Move on. Talk about what’s really biting you. If you can.
‘I will look into finding you an apartment near enough so I can visit daily.’
Her heart sank. Though why, when she’d known he’d never offer for her to move in with him? That wouldn’t work when he didn’t seem to want involvement on a permanent basis. It was why she was here. ‘Why don’t you ever want to settle down?’ The question was out before she’d thought it through. Now he’d send her to the underground and her train. Forget not allowing her to go home.
‘Are you asking why I haven’t instantly begun plans for setting up house together?’
Did he have to sound so appalled? ‘If you think that it was my intention to get that from you then think again. These days I am as wary as you of getting too close to someone. All I want, and I’ve had a few days to think about this, is for our child to be able to see as much of each of us as possible, and that we both have input into their life; with the decisions about education, sports, friends, where to live.’ All the things that had stopped for her when she was nine and her parents had forgotten they had a daughter.
‘Exactly. Where to live. In an apartment close by, or in a semi on the outskirts of the city that’ll take time to get to and from.’ Kristof stepped across the kitchen to stare out at whatever was outside. His hands were jammed in his pockets, his shoulders tense, his feet slightly splayed.
‘For you.’
‘Yes, for me working at Harley Street and in the hospital all hours.’
‘Right, this is a problem already.’ She waited. Sipped some more tea. And waited. And hardened her heart. This man had got under her skin, and she might’ve woken up to the fact she loved him, but she was not going to allow him to knock her off her feet. She had a child to fight for. Any relationship she got into had to be sincere and loving, so that child was safe and happy. A relationship bound up with doing the right thing and not letting hearts follow their course would not provide what her child needed. And a life lived with parents who forgot more about their child than their own issues wasn’t worth much.
Finally Kristof turned and leaned back against the window sill. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re not a conniving woman. I know you’ll only ever want the absolute best for your child.’
‘Our child.’
He nodded. ‘Our child. I will want the same. Just give me time.’ His chest rose as he breathed in. ‘I have been married. It was enough of a disaster that I never want to repeat the experience.’
Her heart softened—only a weeny bit. She couldn’t afford to let it go all mushy on her. ‘Kristof, I don’t believe we know each other well enough after only one week together—a week that involved more action than talking—to consider marriage.’ It was true, and at the same time it was a big, bad lie. Being married to Kristof had never occurred to her before she’d found out she was pregnant, but since then, in the dark of night when she was unable to sleep, the idea nudged her. But it wasn’t happening so he was safe. They were safe.
The relief flooding his eyes still hurt though. Presuming his response and seeing it for real—yeah, well, that stung like a swarm of bees. Only guessing about that, mind.
‘She played around on me. Often. Apparently our marriage was supposed to be an open one. Shame she didn’t get around to telling me or I’d never have made that walk down the aisle in the first place.’
The man was still hurting. Did he still love this selfish woman from his past? Or was it that his heart wasn’t ready to let go the pain of being abused? That she could understand all too well. ‘Why marry you in the first place?’ Bad question. Now he’d think she didn’t consider him worthy of being a husband. Which so wasn’t true. But it was one way of keeping him at a distance, and a distance she created was something she could control when everything seemed so up in the air. The space he kept between them was never going to shrink so she was protecting her heart, right?
‘The lifestyle, my career, my family name and money, and, to be fair, me. She declared she loved me in all honesty and I believed her. Our parameters were poles apart, that’s all.’
That’s all?
That was huge, and not something never to be discussed before that final commitment at the altar. No wonder a darkness crept into his eyes when he was tired or facing decisions he didn’t like. He had history that had made him wary, solitary, and downright sad at times.
She wanted to touch him, brush away that wariness with a kiss. Or two. To wind her arms around his waist and hold him close; to show he wasn’t alone.
But that would be risking her own need to stand tall and strong. She had a baby coming who would need all her love and support, should never feel abandoned as she’d been. She needed to go for another option, get this back on track and away from the deep and meaningful stuff before she got sucked in and started begging for what she couldn’t have. ‘So, you mentioned dinner. What were you planning on?’
His mouth tightened, then softened into a facsimile of a smile. ‘Thought you got night sickness.’
