The Boy Toy

by Nicola Marsh

  But she didn’t want to preempt anything or pressure him into making a declaration he didn’t want, so she said, “Ron Radcliffe sounds good to me.”

  He blinked again, several times, and the tenderness in his eyes almost undid her. “Thank you.”

  “No, Rory, thank you. For being here the last week. For everything.”

  He wanted to ask questions, she saw it in his gaze, so she buried her face in his chest and let him hold her tight. They would talk. Eventually.

  But for now, they needed their beautiful baby boy to live.

  Forty-Nine

  Rory hadn’t asked Samira the hard questions yet.

  Are you engaged to Dr. Dickhead?

  Do you only want me around because of Ronnie?

  Is our closeness an illusion born of mutual fear of losing the one thing that binds us?

  He couldn’t ask her any of that, not when only fourteen days had passed and their son still lay in that crib hooked up to machines helping him live.

  The pediatricians were cautiously optimistic. Ronnie had gained over one pound, and while his suck-swallow reflex still wasn’t well coordinated, the weight gain was a good sign.

  But seeing his son lying in that crib behind hardened plastic still stabbed him in the chest every time he saw him. He hated everything about the NICU. The faux perky nurses, the doctors speaking in hushed tones, the antiseptic smell. There were other babies there, smaller than Ronnie, and parents who wore the same terrified yet stoically optimistic expressions he did.

  Samira appreciated his strength. She clung to him whenever they entered that sterile room, a room emanating false cheer with orange giraffes and purple elephants splashed across the walls. But he wasn’t buying it, because bad things happened in that room. Babies lost their lives; parents lost their kids. He wouldn’t breathe properly again until they got the all clear from the medicos and could take Ronnie home.

  That wouldn’t be for a while yet. The next two weeks would be critical. If Ronnie reached thirty-six weeks and started breathing and feeding on his own, they’d be okay. As for the doctors’ predictions of possible doom in the future with learning disabilities and the rest, he’d deal with that when he faced it.

  Though one good thing came out of sitting by his son’s crib day in, day out over the last fourteen days. The enormity of what his child might face in the future put his stutter into perspective.

  He’d been an idiot. He’d spent his entire life feeling inadequate because of it, feeling self-conscious and less than others. He’d become increasingly insecure, and it had affected his relationships with women.

  Not anymore.

  If the worst thing his kid had to suffer was a stammer, Ronnie would be doing okay. And it was time he came clean to Samira about it too.

  As he strode toward the NICU, he spied a tall figure coming the opposite way. The closer he got, Rory recognized him, and his steps slowed. The last thing he needed was a run-in with Samira’s supposed fiancé. But he couldn’t avoid him, considering they were about to cross paths, and Rory gritted his teeth against the urge to slug the too-perfect doctor.

  “Congrats on your son, Rory.” Manish stuck out his hand, and he had to take it rather than appear churlish.

  “Thanks, he’s amazing.”

  “He is.”

  Manish released his hand, and Rory glanced over his shoulder, eager to get back to Ronnie’s bedside. But this was an opportunity to ask Manish the hard questions he couldn’t ask Samira, not right now with their child battling for every breath he took.

  “So you’re engaged to Samira despite not loving her?”

  Manish’s jaw dropped for a moment, before he recovered. “I’m not sure where that came from, but I wouldn’t believe everything you hear on the Indian grapevine. You’ll get used to it eventually, but they take that old cliché of making mountains out of molehills to extremes.”

  Confused, Rory shook his head slightly. “Is that a yes or no?”

  “It’s a hell no,” Manish said, looking faintly amused. “We’re not engaged. Samira’s great, but we’re friends.” He smirked. “Besides, even if I went in for all that arranged marriage stuff, it wouldn’t happen, because she’s in love with you.”

  Something stilled inside Rory, like the entire world had gone quiet and every one of his senses was heightened. He could see the stubble along the doctor’s jaw where he’d missed a spot shaving, he could hear the faintest siren of an ambulance miles away, he could smell a pungent ammonia mixed with a hint of lemon.

  Samira loved him?

  She hadn’t given him the slightest indication. In fact, saying she wanted to marry this guy was pretty much the opposite of being in love with him. So what the hell was going on, and how did this guy know about it before he did?

  “Mate, you look shell-shocked.” Manish chuckled. “Look, I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but I haven’t seen Samira in months. Not since the last time we ran into each other at her mom’s place. We’ve texted a few times—that’s it.”

  “But she told me she was marrying you . . .”

  Manish held up his hands like he had nothing to hide. “Like I said, I don’t know what went down between you, but it sounds like she used me as an excuse to push you away. I have no idea why, but she’s probably terrified, considering she’s been married before, the cultural implications, the age difference—”

  “Thanks, I get the idea.”

  Manish laughed at his dry response. “Take it from a perpetual bachelor: if you love her, go for it. Prove to her how much she means to you.”

  Rory had every intention to do exactly that, and he certainly didn’t need relationship advice from this dude, but something Manish had said snagged his attention.

