To Love Honour and Disobey

His heart seemed to stutter every time he thought of that—the child they’d lost. So he pushed it from his mind by sheer iron will. She said she didn’t want kids. Neither did he. And that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Because it meant that maybe their affair could continue—maybe indefinitely. OK, there was never a ‘for ever’, but they could be together for as long as they both wanted. There was no fear of the complication of children. And no real commitment. And given that he desired her more than ever—this could only be a good thing. Even so he should push the divorce through—he could sign those papers today and get the process under way.

But instead he lifted the first file on his desk and opened it. Fee-bringing business first.

An hour later he shut the file—having got nowhere. His mind had drifted further than a piece of cork on an ocean.

He’d go get her bags and take them to her now. So what if lunch was still hours away—she’d need something clean to wear, wouldn’t she?

He laughed as he carried the bulky bags straight up to his room and dumped them on the floor. He walked into his big wardrobe and pushed his clothes to one side.

‘You take this half.’ Although judging by the number of bags still in his car she might need the one in the spare room as well.

She was sitting on the bed wearing his robe and he pounced on a bag spilling shoes to stop himself pouncing on her. She was still too damn pale.

‘My God,’ he teased as he tipped the bag up. ‘You weren’t joking about your collection.’ At least twenty pairs of sky-high heels had piled out into a mountain.

‘They’re pretty good, aren’t they?’

‘Most look unworn.’

‘Most are.’ She looked sheepish. ‘I can’t part with them. They’re a reminder of my stupidity. And the fact is I still love them. But I’ve been wearing them more and more.’

‘I’ve noticed.’ And he liked it.

He handed her some hangers and she took one bag into the wardrobe, started pulling out her shirts and hanging them up. He set to sorting the shoes—finding the mates and lining them up. He found another bag of them, pulled shoes out one by one and set them in place. Definitely going to need the wardrobe in the other room. He delved deep into the bottom of the bag and found another smaller bag. He opened it and pulled more shoes out. But they weren’t high heels. They were sneakers.

Baby-sized sneakers.

His heart didn’t just stutter. It stopped.

Quietly he reached into the same bag and found another three pairs of baby shoes. Both genders covered. He laid them on the floor in a row.

‘Ana?’

She stepped out from the wardrobe, saw them immediately—stared at them.

He stared at her.

‘You kept them.’ He finally regained the power of speech.

Her lips twisted. ‘I keep everything, Seb. As you can see.’

But this was different. ‘You said you don’t want children.’

‘I don’t.’

‘So why keep them?’

‘I didn’t keep them. It’s just that I never get rid of anything. I’m a hoarder.’ She didn’t look at him as she answered—walked back into the wardrobe. She might sound casual, but he knew what she was doing—hiding.

Seb felt sick as he stared at the shoes once more. Of course she’d kept them—deliberately. She’d wanted to keep them—safely tucked away in a little bag at the heart of her collection. Just as she’d wanted to keep their baby. She wanted children. And she couldn’t—shouldn’t—deny it. She shouldn’t deny what was true to her. She shouldn’t try to be like him. That was what she was doing, wasn’t it? She’d learned all the wrong things from him. Like their fling—their deal in Africa—that wasn’t in her character. The dreamyeyed woman he’d met a year ago wasn’t the kind to instigate a quick and meaningless affair. She felt. She was a soft, loving woman who really was meant for love and family.

Her keeping the shoes revealed that, didn’t it? Just as the glow in her face at his father’s wedding had hinted that her romanticism, her idealism, still lurked beneath her shiny new carefree surface.

She wanted more. And she deserved more.

But he wasn’t the man who could deliver it.

He clenched his fists as an ache ripped through his guts. ‘What are you going to do with them?’

Ana pulled her face from where she’d buried it in the clothes she’d just hung in the wardrobe. Inhaled deep to steady her voice. ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s not like you’ll be able to rent them out.’

No, of course she couldn’t. Anger spurted inside. Why was he pursuing this? What did he want her to say? She marched out of the wardrobe and scooped up the shoes, stuffed them back into their little bag. ‘I don’t want them.’ She tossed the bag into the hall. ‘I’ll put them in a charity bin later.’