His pregnant mistress

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I am here alone’

  He nodded, those dark eyes giving nothing away. He might just as well have been wearing shades for all the expression as he directly stares at her.

  'Perhaps we could talk...'

  'I really don't think there's much to talk about, do you?'

  'I meant about Richard.' For the first time he looked uncomfortable but he quickly recovered. 'Wakes are supposed to be important for grieving, for remembering...'

  'I'll remember Richard in my own way,' Mia broke in. 'And I certainly don't need the Carvelles to give me permission to grieve.'

  The fire died in Mia then. She couldn't do this, couldn't stand and score points off Ethan Carvelle couldn't besmirch Richard's memory in this way, yet neither could she pretend to give or receive comfort to his cold, self-serving family, on this, one of the blackest days of her life.

  It was safer to leave now.

  Reclaiming her hand, she made her way down the line, holding her tears, her grief firmly back, her hand still tingling from his touch, the one area of warmth in her cold, frozen body apart from the silent tears that trickled down her now pale cheeks.

  And she held it in, held it deep inside, watching in respectful silence as the coffin was loaded into I he hearse, Ethan, proud and tall, carrying his brother on his broad shoulders for his final journey, a lash of tears in those black eyes, that delicious mouth quilted in pain.

  Her hands gripping her stomach, she contemplated the baby inside, the father it would now never meet, the loving gesture that had seemed so right at the time, so straightforward and uncomplicated terrifying her now, spinning her into a panic that would surely never end. The full weight of responsibility descending on her tired shoulders seemed almost too much to bear.

  Silver spots danced before Mia's eyes; as the floor seemed to spin around her she could hear the worried shouts from the crowd as they dashed over, see the floor coming to meet her as she sank down onto the grass.

  Grief, agony, both past and present all homing in, all suffocating her with the impossibility of her situation. But it wasn't that her baby's father was dead, wasn't that she was in this alone now that see me d to be smothering her as she struggled merely to breathe.

  Worse, far worse than her loss was the knowledge she had gained today. As much as she hated him, as much as every fibre of her being loathed him for all he had put her and her father through, seeing Ethan again, feeling his hand on hers, listening to that deep, measured voice, staring for that moment into his dark brooding eyes, Mia realized it was for ever. Knew that after all these years the feelings were still as strong, the pain he had inflicted was everlasting, the closure she craved would never eventuate, the grief that gripped her now, had suffused her for seven years, would never, ever relent.

  She could hear the ambulance sirens, was vaguely aware of a mask being slipped over her face, the cool, dark confines of the ambulance as they closed the doors and pulled away from the church towards the hospital.

  But none of it mattered, none of it registered, not when a life of agony stretched before her.

  She still loved Ethan Carvelle.

  CHAPTER TWO

  'We'd really rather keep you in.' A rather impatient-looking doctor stared at her notes. 'At least for a cou­ple of days until your blood pressure comes down.'

  'It's hardly likely to come down here,' Mia replied through gritted teeth, wishing they would all just leave her alone, that she could get in her car and drive back to her home to pore over the day's events in her own surrounds. 'Once I'm home I'll be fine.'

  'What if you're not?' The doctor stared at her coolly over his glasses. 'You don't live locally, Ms Stewart; you live two hours out of Cairns in the mountains. It's all very well for you to take risks with your own health, but bear in mind that you're seven months pregnant. Arguing over a couple of days' admission...'

  'Who's arguing?'

  Thank God they'd taken the blood-pressure ma­chine off her arm, because if her reading had been high before, as Ethan's dry tones filled the rather s mall cubicle Mia was sure it would be up through the roof about now. His heavy cologne mingled wit h the sickly antiseptic smell, his height, his presence dwarfing everything, and even the rather terse doctor seemed to take on rather more courteous tones as he addressed Ethan.

  'I was just explaining to your wife, sir—'

  'She's not my wife,' Ethan corrected, totally at ease as the doctor's eyes swivelled nervously to the notes in his hands.

  'Well, your partner, then. I was trying to explain that it's imperative she stay in hospital for a couple of days for the baby's sake...'

  'She's not my partner either,' Ethan said with a slight edge. 'She's a friend.'

  'I'm most certainly not!' Mia retorted. 'A passing acquaintance would be a more apt description.'

  'Prickly, isn't she?' Ethan smiled and if the doctor wasn't already gay h e was certainly heading for con­version because he practically melted on the spot as Ethan turned his black eyes to him. 'What exactly is the problem, Doctor?'

  Mia's horrified expression at Ethan's rude intrusion should have been enough to stop the doctor in his tracks, but given both men's backs were practically to her she lay instead welling with indignation as they proceeded to discuss her as if she weren't in the room.

  'Her blood pressure's high and according to her blood work she was slightly dehydrated when she ar­rived as well as underweight. We just want to keep her here for a couple of days to make sure every­thing's progressing normally with the pregnancy.'

  Mia was about to respond but held back when Ethan's calm, measured t ones appeared to support what she'd been saying.

