A muscle jerked in his cheek. After what Marie had done to him, he doubted either statement was true. In fact, he was pretty sure it never had been. Marie hadn’t loved him, and he could certainly never forgive her.
“It’s over.”
“So, what? You’re going to have a baby with this … this …”
“Imogen,” he supplied, a kernel of sympathy for Elena expanding in his chest. “Yes.”
“And do I get to meet the woman who’s planning to raise my grandchild?”
“Would you like to meet her?”
“It would seem sensible.”
“Fine.” He shrugged. “I’ll speak to Imogen and arrange a time for you to come over.”
“Cove over where?” Elena’s eyes narrowed at the casual invitation.
“To my place.”
“And she’ll be there too?”
Theo’s laugh was a rumble. “She lives with me now.”
Silence dropped onto the table. “Did you just say she lives with you?”
“It seemed to make sense,” he nodded. “I want to be involved in every aspect of this baby’s life – including the pregnancy.”
Elena swore in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “You’ve lost your mind, Theo.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re inviting some gold-digging…”
“Stop.” He held a hand up, and his face was instantly taut. Terse. “Be careful, mother. I understand you’re surprised by this news, but don’t forget: Imogen will be the mother of my child. I suggest you think carefully about how you speak of her.”
Elena’s head whipped back, her surprise obvious. But what had she suspected? That he’d sit there and let her rubbish a woman she’d never met?
He had understood his mother’s need to defend Marie – even to defend her when Marie had savaged their relationship beyond redemption. But he wouldn’t allow her to attack Imogen for the simple mistake of sleeping with him and happening to fall pregnant, despite the precautions they’d taken.
“So you’re in a relationship with this woman?”
A flash of desire warmed the pit of his gut. It had been a week since he’d kissed her on the terrace. A week since he’d remembered the way her body had called to his from that first night, at the pub in the middle of nowhere. A week since she’d told him that was a mistake, and gone out of her way to keep her distance.
No more yoga in the lounge room. No more bikini time on the terrace. No more cooking and humming as she padded around the apartment. He’d scared her away, and all he wanted was to crack through the distance she’d thrown down; to warm her back up.
“No.” The word did no justice to the avalanche of disappointment that was behind it.
“Well, what is this then? One mistake shouldn’t lead to a life of servitude…”
“A life of servitude? Jesus, mother. Think this through.” He leaned forward, his eyes holding a silent warning. “Play this scenario out to its conclusion. What happens when she has the baby, if I’m not in her life?”
“I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Elena sighed wearily, finding it almost impossible to reconcile this bombshell with the life she’d imagined for her son.
“If Imogen and I aren’t close, and she has this baby, I’m not going to get a chance to know it. She lives miles away. What if she meets someone else? Suddenly my child is going to have some other guy playing dad?” His eyes glittered with fierce determination. “I want this baby. I want to be the father to this little boy or girl. And that means supporting Imogen in any way I can.”
Somehow, the confession seemed to relax Elana. “I understand,” she nodded softly. “Yes, I see.” Then, with true sadness in her voice as she thought of all she’d lost in the prior twelve months. “You were married. You and Marie were so happy.”
Theo, on reflection, could admit to himself how untrue that was. “That’s ancient history.”
Elena’s pale face sent sympathy through him, and the way she threw her drink back compounded it. “I’ll speak to Imogen and arrange a time for you to visit. You’ll like her. I promise.”
He stood, his drink untouched, and pressed a kiss against his mother’s dark hair. She seemed to visibly rouse herself. “Fine, yes. Good. I’m sure I will.”
*
The blue was too bright. Like the sky had got drunk, spun itself on a merry-go-round and vomited all over the place. The pink was similarly nauseating. She tabbed over the swatch, lifting them up higher, staring at them until she was cross-eyed.
Yellow seemed to be the accepted wisdom for babies, and there were some lovely shades, but none of them felt quite right. Again, her finger drifted over the swatches, landing as it had done on previous days, on the greys.
She crinkled her nose and closed her eyes, imagining the walls of her baby’s bedroom a heavenly pale grey. So pale it would be like moonlight. Splashes of feature colour would give accents and personality and yes, if she wanted to she could add pink throws for the girl or baby blue rugs for the boy. More likely than not, though, she’d opt for a monochromatic colour scheme. Something classic and timeless.
