The Surgeon's One-Night Baby

The past few weeks since the cerclage had seemed surreal. Like she’d woken up in a parallel life where she lived in pleasant domesticity with Kaspar. He’d been attentive, and patient, and easy company.

But they’d never mentioned his childhood again. Or their marriage.

They never really talked about anything of substance. Not even the cerclage. Their conversations were light, sometimes funny, always friendly, but they verged on the superficial, and it galled Archie more than she cared to admit. As though their moment of breakthrough had never happened.

Even when Dr Jarvis had expressed her satisfaction that Archie’s body seemed to have accepted the intervention well with bed rest slipping into house rest then into gentle activities, but not yet sexual activity.

Archie had no doubt that her searing cheeks had raised the temperature of the consultation room by several degrees, mortified that she’d instantly thought back to that weekend together and had not been able to get the incredible X-rated images from her head. Yet Kaspar had schooled his features as though the conversation hadn’t bothered him in the least.

It had somehow felt demoralising, making her wonder why he hadn’t even touched her since the kiss that wedding night. Had it simply been about proving a point? Why did it even bother her?

Archie stood up abruptly. The need to get away from the house—something she hadn’t been able to do in the last few days—more overwhelming than ever.

That one moment of openness, of almost vulnerability on Kaspar’s part those weeks ago had been gone even by the following morning when she’d awoken. She could remember it as vividly as if it had only been hours ago.

Not even a trace of their temporary connection had remained as he’d presented her with a freshly squeezed orange juice courtesy of the juice-maker on his sparkling kitchen island, scrambled eggs with asparagus on wholemeal toast courtesy of the pan on the pristine cooker, and rich herbal tea courtesy of the instant hot-water tap at the plush sink.

She had plastered a beatific smile to her lips and pretended not to notice that the vulnerable Kaspar had disappeared as abruptly as he’d appeared. Pretended not to care that he hadn’t dipped his head and kissed her the way she’d so ardently wished he would as they’d stood in that room, her hand over his heart, trying to feel whether it was beating as loudly and as quickly as hers had been.

But he’d remained as shut off to her as he always had been. A closed book.

‘So you do actually use this kitchen for cooking?’ It had been an effort to keep her tone upbeat at first. To tease him. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘You should be. It was your father who taught me how.’

‘His only real signature was all-day breakfasts,’ Archie had corrected him, this time striving for a laugh. Surprised when it was actually more genuine than she’d expected. ‘He was useless at most other cooking.’

‘You’re right.’ Kaspar had nodded after a moment’s consideration. ‘I’ve been making his famous all-day breakfast since I was fourteen.’

‘Ah, yes. You and Robbie would cook it every single Sunday of every single holiday.’

‘I seem to remember you wolfing it down as fast as anybody.’

‘I had to.’ Archie had feigned indignation. ‘I had to keep up with you two. You didn’t exactly want a twelve-year-old following you around. You both always tried to ditch me.’

‘Yeah.’ Kaspar had chuckled. ‘And you’ve no idea the rollicking your father gave us whenever we were successful.’

They’d laughed and, for a moment, it had felt good again. Until she’d realised that all Kaspar’s light-hearted banter was a way of keeping her at arm’s length. Even as she lived in his home as his wife, carrying his child.

* * *

Shaking off her thoughts as she reached the expansive glass sliders that led from the poolside to the cool lounge, Archie sensed, rather than saw, Kaspar coming up behind her as she entered the house.

‘Archie? Is everything okay?’

She wanted to shout and rail and vent all her frustrations. Instead, she simply turned to greet him with a pleasant, if rather flat smile plastered onto her lips.

She should be grateful he cared.

She should be.

‘I’m fine. The baby’s fine. I just wanted to head in for a while.’

He didn’t believe her for a moment. His gaze pierced through her, making her blood fizz in her veins in a way that even the hot sun hadn’t managed.

Dammit, when was she ever going to get a grip of herself around this man?

‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve been more and more jittery with each passing day.’