His pregnant mistress

by Carol Marinelli

  'But they can't have been married long, for heaven's sake. Surely you should have inherited—'

  'I inherited plenty,' Mia broke in. 'My father left me a legacy far greater than money. Sally loved my father and he loved her. Love isn't some mathematical equation: X amount of hours multiplied by X amount of love, Ethan. Sally made my father happy in his final years and for that I'm eternally grateful.'

  'But even so...'

  'How long does it take to find love, Ethan? Two years, two months —' she gave a hollow laugh '—two weeks? Is the love my father and Sally shared any less real because the years didn't run into double fig­ures?' He didn't answer her question, just stared at her for the longest time.

  'Stay,' he said finally, only this time there was no question in his voice. 'I'll drive over to your home this afternoon and pick up your things.'

  'What about my work?'

  'You can work from here.' He gestured towards the alfresco area. 'It's covered, and there are sliding doors that can be pulled closed in case it rains.'

  'Have you any idea the havoc my clay and paint will wreak on your ex pensive imported tiles?'

  'I guess I'm about to find out.' He stared back at her quizzically, watching her forehead furrow, her eyes crinkling as she weighed up his offer. 'You know this makes sense.'

  'It makes no sense.' She flashed a watery smile. 'None of this makes sense, Ethan. I'm supposed to be taking things easy, keeping the baby's world calm and, with the best will in the world, living with you...' She shook her head helplessly, unsure how, even if she had the courage, even if she could somehow wave a magic wand and imbue herself with wan­ton daring, she would be able to voice how he made her feel.

  How could s he even begin to express how living with him, seeing his haughty, brooding face first thing in the morning and last thing at night and knowing he w as out of bounds, knowing that the small intimacy they had shared that morning could never be repeated, never be expanded, wasn't exactly conducive to staying calm? But she didn't need to explain, didn't need to reveal how deeply she felt, because Ethan got there first, pulling the plug on the last drops of hope.

  'It's over between us, Mia.' His voice was void of emotion. Eyes that had adored her were distant now, as if someone had turned off a light switch inside, reached and pulled out the passionate heart that had once beat there.

  'It was over seven years ago, and in regards to what happened this morning...' He barely paused, didn't even appear uncomfortable, addressing

  the facts as if he were summing up a meeting. Mia half expected to look over and see a faithful secretary efficiently taking shorthand as Ethan shuffled the mental papers of their encounter, addressed the facts as he saw fit.

  'While it's regrettable that it happened, there were of course a number of extenuating circumstances to account for what took place this morning: we were both upset, both still overwhelmed from the previous day's events. Richard's death has hit us both hard.'

  He stared back at her, presumably expecting a nod of agreement, but moving on anyway as Mia blinked back at him. 'To deny there is an attraction between us would be a lie. Combine that attraction with emo­tion, add a confined space and the fact you were naked—'

  'You should get a projector, Ethan.' She watched him stiffen as she interrupted, a frown puckering his brow as she carried on. 'And a little white stick, or perhaps one of those laser pointers that looks like a pen...'

  He gave her a slightly startled look, as if she were some sort of mental patient on day release he'd been lumbered with, someone he had to at least attempt to empathize with no matter how trying. 'What's the problem, Mia?'

  'You are,' Mia replied rather rudely. 'Why don't you stand, Ethan? Why don't you go and drag your laptop out here and give me a little impromptu PowerPoint presentation?'

  'I've no idea what you're talking about, Mia.'

  'I'm talking about you and your bloody extenuating circumstances!' Mia snapped. 'I'm talking about the way you insist on reducing anything and everything into cold, hard facts, when the fact of the matter is—'

  "The fact is this. Mia." Ethan broke in, and his voice held a warning ring which despite her fury and bubbling temper Mia heeded.

  'This isn't about you and it isn't about me. It's about what's best for the baby." He let his words sink in, watched as the anger fizzed out of her, replaced instead b y a weary sadness as Ethan continued. 'And the best thing for the baby is for you to stay here, near medical help, and, how­ever clumsily and inappropriately I tried to sum things up. The simple truth is that there will be no repeat of this morning. There cannot nor ever will be an us. It's as simple as that.'

  And it was, or it should have been, but tears pricked her eyes at the finality of it all, a shiver of grief for all she had lost. Ethan was right; it was as simple and as horrible and as awful as that.

  Their time had passed.

  She felt the baby stir, her hands instinctively mas­saging the child within, a tiny life that mattered more than hers right now, a little person that deserved the very best she could give.

  No matter the personal cost.

  And it would be at a cost—seeing Ethan each morning, spending the day with him and knowing she could never have him, that she could almost deal with, but saying goodnight, wandering to her separate room and lying a few feet away from the only man she could ever love would surely be the hardest feat of all.

  'Stay for the baby,' Ethan said again, and, though she couldn't bring herself to look at him. Mia nodded. 'Write out a list of what you want me to fetch and I'll head over there this afternoon.'

  'I'll come with you.'