  'What if she agreed to come back tomorrow for a check-up? Surely her own home would be the best place for her to rest?'

  'Normally, yes, but given she lives a two-hour drive away it's out of the question. She needs to be resting, not driving a car along winding mountain roads, and if something goes wrong help isn't easily at hand.'

  'Fair enough.' Ethan nodded. 'Don't worry, Doctor, I'll soon talk her around.'

  'You will not!'

  Remembering, finally, that Mia was actually the patient, the doctor actually managed to address her. 'I'm waiting for your GP to call through with your antenatal history, but in the meantime I want you to lie there and relax, and perhaps your "passing ac­quaintance" might be able to talk some sense into you.'

  'I'll do my best!'

  Alone with Ethan the fire seemed to die within her. Impossibly shy and confused, she stared again at her fingers, utterly refusing to look up, to be the one to break the oppressive silence, but, when it was clear Ethan had more staying power than her, finally Mia relented.

  'What are you doing here?'

  'I'm beginning to wonder,' Ethan quipped. 'I should be halfway down a bottle of whisky by now and regaling tales of Richard's and my supposedly happy childhood...' His voice trailed off and if she'd looked up she'd have seen his face soften slightly. 'When I got back to the hotel I heard a woman had collapsed at the funeral. The words "blonde" and ' 'pregnant'' kind of narrowed the field.'

  'You didn't need to come.'

  'I know,' he admitted, 'but I was worried about you.'

  'It's a bit late to be worried about me, Ethan!' She could hear the bitter ness in her own voice. 'Seven years too late, actually. You lost all right to worry about me when you walked, or rather flew, out on me without a backwards glance. You lost all right to worry about me when you arranged to have my father sacked two days later...'

  'He wasn't sacked,' Ethan retorted. 'I distinctly re­member signing the cheque—'

  'He was sacked!' Mia broke in, her voice choking with emotion at the memory of her father's strained face, the utter devastation as he'd slumped in his chair that afternoon, told Mia that after twenty years of de­voted service the Carvelles had accused him of theft. 'And worse, he was expected to be grateful that you hadn't called the police...'

  'He was fiddling the books, Mia...' Ethan's voice was
pure ice, his stance unequivocal, but seeing her lie back on the pillow, the swell of her stomach be­neath the white sheet, witnessing firsthand the utter exhaustion and devastation on her proud face as she lay struggling to hold it together, he chose to relent.

  'I just wanted to make sure you were okay.'

  'Which I am.'

  'Not according to the doctor,' Ethan pointed out, but his voice was gentler now. 'He seems to think that you're not well at all.'

  'This isn't your problem.'

  "I know.'

  'In fact...' Mia's voice gave an involuntary wobble but she quickly recovered '...this has absolutely nothing to do with you.'

  'Thank God,' Ethan muttered, flashing a malevo­lent smile, just to show he was still in control. 'So I take it you want me t o go?'

  Mia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Ethan leaving was the last thing she wanted, but it was safer, so very much safer this way.

  'I'll let the rest of your visitors in on my way out, shall I?'

  'The rest of my visitors?' She stared at him non­plussed, simultaneously kicking herself as she real­ized she'd fallen directly into his trap.

  'I thought as much,' Ethan said with a note of tri­umph. 'There's not exactly a queue of concerned vis­itors outside, waiting to drive you home. What about the baby's father?'

  She could feel the sweat beading on her forehead, feel its icy rivers trickling between her breasts, her pale cheeks flushing as Ethan's eyes bored into her, running a tongue over impossibly dry lips as she care­fully chose her words.

  'He's not in the picture any more.'

  His breath hissed out, the longest silence followed by the sharpest of words. 'Another "passing acquaintance", I presume.'

  'Much more than that.' She stared at him, eyes glit­tering in pain, honesty a breath away but she held it in.

  'So tell me, Mia, are you planning to drive yourself home?'

  'Of course. I'm fine!"

  'Not according to this you're not.' Picking up her chart, he skimmed hi s eyes down it; not like a normal person, though, Mia noted. Normal people squinted at charts upside down, made sure no one was looking as they tried to decipher what had been written, but Ethan Carvelle, damn him. He was holding the chart and reading it authoritatively as if he were the blessed consultant. 'It says here that you're underweight, de­hydrated and your blood pressure's way too high.'

  'Of course it's high.' Mia's voice was rising now. 'I've spent the last few months driving up and down the mountains every day to visit Richard as well as trying to keep the gallery going...'

  'Gallery?'

  'My old studio. The one my father...'

  'The one where we...' His voice trailed off as he apparently realised the danger in pursuing that line of questioning. The fact they had first made love there had no bearing on today. Could never have any bearing now.

  'It's a gallery now,' Mia said instead for him. 'And the reason my blood pressure is up is because, not only have I been neglecting it of late, not only am I way behind with some paintings I've been commis­sioned to do, I've also just lost my best friend in the whole world...' her voice wobbled, the tiniest, most irrelevant of problem s surfacing now, an attempt per­haps to drag her mind away from the true preposterousness of her situation '...and to top it all I'm on a two-hour park in the middle of the city...'

