To Love Honour and Disobey

She needed some kind of superglue to fix the tear in her heart—fast—because she didn’t want the hurt to burst out again. Not now. Not when things were confusing enough. But it was rising fast—and was huge again, hitting her in a wave.

Damn. Why did he have to find those shoes? And why was he freaking out about them?

‘I have to go back in to work,’ he said briskly. ‘Lots to catch up on still since I was away. I’ll be back tonight.’

Yeah, he was backing off fast.

‘Of course. I’ve got work I need to get on with too.’ And she needed to shower, dress, get a life. Because if she was reading his expression right, they were pretty much over.

‘Use my study.’ He didn’t touch her as he left.

‘Thanks.’ She swallowed, unable to believe his coolness—that he could shut down so quickly. Especially after this morning.

Wow.

She pressed her hand to her chest, squeezed out the memory of how he’d held her so tenderly only a couple of hours ago. She couldn’t think on that any more. Then she closed the door on that little bag out in the hall.

She’d been right yesterday. It was time to end it. But she wasn’t going to run away—not this time. She’d wait and see him, tell him she was pressing ahead with the divorce.

Closure would be hers.

Chapter Eleven

SEB looked up at the tall figure who’d just cast a long shadow across his desk and drawled, ‘Don’t tell me you want a divorce already.’

‘Very funny.’ His father shut the door behind him.

Surprised, Seb sat back in his chair. ‘Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?’

‘Only took the weekend.’ His dad shrugged. ‘Paris.’

‘I’m sure it was romantic.’ He had no desire to hear any more details.

‘Janine’s pregnant.’

For a long moment Seb couldn’t move. Finally he marshalled his wits enough to comment. ‘Congratulations.’ He made an effort to look pleased. ‘You’ve wanted that for a long time.’

‘Yeah.’ His father’s frown dissolved into a smile wider than the Zambezi river.

Seb stood and walked round his desk. Shook his father’s hand and then pulled him into a hug. They hadn’t done affection in a while but if ever there was a time when it was warranted, it was now.

Yet that tight feeling inside his chest clamped even harder. And it burned too.

It wasn’t jealousy, was it? But he couldn’t stop the thoughts—he’d have a baby now if Ana’s pregnancy hadn’t gone awry. How weird would it have been for his child to have an uncle even younger than him? Well, hell, and a step-grandma only a few years older than its father too. The confusion made Seb’s brain start to ache. ‘Does Mum know?’

His father looked guilty. ‘No. Not yet.’ He fidgeted.

Seb’s whole body began to ache. He knew what was coming.

‘I was wondering if you might talk to her.’

His dad didn’t want to deal with it, huh? He never had. ‘You want me to tell her for you.’

‘I don’t want to hurt her.’

That was the real reason for this visit. To make Seb the go between—again. ‘Neither do I.’

‘You’re her son.’

‘So?’

‘You’re her whole life.’

Wrong. He wasn’t anywhere near enough for her. She’d wanted more than him. He’d been only a fraction of what she wanted—not enough. Not ever enough.

His father picked up one of the clippings the secretaries cut for him. A write-up of one of his most recent high-profile cases. The ugly break-up of a rock star and his aging model. Both drugged up in the past and now with two kids and several million pounds caught between them.

‘Your mother and I messed you around, didn’t we?’ His dad half laughed. ‘Stupid when you were the most precious thing to both of us. I won’t let that happen this time.’

Seb looked away.

‘I fought for you, son. I’d always fight for you.’

But he hadn’t been enough—they’d both wanted more than him and he hadn’t been able to hold them together. He’d worked so hard—tried to be the perfect son, sporty, academic, striving to succeed to please both his mother and his father. To be everything they wanted in a child. But they’d both wanted more.

That was why he knew he wasn’t the man for Ana. If he hadn’t been enough for his parents, how could he be enough to hold her to him? And even if he tried, what if they couldn’t make the family she wanted? Wouldn’t that tear them apart as it had his parents?

For she did want a family. He’d seen it in her eyes, had felt it as she’d shuddered with grief—the sadness over her loss. Sure she denied it. But seeing those shoes she still kept? The yearning was still there and one day it would bubble up. Could he stand to see her hurting time and time again if those children didn’t come?