‘And morning, afternoon, and all times in between. I have to eat for baby’s sake so I go for small helpings often.’
‘Lamb chops should go well with a Kiwi.’ He crossed to open the fridge. ‘I can even throw a salad together. There’re new spuds in the pantry. We’re good to go.’
Go nowhere, she hoped. Right now that darned exhaustion was snagging her again, making her body heavy and her eyelids heavier. She slid off the stool before she fell off and went to sit on a chair by a table at a bay window, letting her chin rest on her breastbone.
* * *
Kristof scooped Alesha off the chair and held her against his chest as he strode down to his bedroom. Her only movement was to snuggle closer, her cheek pressed against his chest. Those eyelids did not lift one iota.
While his heart brimmed with tenderness. Damn it all. This wasn’t meant to happen, this protectiveness and strange sense of belonging. But that was what Ms Alesha Milligan was doing to him, unravelling all the locks and chains on his heart, and she wasn’t taking it slowly.
Lying her on his bed, he pulled a light cover over her and went to turn on the bathroom light in case she woke needing it in a hurry. He wasn’t sure how much control she’d have over the nausea and she hadn’t been here before. Wasn’t meant to ever be here.
Pregnant? Who’d have believed it? Not him. How could he have been lax in protection when so much was at stake? As a result, his life would never be the same. The routine, the security in knowing how his days would pan out—gone.
Back by the bed he watched over her, like a warrior guarding his woman and his child. The dark shadows on her cheeks did not detract from her beauty, and those long black lashes enhanced it while at the same time making her appear fragile.
That was a myth. Alesha was strong in all the right areas. She did seem to have men issues though. A chill settled on his heart. Not with him, she didn’t. He would always be there for her now. They were joined together over this child. No way was he going to walk away even when the urge to run kept sneaking up on him.
Kristof kissed his fingertips and brushed the hair off Alesha’s cheek. ‘Sleep tight.’
Out in the kitchen he began putting lettuce in a bowl before chopping tomatoes, cucumber, avocado, and more. It was cathartic and he took no notice of what he was doing. His mind was focused on Alesha’s news.
A baby. He was going to be a dad. An honest father who’d never deceive his son. He’d say the same for his wife, if he had one, but he didn’t, and wouldn’t.
His mother would be stoked. She’d never hidden the fact she’d like grandchildren some day, and s
ooner rather than later. She did not accept that he should forgo a happy family because the last attempt had gone belly up. She did not agree that his father should affect how he lived his life. She refused to acknowledge his guilt over how her love for her son had kept her shackled to her husband until her son was old enough not to need her there all the time.
Butt out, Mum. You’re getting a grandchild. Be happy about that while I try to let the rest go.
Because he had to. He’d been screwed over—twice—and who put their hand up for a third crack at it? But it seemed that had happened when he was looking the other way.
Salad done, he scrubbed spuds and put them on to boil, snatching a sprig of mint from a plant growing in a pot by the back door. Waiting for the water to come to the boil, he popped the top on a beer and stood in the doorway staring out at the minuscule patio with its wooden outdoor furniture. It was his go-to place at the end of a hectic week or when he had a mess in his head that needed sorting. Like now.
This area was too small for a child wanting to play or chase a ball.
His head jerked up. So? The baby was only weeks old in the womb, had a long way to go before chasing a ball became part of the picture.
The beer was cool and moist on his dry throat. His eyes were moist as he visualised that scene of a boy running around shrieking as he chased the ball. A boy? Was that what he wanted? A son and heir? Or a little girl with her mother’s sparkling eyes and sassy smile? Warmth stole into his chest, dried his eyes. A little girl who’d love her daddy and he’d love her back—so much. The dampness returned to his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be considering love. Standing out here was doing him no good. Time to put the chops on and go see if Alesha was still dead to the world or this was a catnap she’d wake from starving hungry.
The mobile phone rang as he was adding oil to the pan.
‘Mr Montfort, it’s Gabby from the ward. Jeremy Walbank has developed chest pain and shortness of breath. One of the registrars is with him but I thought you’d want to know.’
Mr Walbank had had bowel surgery for cancer that morning.