The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

Why?

He slept badly—something which was becoming a habit—and he was already waiting when Keeley arrived at the hospital, failing to hide the shock on her face when she saw him.

‘Ariston!’ Her cheeks went pink. ‘You’re early!’

‘And?’

She looked as if she wanted to say something more but smiled instead, except that, as smiles went, it didn’t look terribly convincing. Her mouth seemed strained but he thought he’d never seen her looking more beautiful, in a green velvet coat which matched her eyes and her fair hair hanging over one shoulder in a thick plait.

‘Shall we go up to the scanning room?’ she said.

‘As you wish,’ he growled.

The appointment couldn’t have gone better. The radiographer smiled and pointed out things which didn’t really need pointing out—even to Ariston’s untutored eye. The rapidly beating little heart and the thumb which was jammed into a monochrome mouth. He could feel the salt taste of unwanted tears in the back of his throat and was glad that Keeley was busy wiping jelly from her stomach, giving him enough time to compose himself.

And when they emerged into the quiet London street it felt as if he had stepped into another world.

‘Would you like lunch?’ he questioned formally.

‘I...no, thank you.’

‘Coffee, then?’

She looked as if she wanted to say something important but although she had opened her lips, she quickly closed them again and shook her head. ‘No, thanks. It’s very kind of you but I’m off coffee at the moment and I’m...tired. I’d rather get home if it’s all the same with you.’

‘I’ll have my driver drop you off.’

‘No, honestly, Ariston. I’ll get the bus or the Tube. It’s no bother.’

‘I’m not having you struggling across London on public transport in your condition. I will have my driver drop you off,’ he repeated in a flat tone which didn’t quite disguise his growing irritation. ‘Don’t worry, Keeley. I’ll take a cab. I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you to any more of my company since you clearly find the prospect so unappealing. Here. Get in.’

He pulled open the door of the limousine which Keeley hadn’t even noticed and which had drawn to a smooth and noiseless halt beside them. He was watching her as she slid onto the back seat, the scent of leather and luxury seeming poignantly familiar as she stared into Ariston’s blue eyes—those beautiful blue eyes which she had missed so much. Her mouth dried. Should she tell him to come round some time? Would that send out the wrong message—or maybe the real message—that it wasn’t just his eyes she had missed?

‘Ariston,’ she began, but he had closed the car door and given an almost imperceptible nod to his driver as the powerful machine pulled away.

And Keeley turned round, slightly ungainly with her baby bump, wanting to catch a glimpse of his face as the car pulled away. Was she hoping for one of those movie endings, where she would surprise a look of longing on his face and she could yell at the driver to stop the car, and...

But he was walking away, striding purposefully towards a black cab which had just switched off its yellow light, and Keeley turned away, biting her lip as the limousine took her southwest, towards Wimbledon.

She was doing the right thing. She was. She kept telling herself that over and over. Why sit through a torturous lunch or even a cup of coffee when Ariston had a face like dark granite? He didn’t love her and he never could. He was an unreasonably jealous and controlling man. He might have the power to turn her to jelly whenever he so much as looked at her but he was all the things she despised.

So how come she still wanted him with a longing which sometimes left her breathless with regret for what could never be?

And she was doing this for their baby, she reminded herself. Building respect between them and forging a relationship which would demonstrate what two adults could achieve if they only put their minds to it.

The journey to her cottage took for ever and in truth it would have been quicker getting the train, but the moment she walked up the path to her little house she could feel a slight lifting of her mood. Wimbledon Common had been one of those places she’d always drooled about when she’d lived in New Malden. She used to take the bus there on her day off. It had a villagey feel and a pond, plus lots of lovely little shops and restaurants. She’d seen other pregnant mothers giving her cautious smiles when she was out and about and she wanted to reach out and make friends, but something was holding her back. She shut the front door with a bang. She didn’t want to let anyone close because then she would have to explain her circumstances and tell them that her brief marriage was over. Because if she admitted it to someone else, then she would have to accept it was true.

And she didn’t want it to be true, she realised. She wanted...

She bit her lip as she batted the dark thoughts away. She didn’t dare express what she wanted, not even to herself. All she knew was that she couldn’t go back to that old way of living. Of feeling like a pampered doll in someone else’s life. A decorative asset to be brought out whenever the situation merited it. She wanted to connect with the real world—not sit in her gilded penthouse and look down on it. And most of all she wanted a man who wouldn’t make out that feelings were like poison—and you should avoid them whenever possible.

She lit a fire in the grate and had just made a pot of tea when there was a ring on the bell. She peered through the peephole, shocked to see Ariston standing on her doorstep, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trousers, his face a dark glower. She pulled open the door and there he was, his black hair ruffled by the October wind and his jaw all shadowed.

Her heart missed a beat. ‘Ariston,’ she said, wondering if he could hear the slight quaver in her voice. ‘What...what are you doing here?’

His shuttered features looked forbidding. ‘Can I come in?’

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping aside to let him pass. ‘Of course.’