Carrying Her Millionaire's Baby

Once the gallery was closed for the night, she changed and did her make-up in the washroom mirror, glad to have peace and quiet to get ready alone. As soon as she’d read Ash’s text about picking her up she’d known she couldn’t invite him back to her current flat share. If her roommates weren’t at each other’s throats, then the state of the place would be enough to make him turn up his nose. Zoey had tried to keep things clean, at least, but it was an ongoing battle, given the slobs she was living with.

Another thing to fix before the baby came. She had to find somewhere better to live. Although how she was going to do that on her wages—especially once she was on maternity leave—she had no idea. The gallery’s HR policies were a little lacking in that area, she’d discovered during her lunch break. Statutory Maternity Pay was the best she could hope for after the first few months. And if she had to pay nursery fees as well as rent...

One problem at a time, she reminded herself, as her breathing grew shallow and panicked. First, tell Ash. Then panic about everything else.

One thing was becoming abundantly clear the more she read up and looked into her options—her plans to go it alone, to be solely responsible for her own life, were suddenly a hell of a lot harder. Like it or not, she was going to have to swallow her pride and ask Ash for help if she wanted to keep her head above water.

And he’d give it, she had no doubt of that. She just worried what the cost would be to her heart.

At precisely seven o’clock Zoey heard a light tap on the gallery’s glass door and, turning out the last of the lights and grabbing her bag and keys, she headed out to meet Ash, her chest tight and her shoulders tense.

This was it. And no dress in the world could make it any easier.

‘Hey.’ With a broad smile, Ash ducked his head to brush a kiss against her cheek. ‘You look...lovely.’

Zoey’s own smile stiffened. Had he noticed something? Or was he just awkward because the last time they’d been together she’d mostly been naked?

She wished she could just blurt it out now and get it over with, but Ash deserved to hear the news of his impending fatherhood somewhere a little more salubrious than a darkened London backstreet.

‘Where’s the restaurant?’ she asked as he led her away from the gallery. She hoped it was close—if she’d known they’d be walking she’d have worn lower shoes.

He flashed her a secretive grin. ‘No restaurant—well, not yet, anyway. We can grab dinner later. And there’s bound to be canapés at this thing if you’re really hungry.’

‘What thing?’ Zoey asked, her shoulders practically up around her ears with tension. They were supposed to be going to a restaurant. Preferably a quiet and discreet one where she could tell him her news in private. ‘Where are we going?’

From his jacket pocket, Ash pulled out two tickets and waved them under her nose. ‘You know that exhibition at the Hemmingslea Gallery everyone’s been talking about? I got us tickets to the opening tonight.’

He looked so pleased with himself, so sure he’d done a good thing, that there was no way Zoey could tell him that, actually, the thought of standing up and making polite conversation with art-lovers for the next couple of hours made her miserable. Besides, that opening had been sold out for weeks, and it was definitely something Ash must have pulled some serious strings to get—because he knew she’d enjoy it. He’d never cared what everyone was talking about anyway, and the art world wasn’t exactly his natural habitat.

He’d done this for her. So Zoey plastered on a smile and said, ‘That’s brilliant! Thank you,’ as genuinely as she could manage.

She just hoped she didn’t throw up over any priceless works of art.

* * *

Something was up with Zoey.

It had taken him a while to notice; she’d seemed fine at the gallery earlier, and gratifyingly excited by the tickets he’d managed to procure. But his first clue should have been the dress. It was dark and boring, and totally un-Zoey-like.

For a moment, he’d wondered if she’d gone out and bought something plain and loose cut to make sure he didn’t get any ideas about how the night would end. Then he’d reminded himself that tonight was about rebuilding their friendship—not rekindling whatever they’d shared that night on the island. It probably hadn’t even occurred to her. Maybe she was just going for a new look.