  “What did you mean by ‘cultural implications’?”

  “I know she was born here, but unless you’ve lived within the Indian culture, you have no idea what it’s like.”

  “It shouldn’t matter if we love each other.” He sounded like a romantic idiot. He knew relationships were hard work. It was why he’d avoided them until now.

  “I didn’t say it mattered; I’m just putting forward possible reasons why she used me as an excuse to push you away.”

  Manish slapped him on the back. “Good luck, mate. There are reasons I stay single, and this kind of convoluted drama is one of them.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And enjoy fatherhood, another thing I never want to experience.” Manish gave a mock shudder. “See you round.”

  Okay, so the guy wasn’t so bad. Rory had been a jealous jerk and taken a disliking to the doc because of it.

  But if Samira hadn’t been engaged to Manish all these months he’d been away filming Renegades, why hadn’t she told him? Or better yet, why had she said she’d be marrying him in the first place?

  Rory hoped Ronnie kept improving, because he had a lot of questions for Samira, and this time he wouldn’t walk away if he didn’t like the answers.

  Fifty

  Samira had never envisaged sleeping in her old bedroom at home in Dandenong when she’d left so many years ago, but it felt right bringing her child here for the first few weeks of Ronnie’s life outside hospital walls.

  For the simple fact being a mother petrified her and having Kushi around would be a godsend. Her mom had been amazing in the fraught weeks after Ronnie’s birth; she’d never seen her so calm, when Kushi usually saw the worst in every scenario.

  Rory had been pretty darn amazing too, and she had every intention of telling him once she tucked Ronnie into his bassinet.

  A soft knock sounded at the door, and it eased open. “He’s such a precious boy,” Kushi whispered, entering the bedroom. “My darling boy.”

  “He is a darling,” Samira said, staring down at her angelic son, sleeping now he had a tummy full of milk. She would never get
tired of this. Watching him sleep. The shift of his eyeballs beneath paper-thin skin. The quirk of his lips in the corners. The smoothness of his peachy cheeks. “I’m so lucky, Mom.”

  Kushi slid an arm around her waist, and she leaned into her mom. “These things are meant to be, betee. Your Rory came into your life for a reason, and despite my best efforts to push you elsewhere, your choices resulted in my beautiful grandson.”

  Her mom glanced up at her. “So I am done, Samira. No more interference in your love life from me. You do what makes you happy.”

  Samira smiled. “Did you feel that?”

  “What?”

  “That rumbling under our feet?” Samira made a grand show of shuffling across the fluffy crimson rug she’d picked out as a thirteen-year-old. “I think hell just froze over.”

  “Cheeky girl.” Kushi pinched her cheek, chuckling softly. “Now go. Your young man is waiting for you outside.” Her fond glance fell on Ronnie. “Let me have some alone time with my beautiful boy.”

  “Okay.”

  Samira leaned down to place a butterfly-soft kiss on Ronnie’s forehead, before letting herself out of the room she’d spent so many hours in growing up, dreaming of Bollywood princes and marriage and babies. Her life may not have turned out quite the way she’d envisioned back then, but having Ronnie completed her in a way she’d never imagined.

  She’d resigned herself to not having kids, and she’d been okay with that. But now that he was here, and the long weeks she’d sat by his bedside willing him to get stronger, she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  And speaking of males who’d become ingrained in her life . . . she owed Rory an explanation and an apology. She’d underestimated him, using his age as an excuse to push him away when he’d proved his maturity above and beyond while by her side the last six weeks.

  He’d rarely left the hospital and had been a silent support when she’d needed it most. He hadn’t bombarded her with questions. Heck, he hadn’t even asked about Manny once. But she knew he deserved an explanation, and with their son home and out of hospital for the first day, the time had come.

  Kushi had made a big pot of mutton biryani for her homecoming, and her stomach rumbled appreciatively at the tempting aromas of spicy meat and rice laden with turmeric as she passed through the kitchen. But she would eat later. She had to talk to Rory. Now.

  She found him in the backyard, standing by the curry leaf tree. He wore a pensive expression, but his eyes were clear and showed nothing like the perpetual worry that had clouded their aquamarine brilliance the last month and a half.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He turned toward her, and his lopsided grin made her heart flip-flop the way it had the first time he’d come to her rescue in that bar. “Is he settled?”

  “Sleeping like a baby.”

  He chuckled. “Aren’t you the least bit terrified of what’s going to happen when he’s not sleeping and he’s yelling the house down?”

  “Absolutely petrified, but that’s why I’ve moved back with Mom. She raised me, and look how I turned out.”

  “Good point.” He hesitated. “While I think it’s a great idea you’re living here at the moment, I want to start looking for a place. F-for us.”

  His nervousness made her heart melt. He didn’t need to be. She knew what he was saying, and she welcomed the suggestion. Now she had to tell him.

  “I think us living together for Ronnie’s sake is great, so that’s a good idea.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You think this is all about Ronnie?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Sam.” He dragged a hand over his face. “I know you’re not marrying Manish. He told me. And I think it’s time you tell me what the hell is going on and why you told such a p-preposterous lie.”