  Tears started then, horrible, uninvited tears that she didn't want him to witness, that she didn't want to stoop to but. seeing him there, another layer of emo­tion on top of her hellish day was all too much and the tension, the utter, unbearable tension that had been holding her together, snapped then, whipping her re­serve away as sobs drenched her fatigued body. Ethan was over in a second, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly. It was the only place on earth she wanted to be, the only place she had ever truly belonged. And even though it was wrong, even though it could surely only complicate things, right here, right now she needed him.

  She wanted those strong arms to hold her and needed just a fraction of the strength that was Ethan Carvelle. Even though it was only transitory, and for all the wrong reasons, she allowed herself the indulgence of being held by him, of just letting go and leaning on him for a tiny while.

  'I don't pretend to know a thing about art —' his voice was low and deep and comforting '— and I know I don't mean a thing to you compared to Richard...' She inhaled his scent, dragged on his strength, even moved her head a fraction in denial. Nothing could ever replace Richard, but Ethan was everything to her, always had been, and always would be, but sensibility prevailed, holding her back at the final moment, keeping in what could never, ever be said. 'But if a car needs moving, then I'm your man.'

  The flash of humour was so unforeseen, so unex­pected, it toppled her over the edge. Clinging on for dear life, she found herself letting go, really letting go, perhaps for the first time in seven years.

  'Let it out, Mia.' His face was buried in her hair, her cheek against his chest feeling every breath he took as his heart hammered against her. His elusive scent she had chased for seven years filled her nos­trils, and he was all she needed, everything she needed and maybe, just maybe, now she could tell him.

  'Ms Stewart?' The doctor was back, an unwelcome intrusion, and Mia stiffened, but still Ethan held her...still she clung on.

  'I've just spoken to your GP on the telephone; he's filled me in a bit on your history. I'm very sorry— I didn't realize that it was the baby's father you buried today...'

  Mia felt Ethan tense in her arms. His breathing stilled for an impossibly long time, then tripped into overdrive as he broke away. But as he lay her back on the pillow not a flicker of his expression relayed his reaction to the news as her anguished eyes searched his.

  'Perhaps given the circumstances...' the doctor droned on, utterly oblivious to the bombshell he had jus t dropped, impervious to the mounting tension in the room '... home might be the best place for you. I'd prefer if we let the drip finish, though, so we can ensure that you're adequately dehydrated, and I want you back here tomorrow or at your local GP's to have that blood pressure checked.'

  'Thank you,' Mia croaked, dreading what she might see, yet looking for some type of reaction, try­ing to fathom Ethan's take on the news he had just heard, but his expression gave away nothing.

  'Naturally, someone should drive you home.'

  'I will.' Ethan's voice was supremely calm. 'How long till the drip finishes?'

  'An hour or so,' the doctor answered.

  'Give me your keys.' Rummaging under the trol­ley, he pulled out her handbag and tossed it beside her. 'I'll go and fetch your car for you.'

  He shot her a black look. 'At least it will be one less thin g for you to worry about.'

  'But you don't know which one it is,' Mia an­swered, flustered, but Ethan didn't deign a response, just took the keys without another word to her, saving all his icy venom for the poor doctor.

  'I'll be back within the hour, Doctor. And for the record, Ms Stewart is grief-stricken, she's clearly in no fit state to discharge herself, so I strongly suggest that if she isn't here when I return you've made damn sure your medical indemnity insurance is fully paid up.'

  The doctor was no match for Ethan's stern glare and scuttled gratefully out. Ethan stood, silently staring and suddenly Mia didn't want Ethan's take on this, didn't want to hear his reaction to the news that had just been imparted. Pleating the sheet between her fingers, she stared down, feeling the anger, the incredulity emanating from Ethan, could feel the disdain blazing from his eyes even though she couldn't bring herself to look at them.

  'Sweet little Mia,' he said finally, his voice like the crack of a whip.' You should add the word "con" to your job title, Mia! Well, you might be able to fool the doctors, your friends, hell, even a few journalists into believing your half-baked story, but it's the twenty-first century, Mia. You can't just pass Richard off as the father because it suits your bank account.'

  'I'm not trying to pass the baby off.' Finall
y she dared look at him. 'This is my baby, Ethan. In fact, I never intended for you or your family to find out. It was you who came here, remember; you who chose to ride rough shod and stand over me while the doctor was here.'

  'Bull.' His voice was menacingly quiet, his head slowly shaking in sheer disbelief. 'If this is Richard's baby, how come we don't know? Why on earth wouldn't he tell us?' When she didn't answer he pressed on relentlessly. 'If this is my brother's child, why aren't there provisions for it in his will?'

  'Because there wasn't time, and, as much as I didn't want you to know, I'm not going to deny Richard now. I'm not going to pretend it's not his child just to make you feel better. But for your in­formation I was always going to raise this baby alone; it was how we planned it!'