‘What do you mean, “especially now”?’ Saskia couldn’t help herself, even as her skin prickled in warning.
‘Oh, I really didn’t want to be the one to have to tell you, babe...’ Clearly the other woman could barely supress her glee. ‘But I didn’t want you to have to hear it from someone else. I feel...responsible.’
Yeah. Right.
‘Tell me what?’ Saskia managed, her heart now hammering around her chest so hard that it would surely leave bruises.
Lifting her hand, Babette waved it so close to Saskia’s nose that she had to take a step back. But not before she’d noticed the huge, glistening stone.
‘Andy and I are engaged.’
Her heart stopped in an instant. She was going to be sick. Again. She wanted to grab the wall behind her just to stop herself from plummeting to the cold vinyl floor, but she didn’t want to give Babette the satisfaction.
Most days the shame of her ex-fiancé’s betrayal didn’t get to Saskia at all. But occasionally it felt as raw as it had ten months ago, when she’d walked in on him and his...mistress in flagrante in that on-call room, barely half an hour after she had been in bed with him herself in their own home.
Today was one of those raw days, Saskia thought with another sickening lurch—although, mercifully, this lurch was a little less intense. Not even when his new fiancée was standing opposite her and smiling superciliously.
‘Isn’t it stunning?’ Babette cooed. ‘Thank goodness! I was afraid he might get me something like a tiny quarter-carat thing that I’d need a magnifying glass to even see.’
‘Perish the thought,’ Saskia managed dryly.
Babette’s eyes widened in feigned innocence.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean any offence about the ring he bought you, of course. I’m sure you must have been perfectly happy with it. I guess being the daughter of a Hollywood diva doesn’t guarantee good taste.’
‘Of course you don’t mean any offence,’ Saskia murmured quietly, ignoring the jibe.
She might have come to terms with her parents’ death years ago, but it didn’t mean she wanted someone like Babette dismissing it as though it meant nothing. Besides which, she was still fighting to quell the nausea as she thought of the tiny solitaire Andy had bought for her, on the premise that he was saving money for a decent house.
What a naïve idiot she’d been.
Then again, had she really been completely oblivious?
Sucking in a steadying breath, Saskia considered—not for the first time—whether she had always known, on some level, that Andy was wrong for her. He had been more interested in using her name and perceived connections to further his ambition of becoming a plastic surgeon to the stars.
Was that why, from the very first moment she had stood on Anouk’s doorstep, surrounded by her worldly possessions, a strange tangle of emotions had tumbled inside her? Sorrow, humiliation, and rage, of course. But then also fleeting lightning bolts of something she had only been able to categorise as...relief.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to tell you personally. I always pride myself on being honourable, babe. And Andy agrees.’
Saskia’s jaws ached from being clamped shut. But it was better than saying that neither Babette nor Andy would recognise honour if it danced a jig in front of them. The woman would only take it as jealousy, and Saskia couldn’t bear for Babette to think that. Or to acknowledge that was her motivation.
But that had been before Andy. And before she’d fallen pregnant with Malachi Gunn’s baby.
How many times had she tortured herself over the last couple of months by scouring the local papers to see if there were any photos of local events where Malachi might be seen with some new, impossibly beautiful date on his arm?
Not that she’d seen any. But it didn’t mean he was pining for her the way she seemed to be for him.
Saskia faltered, then caught herself. No. She’d be damned if catching her ex-fiancé cheating on her with the abominable Babette was going to change who she was deep down. Malachi was supposed to have been her rebound. Up until that night Andy had been the only man Saskia had slept with—ever—and Malachi was to have been her long overdue one-night stand.
Although if a one-night stand stretched into three glorious days and four nights of a long weekend could it still be called a one-night stand?
What was the etiquette?
Who knew?
Either way, despite the sick feeling she had now, the last thing Saskia felt was jealous. Certainly not of Babette or Andy, anyway.
But she really did feel ill. Another wave of nausea threatened to engulf her and Saskia pressed her hand to her stomach. The other woman didn’t miss a trick.