing. She said she wanted the world to see she was having a baby."

"First of all," Marissa smiled at him graciously, "thank you for the compliment, but it really must go towards Ryan." Turning to look at the man she was protecting, she pressed on. "After all, he was the one who got it for me. I actually had a different dress on, one that did show off the fact that I'm pregnant, but then Ryan surprised me with this dress as a gift, and I wanted to wear it instead."

James was visibly delighted with her words. Although he didn't say anything to Ryan, his nod of approval when they locked glances told his son that he was pleasantly surprised by his actions. Just as the first course was brought in, he turned back to Marissa. "So, tell me everything about the baby. Do you know what you're having yet?"

Taking the opportunity when it presented itself, Ryan finally entered the conversation. "She's only four months pregnant, Dad. You can't tell what she's having yet."

"What you're having," James corrected him, silencing Ryan for the rest of the meal. "This is not just Marissa's baby; it's both of yours. Speaking of which," he pondered, "have you considered any names yet?"

"No," Marissa giggled in response. "You're really on top of things aren't you?" James merely shrugged his shoulders in an unapologetic way. Continuing, Marissa added, "I have no idea what I'm going to name the baby, but, now that you mention it, I should probably pick up a baby names book." Wow, another book, Ryan mocked silently to himself, just what she needs. "I can tell you one thing," she taunted the elder Atwood, "no matter what you do or say, nothing is going to convince me, if I have a son, to name him James Ryan Atwood V. I think that name needs retired. Besides," she smirked, glancing at Ryan, "your son here definitely broke the mold. I don't think another generation could top him." Although the words were said sweetly, as if her statement was complementing Ryan, he could tell in her eyes that her words were anything but nice. However, the insult was meant so that only he could understand it.

From that point on, dinner continued in the same vein, James and Marissa discussing the baby and her pregnancy throughout the entire five course meal while Ryan merely rolled his eyes and silently complained about their instant rapport and seemingly friendly feelings towards each other. Granted, if his father and Marissa got along, it would make his task in fooling the old man easier, but, for some reason, and he did not know what, he didn't like. Perhaps you're jealous, his mind mocked him, only serving to infuriate him even more. By the time dinner was over and the three of them had relocated to the formal sitting room for brandies or, in Marissa's case, warm cider, Ryan was about to explode.

"Sit, sit," James offered, motioning both Ryan and Marissa towards the same small couch, insinuating that he wanted them to sit there…together. Every single fiber of Ryan's body screamed out that it was a bad idea, but he knew his father would suspect something if he protested. After all, a man who was in love with his girlfriend and preparing to raise a child together would want to sit by the object of his affections. Stiffly, he complied, making sure that he left a considerable amount of distance between himself and Marissa. "Ryan," James pushed, "she's not going to bite." Laughing, he pointed out, "you've been acting weird all night. Come on, relax; we're supposed to be having a good time together."

There was nothing he could do, so, as always, he listened to his dad, sliding his body closure to Marissa's and then reaching out to hold her hand when his father glared at him. As his dad and Marissa continued to talk, Ryan was unable to concentrate on what they were saying. The only things he could concentrate on were the smell of Marissa's faint perfume, soft and gentle in essence, and the feeling of her delicate hand in his. He had not done anything like this for years…not since his mother had passed away, hold a woman's hand in such an innocent, seemingly sweet manner. In the more recent past, whenever his hands had touched those of a woman's, it had always been purely sexual, animalistic, a way to remain in control. Instead, when he held Marissa's hand, he felt weakened, as if he had lost all his control and power.

"Well, Marissa," James nodded towards her, "I've been asking you questions all night. I think it's only fair that you should be allowed to ask me one or two as well. Perhaps there is some deep, dark secret of Ryan's you've been wondering about."

"Actually," she admitted shyly, "I've been doing some research into you and your company, so that I could be prepared for tonight's dinner, and I was wondering if you'd mind me offering my advice on something."

James laughed good-naturedly. "I always welcome new stock tips."

"Oh, no, this isn't about your business, per say. No offense," she apologized, "but I really could care less about the market. I'm lucky if I'm capable of paying all my bills and covering my tuition costs at this point in my life. What I wanted to recommend was that you diversify your charitable contributions. I read that your company donates millions of dollars a year, but you simply donate it all to The United Way, a worthy cause, don't get me wrong, but a man with your power and prestige has the influence to, through your donations, bring national recognition to many other charities of equal importance. Atwood Industries could come to stand for more than just sound investments, and, financially, nothing is better for a company's image than being a philanthropic champion of the downtrodden, sick people of the world or the environment. Just….pick charities that you feel strongly about, that way, it's more than just a tax write off."

James just stared at her, impressed beyond words, his mind working tirelessly as it started contemplating and strategizing his ideas, but Ryan took his father's stunned silence and Marissa's break from speaking and used it to his best advantage, finally finding a chance to escape from the horrifying evening.

Jumping up abruptly and replacing his glass on the silver tray, he moved towards the door. "We have to go," he interrupted his father mid-sentence. "It's been a long day….for Marissa. I had to wake her to come tonight, and she needs to be….back at the apartment early, so she can get some sleep. She worked today, and….."

"Wait a minute," James exclaimed glancing between his son and the woman he believed to be his son's pregnant girlfriend, "what do you mean Marissa worked today? You're working," he asked her before turning back to Ryan. "She should not be working, Ryan," he replied tersely, his annoyance with him flashing in his eyes, crystal blue eyes that matched those of his son. "Work related stress is not good on the baby."

