“I will love him.”
“Love is being present and accessible. But when confronted by something difficult you retreat...withdrawing for days. The child will suffer.”
“You can’t project what is between you and me onto him.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will be different.”
“Maybe. But maybe not. And because I know what I’ve seen here, and felt personally, I worry that when you need time alone, the child won’t have enough love. I worry that he’ll be...lonely. He should have others, Nikos, others in his world, others who will love him, too.”
“I wasn’t raised in a big, traditional family. My son will not miss anything.”
She didn’t say anything. What could she say?
His black eyebrows flattened. “You don’t believe me.”
She shrugged, trying to contain her frustration. “Children need community. They need to feel secure and loved—”
“I will do that.”
“But what if something happens to you? Who will be there for him?”
“Nothing will happen to me.”
“You don’t know that! You’re not God. You’re mortal—”
“I think it’s time you took a step back, Georgia. I am not sure why you are making my business yours. The child is mine, not yours.” He stared at her, expression brooding. “Are you having second thoughts?”
She almost laughed. Second thoughts? Oh, yes, second and third and fourth...
She was consumed with regret. The guilt ached inside her. How could she have imagined she would be able to do this...conceive and carry a child and then just give him away?
“I carry your son,” she said icily, “and I protect him with every breath I take.”
“But he is my son,” he repeated, “not yours, and therefore, not your concern. You waived your rights when you accepted payment. You waived those rights when you signed the fifty-some-page agreement. You waived those rights months ago, and you will never get them back.”
Her fingers itched to slap him. He was hard and hateful, and his arrogant tone matched his arrogant expression.
It was all she could do to stand there and hold his gaze without crying or yelling. She stared up at him, staring hard to show she wasn’t afraid and wouldn’t be cowed. He needed to know that he wasn’t a god. He wasn’t the sun and the moon, the stars and the universe. He was just a man. A flawed man that had been broken and scarred along the way and survived by throwing his weight at the universe, thinking that he could control everything by being tough, cold, mean.
And she wouldn’t shed one tear for someone who was determined to be tough and cold and mean.
She wouldn’t feel anything for a man who was more beast than man. But at the same time, how could she hand a helpless newborn—so tender, so innocent—over to such a man?
“You’re angry,” he said shortly.
“Furious,” she agreed, voice pitched low, vibrating with emotion. “And offended.”
“Because I remind you of the facts? I force you to recognize the truth?”
“Because that kiss in my room, it changed you, and you in turn took something that was lovely and wonderful and made it ugly and sordid. You made me feel so good when you kissed me, and touched me, and then you pulled away and you’ve become hateful. You’ve become a monster...like the Minotaur in the labyrinth. You want to crush me now, but I won’t let you. I might be a woman, and I might not have your size or muscles, but I am stronger than you. I will not break. And I will not let you break our son.”
She turned around and started walking back the way she’d come, moving quickly, almost jogging back to the road, and then once on the road, she kept jogging, running, as if she could escape him, her and the truth.
She loved the baby.
The baby was hers...
* * *
She was grateful Nikos didn’t chase after her. She would have had to run faster, and she didn’t want to fall. She just wanted to get back to her room, to lock her door and hide.
But the moment she reached her room, she felt ill, cold and shaky and nauseous. She dashed into the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, stomach rolling, churning.
Her heart would break if she gave the baby up. Her heart would never be the same. How could she do this?
How could she hand him over and never look back?
It wasn’t just because Nikos was detached and cold and hard. It actually had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her. She loved the baby. She loved him and talked to him at night, and in her heart she talked to him throughout the day...
Tears streamed as she emptied her stomach.
Afterward, she clung weakly to the toilet, trying to catch her breath, trying to get her stomach to settle.
But her stomach wouldn’t settle. The tears wouldn’t stop. She’d made a pact with the devil. She’d sold her soul to make sure her sister would be financially taken care of, but the cost was too high.
The cost was unbearable.
She’d spent all this time telling herself it wasn’t her baby, wasn’t her son, but it was a lie.
He was hers.
And she loved him.
And it would break what was left of her heart if she left this island without him.
“This isn’t good,” Nikos said from the bathroom doorway, his deep, rough voice echoing in the small space.
She used her sleeve to dry her damp eyes. “Did you break the door down?” she asked hoarsely.
“I used the key.”
“Thank you.”
He disappeared from the bathroom and returned a minute later with a glass of water. He handed her the glass. “Rinse, spit and come talk to me in the living room.”
She did as he suggested, and when she emerged he pointed to the couch.
“Sit,” he said.
She wanted to tell him not to be bossy, but she didn’t have the energy. Instead she sank onto the cushion and curled her legs up under her.
Nikos faced her, hands on his hips. “I don’t like to see you this way. It’s not good for—”
“The baby. I know.” Her chin lifted. “I’m aware of that, and I don’t want to stress him in any way.”
Nikos’s jaw tightened. “I was going to say you. It’s not good for you.”
She didn’t know how to answer. She just looked at him, her heart so raw, her emotions wild.
“What is happening here?” he ground out. “I don’t understand it.”
“Understand what? That you kiss me and then run away...or that I tell you I’m scared and then you tell me it’s none of my business?”
He muttered something beneath his breath. She couldn’t make out the words, wasn’t even sure if he was speaking English.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
“It’s not important.”
“I think it is. I think it’s time you talked to me, Nikos. Not yell, not shame, not intimidate, not berate. Talk to me. Have a conversation.”
“I’m not good at this.”
“You’ll get better with practice, and even if you don’t want to do it for me, do it for your son’s sake. He will need you to talk and listen. He will need you to not close down the moment you feel threatened—”
“I don’t feel threatened!”
“You’re terrified of emotion.”
“That’s not true.”
“You run from intimacy like a little, scared schoolboy.”
“What?”
“It’s true. Conflict isn’t going to kill you, Nikos. Having an uncomfortable conversation is just that—uncomfortable—but it’s not the end. It doesn’t mean we hate each other or won’t still be friends—”
“Are we friends?” he interrupted, standing over her, black eyebrows flattened over dark, piercing eyes.
She had to think about the definition of the word for a moment. “Yes. At least, I think we should be. It’s the only way to get through this. It’s the only way I can possibly manage this
last part...getting through to the end.”
“So you do have misgivings now?”
“I don’t know what kind of woman I would be not to feel conflicted. I feel him moving. He’ll give a kick when I talk. When I go to bed, he gets active. It’s like a game we play.” Her throat ached, and the lump she’d been fighting grew. She couldn’t say more. It would be impossible to say more, especially when the emotion was right there on the surface.
He dropped into a chair next to the couch and leaned forward, looking at her intently. “I have been making it harder for you, haven’t I?”
“The whole thing is hard.” She struggled to smile. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this in one piece.”
“You make me nervous when you say that.”