  'I'll need to hire a truck, Mia.' He gave a half-smile. ‘I doubt I'll fit all your art equipment in my car. Anyway, the whole point of this exercise is to keep you near medical help. It kind of defeats the purpose if we head off to the mountains on the first day.'

  'I suppose,' Mia admitted. 'I'll go and write a list, but it will be a big one,' she warned. 'If I'm going to work from here you can't miss anything out...'

  'I can read,' he responded tartly, which sounded a bit more like the old Ethan. 'And if I can't find some­thing, I can always ring. You do have a phone, I assume?'

  'No,' Mia replicated his sarcasm. 'But you can al­ways start a bonfire in the garden and send me some smoke signals. I'll watch out for them from the sun lounger.' Standing, she headed for the house, sud­denly desperate to get away, to curl up on her bed and lick her wounds, to mourn the loss of what she had never really had, but before she did, before finally she moved on, there was one last thing she needed to know.

  'Can you answer me one thing, Ethan?'

  Turning, she expected to face him, but his back was to her, one hand gripping the balcony, the other on his glass as he stared out into the endless ocean, his shoulders rippling with tension beneath the black T-shirt. She ached for him to turn around, to face her, but had to settle for the back of his head when he didn't move.

  'If Richard hadn't lied, if he hadn't said what he did, do you think we...?' Her voice trailed off. 'It doesn't matter.' Pulling the door open, she stepped inside, only pausing as Ethan called her back, the ramifica­tions of her loss only truly hitting home as Ethan answered her unspoken question.

  'We'd have made it, Mia.'

  He turned around to face her, and for the longest time she stood there, and what he had expected from his answer he truly didn't know— regret, sadness, a tired smile—but her response knocked the breath from him. With her tiny defiant chin jutting proudly, her earrings sparkling in the sunlight, she shook her head s lowly.

  'Then more fool you, Ethan.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  More fool you, Ethan.

  The words resounded in his head like a broken rec­ord, playing over and over as he shifted the gears along the long winding road. The thundering noise of the rental truck should have been enough to blow the lingering thoughts away, but nothing could drown out the mantra nothing could erase the hint of pity in Mia's voice
as he replayed the words.

  A hand-painted sign had his foot slamming on the brakes. He berated himself for lack of attention as he reversed the vehicle.

  'Mia's Home!'

  'Mia's home indeed,' he muttered to himself, curs­ing Mia for her stupid, trusting nature. He was tempted to rip the shoddy sign down himself, to snap the gnarled wood over his knee and toss it into the massive ferns that shaded the driveway.

  'Why not just write single woman living alone?' He swore to him­self, pulling on the handbrake and jumping down, rip­ping the sign out of the mulch in one motion and throwing it into the passenger seat beside him, driving up the steep entrance, bracing himself for what he didn't know, blinking in disbelief as he ground the truck to a halt.

  It was beautiful.

  A massive old Queenslander home, high on stilts, standing tall and proud in the mountain, a million miles from the tinpot shack he had mentally relegated her to. Not a struggling artist in sight, not even a rabid-looking cat searching for scraps as he slowly mounted the front stairs, pulling open the fly screen and slowly turning the key in the door.

  And even though she knew he was there, and it was with her consent, he felt as if he were invading, felt almost voyeuristic as his eyes wandered around the building—her house, her home, so overtly femi­nine, every surface brimming with Mia, every cush­ion, every fluttering net that danced in the windows an extension of the woman he knew—glimpsing into the world of the woman he had pushed away all those years ago.

  Her lingering scent filled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, a scent so evocative, so elusive he had chased it for seven years. A lingering waft as he walked through a department store was enough to stop him literally in his tracks, the mere scent of it on another woman enough to...

  He closed his eyes in tormented regret.

  Shame, self-loathing even, imbued him as he re­called the nameless faces on the pillows he had awoken to over the years, and he knew in one dread­ful moment of introspection what he had been search­ing for all those long, lonely nights. The gaping void in his life he had tried desperately to fill even on a temporary basis, an attempt to bury the pain just a bit deeper, to hold and be held the way he had been once before, and always to no avail. Like sitting down to a five-course meal just to get to the dessert—the end­less chatter irritating, the feel of another woman that wasn't Mia in his arms disappointing at times, devastating at others.

  So what the hell was he doing now? Ethan thought darkly to himself, wandering from room to room. What was he doing fuelling the need instead of dous­ing it? Dragging himself in deeper when he should be pulling away? Entwining himself further into her life when he should be cutting himself free?

  His eyes fixed on a photo of his brother and the image stilled him, pale blue eyes staring back at him, one arm thrown casually around Mia, smiles on their faces yet not a trace of love in sight.

  He didn't understand.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet, stared at the faded photo he had carried for seven years, the photo he had gone back to collect from the restaurant where they'd first met before he'd left for Sydney.

  After his world had fallen apart.

  As he stared at their images, so much younger, so much more carefree than they were now, he could almost feel the crackling tension that had surrounded them that night, see the giddy lust in their eyes, feel the unrelenting need that had danced between them.