“Smell something strange?”
His voice cut through the room she was picturing in her mind and Imogen blinked her eyes open, swallowing the now-familiar gut response of need that assailed her when she saw him. He’d obviously just got back from his office, if the suit and tie were anything to go by.
Mmmm. Such a nice suit.
Then again, what wouldn’t look great on him?
“I’m trying to decide on a colour,” she said, hating how stiff the words sounded and wishing she could be more natural around him. Only the kiss on the terrace had reminded her of the danger inherent to their situation. There was a flame between them; with the slightest encouragement it would incinerate them both.
“I can see that.” He stepped deeper into the room, his hands thrust in his pockets. “And this helps?” He crinkled his nose just as she had and squeezed his eyes shut.
Imogen smiled, despite herself. “Yes. Well, I think so.”
He grinned down at her. “Which one wins?” He asked, nodding at the swatches she held in her hand.
Until that moment, it hadn’t even occurred to Imogen to consult with Theo. But of course he should have a say in the nursery’s décor. Not only was he her co-parent, it was his apartment.
“I thought grey,” she mumbled, surprised at how inconsiderate she’d been. “But if you don’t want anything so permanent, I can just choose some prints and decals to brighten it up. You know, something that can be moved easily…”
“I like the colour,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And a baby’s pretty damned permanent, wouldn’t you say?”
She nodded. That was true. All the more reason to keep her distance and remember that what happened between them was a total aberration.
“Good. I’ll pick up the paint after work next week.”
“No need. I have a decorator. He’ll arrange the tradesmen. Just give him a list of anything else you want. Light fittings. Carpets. Drapes.” He shrugged. “The furniture selection I had imagined we’d do together.”
She looked up at him, utterly bewildered now. “Furniture selection?”
“You know. Crib. Chair. Change table. All the stuff.”
“Right.” She nodded, only she’d hardly thought of that. “We’ve still got ages, though.”
“True.” Something charged between them; an awareness that sent her pulse firing. “Are you hungry?”
Hungry? She was starving. But food was pretty low down on the priority list. “I guess so.”
“Good. Let’s go out. Gianni’s?”
Imogen wanted to refuse. To think up a reason to say ‘no’. But their lives flashed before her. The life that saw them co-parenting a child. Surely eating out wasn’t a big deal? People did it all the time. Friends. Colleagues. Family.
It didn’t mean anything. It was a low-risk activity; wasn’t it?<
br />
“Okay. Just give me ten minutes to get ready.”
Imogen was fifteen minutes, in the end. She changed into a pair of stretchy black pants and an over-sized shirt with beading around the neckline and teamed it with sparkly ballet slippers and a jeweled necklace. She left her hair out, telling herself it had nothing to do with the way he liked to run his fingers through it, nor the way he’d told her, the night they’d made love, that it shone like strands of gold and sunshine.
When she stepped into the kitchen, he was slowly flipping through a newspaper, his head bent. But he looked up at the sound of her approach and the air crackled with barely-contained awareness. He didn’t try to hide his slow, sensual appraisal. His eyes dipped down, focusing on the swell of her cleavage and her neat waist before dropping to the floor and lifting once more to her face.
Her heart was in her mouth, hammering with an understanding she didn’t think she’d ever be able to contain.
“Ready?” She asked throatily, her fingers toying with the hem of her shirt self-consciously.
“As I’ll ever be.” He shut the paper and walked around the bench, towards her. When he reached her side, he said gently, “You look beautiful.”
Muddied waters threatened to devour her. “Thank you.” So prim, once more.
Kissing like they had a week earlier – well, that had been a rather predictable mistake. The night they’d made love had been fuelled by a primal, animalistic passion. Theo was fortunate he didn’t remember just how damned good it had been between them. It was only Imogen who was tormented by the memories and the impossibility of proximity. Having Theo so close she could reach for him at any time, knowing that she couldn’t and wouldn’t, was a unique brand of torture.
It was good that the kiss had happened, Imogen supposed, if only to give them some ground rules to stick to. Some clearly defined parameters of what each wanted from the other. And what they couldn’t have.
