Co-parenting.
The word ricocheted inside her head.
Her throat seemed to have shrunk, so that suddenly it was difficult to breathe, and her heart was leaping erratically like a fish on a hook.
But why? He was offering her exactly what she’d thought she wanted for her daughter, wasn’t he?
She felt Sóley move against her again, and instantly her panic increased tenfold.
The truth was that she hadn’t really thought about anything beyond Ragnar’s initial reaction to finding out he was a father. The memory of her own father’s glazed expression of shock and panic had still been uppermost in her mind when she’d found out she was pregnant, and that was what she’d wanted to avoid by getting in touch with Ragnar while their daughter was still tiny.
But had she thought beyond the moment of revelation? Had she imagined him being a hands-on presence in Sóley’s life? No, not really. She’d been so self-righteous about Ragnar’s deceit, but now it turned out that she had been deceiving herself the whole time—telling herself that she’d got in touch because she wanted him in her daughter’s life when really it had been as much about rewriting that uncomfortable, unsatisfactory scene between herself and Alistair.
And now, thanks to her stupidity and short-sightedness, she’d let someone into her life she barely knew or liked who had an agenda that was unlikely to be compatible with hers.
‘I don’t know how we could make that work—’ she began.
But Ragnar wasn’t listening. He was staring as though mesmerised at his daughter’s face. And, with shock, she realised that Sóley was awake and was staring back at her father. Her heart contracted. Their blue eyes were so alike.
‘Hey,’ he said softly to his daughter. ‘May I?’
His eyes flickered briefly to hers and without realising that she was even doing so she nodded slowly, holding her breath as he held out his hand to Sóley.
Watching her tiny hand clasp his thumb, she felt the same pride and panic she’d felt back in the cottage, when her daughter had been transfixed by Ragnar’s face. Whatever she felt for him they were father and daughter, and their bond was unassailable.
His next words made it clear that his thoughts were following the same path.
‘We need to sit down and talk about what happens next.’
‘What happens next...?’ she repeated slowly.
He nodded. ‘Obviously we’ll need to sort out something legal, but right now I’d like us to be on the same page.’
From somewhere outside in the street a swell of uncontrollable laughter burst into the near-silent gallery. As everyone turned she glanced past Ragnar, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention as she spotted the hem of her mother’s coat and her brother’s familiar black boots stomping down the steps of the gallery.
Panic edged into her head, pushing past all other thought. This wasn’t the right time or place for Ragnar to meet her family. She wasn’t ready, and nor could she imagine their various reactions to one another. Actually, she could—and it was something she wanted to avoid at all costs.
Her mother would walk a tightrope between charm and contempt. Lucas would probably say something he would regret later.
‘Fine,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll give you my number and you can call me. We can arrange to meet up.’
‘I think it would be better if we made a decision now.’
Watching Lucas turning to flirt with the gallery receptionist, Lottie felt her jaw tighten with resentment. Ragnar was pushing her into a corner. Only what choice did she have?
She glanced despairingly as the inner door to the gallery opened. She couldn’t risk them meeting one another now, but clearly Ragnar wasn’t leaving without a date in place.
‘Okay, then—how about tomorrow? After lunch.’
He nodded. ‘Would you prefer me to come to you?’
‘No—’ She practically shouted the word at him. ‘People are always dropping in. It’ll be easier to talk without any distractions.’
‘Fine. I’ll send a car.’
‘That won’t be—’
‘Necessary? Perhaps not.’ Frowning, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a card. ‘But indulge me. This is my private number. Text me your address and I’ll have my driver collect you.’