Carrying Her Millionaire's Baby

‘What did you find for us?’ She was hoping for food. Maybe vodka.

Ash threw her a towel. She supposed that was a start.

‘Let’s just say you’re going to wish you’d waited until after the rehearsal dinner to run,’ he said, towelling off his own hair then wrapping the towel around the back of his neck to catch the drips. ‘But I did find this.’

He held up a bottle. Zoey grinned. She wasn’t much of a drinker—beyond a couple of glasses of wine on occasional girls’ nights or dinners out. Whisky definitely wasn’t her favourite, but she supposed it was warming, and really, runaway bride beggars couldn’t be choosers.

‘Excellent. I found, well, not much. These chairs, and a couple of old blankets. Oh, and a kettle, so there can be tea in the morning.’

‘Great minds...’ Ash pulled a stash of teabags and some single serve UHT milk cartons from his pockets. ‘That’s all the important things covered. What do you want to do now?’

It turned out there really wasn’t much to do in the middle of a storm on a desert island in a half-renovated villa. Drinking seemed categorically like the best option, especially considering the day she’d had, so they settled into their camping chairs and Ash distributed liberal amounts of whisky into the mugs Zoey had found. Zoey took a sip and pulled a face. Well, at least it seemed like the whisky would last them the night. She couldn’t imagine drinking more than a tablespoon or two.

‘So,’ Ash said after a few quiet moments. ‘As I recall from past experience, this is usually the point in the proceedings where you start talking.’

‘Past experience?’ Zoey raised her eyebrows. ‘Have I forgotten all the other times we stole a boat together?’

‘I was thinking more of all the other times you ran out on an unsuspecting fiancé.’

‘Oh.’

Ash’s gaze was measuring, as if he was watching to see which way she was going to jump. Zoey couldn’t help but remember those other times he’d mentioned—how she’d always turned to Grace in times of crisis. About how Grace wasn’t here to pick her up this time.

Tears burned behind her eyes. Maybe the whisky hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Grace always said she was a total lightweight.

‘I miss her, you know,’ she said around the tightness in her throat. ‘Every single day.’

Ash, to his credit, wasn’t thrown by her non-sequitur. ‘So do I.’

‘Of course you do. She was your wife.’ And he’d loved her so much. That had been obvious to anyone with eyes. ‘Of course you’re still grieving and stuff. But me...she was my best friend, and I don’t have anyone else. But apparently I should be over this by now.’

Ash’s face turned stony. ‘According to who?’

‘David.’ Zoey took another sip of whisky, and then a bigger gulp. It burned her throat, but somehow that felt like a good thing, now. David would tell her that expensive whisky was wasted on her if she didn’t enjoy it. But she didn’t have to worry about what David thought any more.

The relief that flowed over her at the realisation was probably a sign that she really should have figured out the not-marrying-him thing sooner.

‘In that case, I’m more pleased than ever that I helped you escape marrying him.’ Ash scraped his chair across the floor to get closer to her, resting a hand on the plastic arm of her seat. Without thinking, she covered it with her own. ‘You said it yourself, Grace was your best friend. You’re allowed to mourn and grieve for her as long as you need to.’

It had already been nearly two years. Every morning, Zoey wondered if today would be the day she passed a full twenty-four hours without thinking about her friend, and all she’d lost. Without feeling the hole Grace had left in her life.

It never was.

‘But you’re wrong about one thing.’ Ash turned his hand palm up under hers and gripped her fingers. ‘You said you don’t have anyone else. That’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Zoey raised her eyebrows as she looked at him, waiting for a joke about the barista she had a crush on at the coffee shop they went to together sometimes.