She could see it now—the earnest youth he had been, at a time of life when he had still been struggling to come to terms with and conquer his dyslexia and all that had come with it. His dark blonde hair had probably been longer than it was now, flopping forward over one eye, and he would have been dressed up in a suit. Claudia, young and beautiful, would have been alight with the glow of optimism, hope and love.
His parents, her grandparents... Their proposal stories had been full of love—a foretaste of their hopes and dreams of going through life together with love to guide their movements. Whereas this...this was kind and thoughtful and...all wrong.
She wanted Zander to be down on one knee, slipping the ring on her finger for real. Because he loved her, not because it would make a good story for their child. She wanted love, not friendship, because she loved him and, dammit, she wanted this to be real.
Oh, hell. The drink suddenly tasted too sickly-sweet, cloying on her tongue. She loved him. She loved him. She loved Zander. Her Mr Wrong. What to do? What to do?
‘Gabby? What’s the matter?’
Panic, horror, terror—all fused into an icy coldness, enabling hard logic to overcome emotion. Whatever she did, she could not let him suspect the truth, learn of her misplaced, idiotic, unwanted love. A love he would reject just as surely as her mother had rejected her love all those years ago.
But now this marriage would be impossible. How could she hope to make it work when the rules and parameters had exploded? Even she couldn’t live a lie, play a part for the rest of her life, day in, day out, yearning for what she couldn’t have.
He mustn’t know—must not suspect even the possibility that love had somehow had the temerity to take root and flourish within her for him. This wasn’t his fault. None of it was.
So now she would have to play a different part—tell him the truth, but not the whole truth. Above all she had to make this work for the baby’s sake. It was impossible for her simply to walk out of Zander’s life, but somehow she had to figure out a way to rip this love out by its fledgling roots.
The glint of the ring was harsh now, carrying the weight of falsehood, and she tugged it off and held it out to him. ‘I’m sorry, Zander. I can’t do this.’
Shock etched his face, turned it white under the tan, and his body jerked backwards as an expression she couldn’t interpret flashed across his blue-grey eyes. But his voice was calm when he spoke. ‘Why not?’
Deep breath. Careful, here, Gabby.
‘Because we would both be settling for second best, and that is not how I want to teach my child to live his or her life. It is not what a marriage should be. A marriage should at least start out like your parents’ did, like my grandparents’ did, like yours did. You don’t want to get married. You told me that don’t want to marry anyone, and you certainly don’t want to marry me. You want to marry the mother of your child for your child’s sake, and I honour that sentiment but it makes me second-best and secondary. I can’t spend my life like that. I still want my shot at love with Mr Right.’
Those last words were the hardest, but she forced them out, knowing they would help her argument.
A small hope flared that Zander would step up, reach out, grab the ring and say, ‘Gabby I love you. I want a marriage based on love, too,’ then place the ring back on her finger as a gesture of loving commitment to her and the baby.
Her insides clenched and her heart pounded with a sheer yearning that the scenario would play out that way—that he, too, would have a eureka moment, realise that the past weeks had been more than a charade, more than just fun.
The seconds ticked on, each one full of anguish as she watched his face, saw confusion and pain. She wished so hard that he would love her back, could love her back. For herself.
Tick-tock. On and on.
Finally his lips opened and she braced herself.
‘What about the baby?’ he asked.
As hope died, crumbled to ashes, she stared down at the ring, at the lapis lazuli blinking at her in a kind of Morse code: friendship, friendship, friendship. That was all she could hope to have, and she would make that OK for the baby’s sake. Before that, though, she needed space and time, to get her head together and bury this foolish love as in the past she had buried grief and anger. She’d learn her part and play it perfectly.
‘First take the ring,’ she said. ‘Please.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ZANDER STARED AT her outstretched palm. The ring glinted at him in all its suddenly cold hard beauty. He’d chosen it for Gabby; he didn’t want it back. Staring at the blue stones, the white faceted diamond, he tried to think. But his brain had gone into shutdown mode, and the urge to sit on his hands, make her put the ring back on her finger, was paramount.
‘What about the baby?’ he repeated. After all, that was why they’d decided to get married. ‘I thought we had agreed this was best for our child. The right thing to do.’
Now she winced, and a dark part of him was glad—because perhaps he could persuade her that marriage was the right option.
‘We did.’ Her voice low, torn, ragged with guilt. ‘But I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry.’
‘I want to be part of this child’s life.’
‘You will be. I want that, too. Of course I do. I promise we can sit down and work out custody arrangements. I want this baby to have you and your family in his life.’
‘And, like we’ve said, the best way to do that is if you and I and the baby are under the same roof. Instead of moving from house to house.’