Martinez's Pregnant Wife

‘Oh, no, Lisa, that is not about to happen. You and I will go together—as husband and wife.’ He moved toward her, saw the surge of defiance in her eyes, which sparked angrily at him, a stark contrast to her pale face. He would have to calm his anger. He might not have wanted to create a child, but he had and he wouldn’t now do anything to jeopardise his baby or Lisa.

He hadn’t decided if taking Lisa to Madrid was an excuse to keep her close or the competition of being the better brother, but all he knew was that she had to be there with him. He needed to see for himself that she rested, that she was taking care of herself as the doctor had instructed. Just as his mother should have done. He was adamant that they would remain married and very sure that he would do anything necessary to make her want to stay with him beyond New Year’s Eve. He wanted to be the father he’d never had. He just wasn’t sure if he could.

‘What, to show we are so happily married?’ The accusation was stinging—and true as her words flew at him, dragging him back from thoughts that would only lead to the past, to the pain of losing his mother so soon after his baby sister was born. He might only have been a teenager then, but he wasn’t about to take any chances with his unborn child. At least not until he was sure everything was as it should be.

‘Happily or not, we are married, Lisa, and expecting our first child. That at least you cannot deny.’

Her anger sparked across the room like lightning and he pushed down the irrational guilt. He wasn’t the only one who’d walked out on this marriage. Lisa had done the same the morning after the night that had changed their lives. Had she come to find him, tell him about the baby because she’d already known his world was falling apart around him?

It wasn’t the first time such a mutinous thought had occurred to him. He knew that Lisa had married him because she’d loved him. She’d told him often enough, but his constant silence had not been what she’d been looking for, what she’d wanted to hear. He didn’t tell lies, he’d had enough of those in his childhood to know how destructive they could be, but his reluctance to say those three words she most wanted to hear had finally made staying with her impossible. Walking out had been the only option, before he hurt her any more than he already had done. Was this all about revenge, about making him feel the same pain?

‘No, I can’t, but I wish I could walk away from you, this time for ever. I know what it’s like to have a part-time father, then stepfathers drifting in and out of my life when it suited them—or my mother.’

An unwanted wave of sympathy washed over him after his angry thoughts about her motives and he moved toward her, wanting to offer comfort, reassurance—anything to make her feel better. This was the first time she’d allowed him to see into the window of her childhood and he guessed it wasn’t the happy picture she’d always tried to portray or hide behind.

‘So, it seems we both have our own motives for remaining married.’ He locked away his emotions, becoming the cold, detached businessman he’d been since a car accident had halted his footballing career five years ago.

‘It looks that way. When do we leave for Madrid?’ She was as cold as he was, proving, if nothing else, that any of those softer and sentimental emotions she’d once had for him had well and truly been buried—and it suited him perfectly. Emotions complicated things. Emotions only led to pain.

‘I have chartered a private jet to ensure your comfort. We leave tomorrow morning.’

Initially, he thought she was going to challenge him, but after a moment of those green eyes scrutinising him, she nodded. ‘When do we return?’

‘As soon as the wedding celebrations are over. I have plans here in England for the festive season.’

Now he felt the full force of her suspicion. ‘What plans?’

He wasn’t about to reveal anything yet, but her talk of wanting a Christmas tree reminded him of the one occasion they’d talked about anything to do with their past. She’d told him how her family had never had time or the inclination for festive celebrations, that Christmas was something she’d missed out on as a child. He might not be able to feel love, but he wanted to make her happy, prove he could enter into the façade of family life being forced on him, even though he had no intention of engaging his emotions. With this in mind, he’d put in motion arrangements for the kind of festivities his mother had loved—the kind he’d never had since her death.

‘Plans that will prove to you we can bring our child up together. Offer it all neither of us had. You gave me until New Year’s Eve to prove that our child will be better off brought up by married parents and not divorced parents and that is precisely what I will do.’