Standing up, Marissa spoke to regain the attention of the room. "It is not Ryan's decision whether or not I work; it's mine, and I need to be working. You don't know me," she pointed out to James gently, "and if you did, you'd realize that I don't handle down time too well. I need to be constantly busy. Just to warn you," Marissa cautioned, figuring she might as well tell them, both of them, of her decision since the topic had come up, "I plan on working for as long as I can up until the day I give birth, if possible, so that I can use all of my maternity leave after the baby arrives, so I can spend as much time with him or her when they're just an infant."

"What if I could come up with a compromise," James offered, "what if I could think of something that would make us both happy, keeping you busy and working the entire time you're pregnant but in a relaxed, stress free environment."

"We'll see," Marissa conceded, moving towards Ryan, covering a yawn, "but, I'm warning you. I don't want you to pull any favors or strings. But, for now, we do need to be going. Ryan's right; I am tired."

"I'll call you then," James mentioned suddenly, a sly grin on his face, "and we'll make plans to have lunch together, to discuss this topic further."

Waving as she left the room, she nodded her head in agreement, smiling at his suggestion. "I'd like that, Mr. Atwood."

"Please, Marissa, call me James."

"Alright then, James, thank you for a wonderful evening." He followed them to the door, opening it for them as they said their goodbyes. "It was lovely to meet you," Marissa continued, putting her hand out for him to shake, but, shocking her, he lightly pulled her into a gentle hug, whispering softly in her ear so Ryan couldn't hear.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, too, Marissa, and take care of my little grandchild." Pulling away from her, he called out to Ryan who was already walking down the driveway towards his car. "Night, Ryan," and with that and one last smile towards Marissa, he closed the door and went to his study. He had some thinking to do.

"Hey, hey," Marissa called out to Ryan as he walked quickly in front of her. "Ryan, would you slow down for a moment. I want to talk to you."

"Perhaps you should just go back up to the house and talk some more to my dad," he bit out, caustically. "You two seem to be pretty tight already. Maybe he'll ask you to move in and take you and your annoying pregnancy hormones off of my hands, giving me back my stress free, quiet, peaceful existence, not to mention an empty apartment to bring my dates back to."

"What's your problem," she asked him, confused. "I liked your dad, he seemed to like me, we got along well, and, most importantly, I think I was able to convince him that we're in a relationship, just like you wanted, just like our deal constituted. I don't understand what I did wrong."

"Would you just get in the damn car," he demanded, moving to his own side and not even offering to help her in. "I'm tired of hearing your annoying voice and I just want to go back to my place, change, and go out again to find some chick to sleep with, forget this night ever happened."

Sliding into the passenger side of the car, she did what he asked, slamming the car door in the process, refusing to look at him. If it was even possible, their ride back to the apartment was going to be even more awkward than the ride from. Leaving, seemingly, did absolutely nothing to improve either of their evenings.

Ryan pulled into the parking garage, killing his engine and sighing in the process, as soon as they got back to the apartment. The ride back from the dinner at his father's had proven to be deadly silent. His eyes had been glued to the road, too stubborn to even look at Marissa. When he didn't hear her move to get out, he turned in his seat, finally noticing that she was curled towards the door as if she was consciously trying to get as far away from him as possible, her head resting against her own shoulder.

For several minutes he just sat there, watching her, taking her presence in. It was the second time that evening that he had watched her sleep, but it was just as fascinating, just as mesmerizing as the first time. His mind told him to turn away, to not watch her, but his body was incapable of moving, frozen in place.

Perhaps sensing the change in her environment, the car heater no longer on to keep them warm, Marissa twisted in her seat, attempting to find a comfortable position in the cramped sports car and a way to warm her chilled body. He could see goosebumps forming on her bare legs, but still he did nothing but watch her, eventually letting his eyes move from her body to her face.

She was crying, he realized, the tear tracks and smeared makeup unarguable signs of distress and pain on her otherwise flawless face. She must have cried herself to sleep. The thought did not sit well. I did that….I made her cry. Admitting that cost him though, admitting the truth to himself and comprehending its significance, the fact that he was now capable of noticing her various emotions, a sign that he was starting to care, was enough to snap him out of his trance. Pressing his fist abruptly into the car's horn, the loud, abrasive noise filled the small space of the car and echoed throughout the nearly empty parking garage, snapping Marissa awake in a panic.

For a moment she did not know where she was, whom she was with, but slowly, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of their surrounds, she became aware of the fact that she was still in Ryan's car, with him, that they were back at the apartment, in the parking garage, that she was cold, and he, once again, looked furious. Little did she know whom he was really mad at.

"Get out," he ordered her. When she was slow to move, he reached across her body and opened the door for her, pushing it open roughly, and tossing her purse onto the ground outside of the car. "I told you I wanted to go out when we got back," he excused his rude, scathing behavior."

"But….I thought you said you were going to change first."

"Plans change," he dismissed, starting the car back up as she climbed out of it. "At this point, the idea of having to spend one more moment with you makes me sick to my stomach. I want you out of my sight now!"

With that, he pealed out of the parking spot, leaving an emotionally destroyed Marissa in his tracks. Collapsing onto the cement of the parking garage, not caring that she was ruining the dress she was wearing, she fumbled around in the dark until she found her purse. Sobbing, she opened it, moving her hand around inside of it until she found what she was seeking. Grasping the little, black and white photograph tightly, she let her bag drop back to the ground and laid down on the cold floor, hoping its iciness would numb her aching heart, the beautiful sonogram of her baby in her hands the only source of warmth or comfort in her life. It was amazing really, that the man who had given her so much, her child, could, so easily, in just one breath, take everything else away from her.