  She sighed and nodded. “You don’t have to be nervous—”

  “I’m not nervous!” he yelled, before appearing shamefaced. “I’ve got a stutter. Had it since I was a kid. Really bad back then, but through endless speech therapy and the acting stuff, I can control it most of the time.”

  Shock rendered her mute. Damn it, she’d worked with health professionals, including speech pathologists, for years. Her interest in dialect coaching had stemmed from Pia’s proficiency in speech therapy. She may not be an expert, but she should’ve figured it out.

  “It can be inherited,” he said, sounding tortured. “That’s why I freaked out when you first told me about the pregnancy. I never wanted kids because I didn’t want to risk passing it on, because I hated how fucking insecure and inadequate it made me feel growing up.”

  His expression softened. “But then Ronnie was born, and nothing else mattered but him growing to be a strong, healthy, happy kid.” He shrugged, adorably bashful. “I love him. And I love you. More than I could’ve ever thought possible.”

  That shock rendering her speechless wasn’t easing up anytime soon. He loved her. This incredibly strong, supportive man loved her. And she’d done nothing to show him she felt the same way.

  Stepping forward, she cradled his face in her hands and kissed him.

  A gentle, soul-searching kiss of affirmation and hope, of promise and future. A future for the two of them and their beautiful baby boy.

  When she eased away and lowered her hands, she glimpsed wonder in his eyes.

  “I love you, too. That’s why I told that monstrous lie about marrying Manny, because I didn’t want you to give up your dream of hosting your first major TV show for me.”

  “But it was never all important to me—”

  “Shh. Let me finish.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I thought if you chose me over your career, you’d end up resenting me for it, or worse, resenting the baby, so I couldn’t take that chance. Besides, I’ve been independent for a long time and didn’t think I needed you to help me raise our child.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I know what I want, and that’s you.” She blinked away the sting of tears. “You and me in this for the long haul, raising our amazing son together.”

  Her strong, silent type didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He opened his arms, and she stepped into them, peace enveloping her as he tightened his grip on her. She rested her cheek against his chest, comforted by the solid pounding of his heart, and slid her arms around his waist.

  They clung to each other, the heat of his body, the hardness of it, reminding her to ask at her first ob-gyn visit when she could resume relations post-birth.

  “Rory?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The aunties were right about one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Dating a younger man would lead me down a wicked path.” She leaned back to meet his eyes and winked. “I am so ready to get wicked with you for a long time to come.”

  Epilogue

  Samira didn’t mind the pomp and ceremony of Indian weddings: hundreds of guests in their finest silks, the expensive jewelry, generous gifts, elaborate decorations, copious amounts of delicious food, and joyful dancing well into the night.

  But all that hoopla wasn’t for her.

  Not this time around.

  “What’s going on?” Pia grabbed Samira’s arm as she tried to sneak past her bedroom door.

  Samira wanted this wedding to be a surprise for everyone. It had been eight weeks since they’d brought Ronnie home from the hospital and she’d managed to keep tight-lipped about her plans, swearing Rory and Kushi to secrecy too. But she should’ve known she couldn’t hide much from Pia. They’d been close for a long time, and her cousin could read her better than anybody. “Nothing.” She feigned wide-eyed nonchalance. “Just checking on Ronnie to see if he’s still asleep.”

  “You’re up to something.” Pia’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “If this party is to introduce Ronnie to the aunties and their
crew, why has he spent most of the time in your room?”

  “Because he’s a baby and he sleeps a lot.” Samira rolled her eyes, hoping Pia would buy her act. “Let’s go back outside and join everybody.”

  “You’re giving me the brush-off.” Pia poked her in the arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll ask your mom.”

  “Go ahead,” Samira said, knowing Kushi would keep her secret. Her mom couldn’t be happier that her wayward, divorced, single-mother daughter had finally succumbed to her matrimonial machinations, even if the groom wasn’t her first choice. But Kushi had fallen for Rory as much as she had, though if he kept eating the Indian food her mom force-fed him, he’d need to up his hours in the gym.

  “Come on, Cuz, tell me.” Pia slipped her arm through Samira’s elbow as they headed for the backyard, where a crowd of about fifty had gathered, comprising the aunties and the rest of Kushi’s local Indian community. “I need a little fun in my life.”

  “Did someone say fun?”

  Samira laughed as Manish bounded up the back steps to hold the door open for them.

  “It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Pia muttered, shooting him a mock glare, when Samira knew his exuberance amused her cousin as much as it did her.

  “Maybe you were talking too loud?”

  Samira bit back another laugh. She’d seen Manish’s faux innocence before; he channeled a naughty boy playing good very well.

  “What are you doing here, Manish?” Pia shooed him away like a bothersome fly. “Or didn’t you hear, Samira’s already spoken for?”

  His mouth eased into a confident grin as he eyeballed Pia. “Maybe I’ve set my sights elsewhere?”

  Pia rolled her eyes at Manny’s usual over-the-top antics. “Don’t look at me.”