  'Mia.' He said it out loud, could feel her so close he half expected a response, half expected her to walk from the bedroom, that subtle smile on her face, a questioning look in those kitten eyes at the surprising softness in his voice. Shaking his head fiercely, he shoved the wallet back in his pocket, slam med the lid on dangerous thoughts and, pulling out her impressive list, set to work.

  There were reprieves.

  As the days ticked by into weeks, the agony of being so close, so near, while knowing he was out of bounds, thankfully wasn't constant.

  The occasional, blissful interlude from her self-imposed torture made the pain more bearable. Tiny snatches of laughter broke the strained silences every now and then and as the hours ticked into days, as the days slipped into weeks, every now and then, ly­ing by the pool, feeling the bliss of the sun on her swollen stomach, expos ed with her T-shirt knotted above it, lying with eyes closed, semi dozing as Ethan tapped away on his computer on the other side of the pool, Mia was almost at peace with the world. Able to drift off, to focus on the baby, or not, as the case might be, to just drift and, if not forget, push aside the wretchedness o f unrequited love.

  'Here.'

  Opening her eyes, she found it impossible to focus for a moment, and Ethan waited patiently as she scrabbled for her sunglasses, sitting up in the sun lounger and trying to pretend that she hadn't been asleep again. Passing her a glass of something icy, he stood for a moment as she took a sip, then, almost tentatively, perched himself on the edge of the sun lounger.

  'I thought you should have a drink and put some sun screen on. It's not good to fall asleep in the sun.'

  'I wasn't asleep.' As she registered his disbelieving look her voice was more insistent. ‘I wasn't! Actually I was lying here and thinking about the work I'm going to do this afternoon.'

  'Really?'

  'I am,' Mia insisted, instantly jumping to the de­fence at his rather loaded word. She was painfully aware that since he'd headed for the hills, dragged her equipment all the way back and spent the best part of two days setting it up for her she hadn't so much as picked up a brush. 'Art doesn't just happen, Ethan. As chaotic as my work might lo ok to you, it actually takes a lot of planning, so you see I wasn't asleep, just...' she struggled for a second '...devel­oping an idea,' Mia finished with a note of triumph, happy with her choice of words.

  Even Ethan looked suitably impressed.

  'So tell me, Mia. Do you always dribble when you develop an idea?'

  She should have blushed, thumped him, died of shame, but instead she laughed, laughed so much it almost hurt until even Ethan finally joined in.

  'You're getting some colour,' Ethan said and the laughter faded, replaced with a falsely bright smile as his eyes flicked over her body. 'You were way too pale before.'

  Before.

  Before Ethan stepped back into her life.

  Before Ethan turned her world around with a crook of his manicured finger.

  'I didn't exactly have much time for sun baking.'

  He nodded but didn't say anything and it was Mia who elaborated.

  'It wasn't just visiting Richard that took up my time. I tend to get engrossed in my work. When I disappear into my studio, when I'm really deep into a piece, a whole day can pass without me even stepping outside.'

  'I wish my work was that absorbing,' Ethan quipped. 'Believe me, all distractions are gratefully received when you're staring at a pile of figures, trying to fathom ways to woo a few more tourists!'

  'I don't believe you for a moment,' Mia answered. 'A bomb could go o ff and you wouldn't move. I've watched you working...' Her voice petered out; she was cross with herself for revealing too much, but Ethan didn't seem to notice her sudden embarrassment.

  'So how come, if it's so absorbing, that you're not working now?' He gestured to the mountain of equip­ment he'd retrieved from her studio and she eyed it guiltily— every last thing on her list had been ac­counted for, every last piece of equipment she might possibly need had be en set up, all waiting for her to grace it with her presence. He'd even been sweet enough to bring the sign from her driveway, mounted it on the alfresco area in an attempt to make her feel at home. 'I thought you had a deadline looming.'

  'I do,' Mia responded, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, wishing E than hadn't reminded her of a truth she was trying to ignore, the horribly gnawing knowledge of a deadline looming and not a lot to show for it. 'It's just...'

  'Just what?' Ethan asked shrewdly.

  'You wouldn't understand.'

  'Try me,' Ethan offer
ed, and she shook her head.

  'Try me,' he said again and, behind her dark glasses, Mia rolled her eyes, but, even despite her misgivings, she relented, hoping against hope that maybe by voicing her fears out loud she could come to some sort of resolve.

  'It's just not happening for me at the moment.'

  'Not happening?' When she didn't elaborate he pushed further.

  'What exactly is it that's "not happening"?'

  'I don't know,' Mia responded stiffly to his obvious bemusement.

  'You don't know what's "not happening".'

  'See, I knew you wouldn't understand,' Mia re­torted, wishing he'd just drop it, but Ethan clearly had other ideas.

  'You haven't exactly explained what the problem is. If you're hoping f or an objective opinion, then you have to at least arm me with the facts.'

  'Here we go again,' Mia muttered quietly, but ob­viously not quietly enough as Ethan's eyes narrowed. 'Not everything can be relegated to facts. Ethan.