A Night, A Secret...A Child

Of course, Serina thought, an unexpectedly sour taste filling her mouth. That was what wealthy men did for their mistresses: they paid.

Becoming Nicolas’s part-time, long-distance mistress was not the stuff Serina’s romantic dreams were made of. Especially since he hadn’t even said he loved her. On top of that, to have him visit her in Rocky Creek on a regular basis was still a risk.

Her face twisted with the reality of that risk. ‘You promise you won’t say anything about you-know-what? Not ever? Even if you get angry with me for some reason?’

‘I give you my solemn word.’

‘So what, exactly, am I to tell my family? Especially my mother. She’s going to ask questions if you stick around for another week.’

‘Tell her the truth. That I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you again and can’t bring myself to leave just yet.’

Serina’s mouth fell open. It was still open when Nicolas kissed her.

Nicolas leant over the railing of the balcony, calling and waving to Serina as she crossed the road to where she’d parked her car. When she glanced up and threw him a kiss, he threw one back.

‘I’ll ring you later,’ he shouted, and she smiled.

It made him feel good, that smile. She made him feel good.

Okay, so she didn’t quite trust him enough to tell him that she loved him, too. But he’d felt her love last night, and in her kisses just now. Soon, she would say the words he wanted to hear. Meanwhile, he’d begin making concrete plans for their future together, sensible ones that he could live with on a permanent basis.

There was no doubt in Nicolas’s mind that existing 24/7 in Rocky Creek was beyond him. He would eventually miss the things which had become an integral part of his life. Going to stimulating dinner parties, the theatre, the opera. Serina was right about that.

But one didn’t have to go to London or New York for such cultural diversions.

There were plenty of cities in Australia that could cater to his occasional need for such activities. Sydney especially, which was only a short flight from Port Macquarie. It might take some time, but he would sell his apartments in London and New York and buy a place in Sydney, as well as one in Port Macquarie. He would inquire if there was an apartment for sale in this building, he thought as he walked back inside and set about making himself a fresh cup of coffee. That way he could commute between both places with ease, and without feeling like he had no home. He could even continue his career as a producer and promoter, if he felt so inclined. Just because he hadn’t brought shows to Australia in the past didn’t mean he couldn’t in future. Sydney had several theatres large enough to hold even the most lavish musicals. And the Opera House administrators were always trying to persuade the world’s top singers and musicians to come Down Under.

Admittedly, he’d been growing a bit bored with that part of his life lately, but Nicolas was old enough to know that he might grow unbored at some future date. Showbiz was in his blood. To suddenly drop it from his life would be a recipe for disaster. He’d seen many a marriage flounder because of one or either party thinking their spouse would change after the wedding.

And he meant to marry Serina.

He hadn’t mentioned the M-word yet—fearing it was a little premature—but she wasn’t going to get away from him this time.

He’d done a lot of thinking overnight. He still loved her. And he’d finally come to the sensible realisation that he was crazy to feel any jealousy over her life with Greg Harmon. Her marrying another man was entirely his fault. If he’d been there for her in the first place, if he’d shown her by his actions that he truly loved her, instead of letting his stupid male pride ruin everything, then she would never have married Harmon. Her statement that she’d learned to love her husband had been very telling. She’d never been in love with Harmon the way she had with him.

He could spend the rest of his life tormenting himself over what might have been. But what would be the point of that? If nothing else, Nicolas was not the kind of man to cry over spilt milk. When things got tough, he got even tougher.

With his fresh coffee finally made, he carried it back out onto the balcony where the morning sunshine wasn’t yet too fierce, just pleasantly warm. It was, after all, only six-thirty in the morning. But the day promised to be a sizzler: high thirties, someone had said last night.

Now that was one thing he’d have to get used to again: the long hot summers.

Thank heavens for air-conditioning and cool balconies that faced the sea….