Because they were going to be parents, and that was complicated enough. Throwing sex into the mix? Definitely a bad idea. Only riding the lift beside him, riding in his car, all she could think about was the night they’d made love. The way it had felt. The fact she’d needed more; so much more.
The night stretched before her, long and impossible to navigate, for the throbbing ache deep inside of her.
When they arrived at the restaurant, Gianni stood out the front, greeting them with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. His rotund belly wobbled up and down as he laughed his happy greeting.
“Eh, Signorina! Two nights in the same month? Must be amore,” he laughed louder, as though it was all a joke, when Imogen was staggering through the reality of this predicament, trying to find her way when perhaps there wasn’t any way at all.
Theo reached out and shook his hand, and the other he put protectively around Imogen. It was amazing how normal that felt – to reach out and draw her closer to him.
She, apparently, didn’t feel the same, if the way her body went ramrod straight against him was any indication.
“You remember Imogen?” He asked.
Imogen smiled up at the Italian man but every other part of her was focusing on not bending her body closer to Theo’s. On not collapsing against him, molding her shape to his, letting their close touch fill her with the satisfaction she’d denied herself again and again.
“Of course. Beautiful Imogen.” He said her name with an accented lilt. “Come in, come in.”
The table they’d occupied last time was available, but Theo nodded toward the one in the window.
“It’s nicer,” he said softly, his hand reaching down and squeezing hers.
She nodded with palpable tension. “I don’t mind. It’s just a place to sit and eat.”
Theo dipped his head forward, hiding his response. Amusement, yes, but frustration as well, at the determined way she was pushing up barriers everywhere she could. Once they were seated and furnished with menus, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes heavy on her face.
Beneath the table, his feet brushed hers and she startled visibly, but didn’t pull away.
“My mother would like to meet you.” The words fell from his lips and he wished, once spoken, he could draw them back. Because Imogen visibly recoiled and he didn’t want to say or do anything to hurt her.
“She knows about me?”
His smile was terse. “Of course. I could hardly keep the fact that you’re going to have my baby a secret.”
“No, no, I know,” she mumbled. Her eyes were huge in her face. “What did she say?”
He reached across the table, curling his fingers over hers. “She was surprised.”
“Her and me both,” Imogen said with a tight smile and a small shake of her head.
Theo nodded, but curiosity sparked in his gut. “It must have been a shock to you.”
“Yes.” She toyed with her napkin, but her mind was drifting back to that morning. “Even though there were so many symptoms, I still expected the test to be negative.” She shook her head. “I guess for your mother, it’s all very soon after your divorce.”
He nodded. “But in truth, my marriage was over for a long time before we ended it.”
“Why?” The question hadn’t been planned and she wasn’t sure it was sanctioned but, once out, she didn’t apologise for it.
“Marie and I wanted different things,” he said vaguely, as though it was an explanation. “I think my mother is the only one who doesn’t realize that.”
“And she wants to meet me? I can’t wait,” Imogen said with a roll of her eyes.
Theo’s laugh was low and husky. “She’ll love you.”
Gianni appeared with a serve of focaccia and placed it down with an exaggerated wink at Imogen. “Your favourite, no?”
“Uh huh.” She reached for a piece while Theo ordered for them. She wanted to challenge him, except that he ordered what she’d been looking at, and that formed a bigger question in her mind: how did he know exactly what she wanted?
“I wish I could remember more about that night,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “It’s all a blur, still.”
The deep throb of emotion was something she hadn’t expected. “I wish you could remember it too.”
“So tell me,” he invited, linking his fingers together as he stared across the table. Their eyes met and an invisible arc of electricity shot to life. She shivered as it hummed down her spine, skipping over her and filling her with awareness and need.
It was only fair that he wanted details. The night – while meaning nothing to him at the time, had been hugely important – it had led to the creation of their baby.
“You were already in the pub when I arrived. I relieved the guy who’d done the afternoon shift, and I guess you’d been drinking for a while.” She shook her head in frustration. “But you seemed fine. You spoke to me. You were …” gorgeous. Addictive. Perfect. “Sensible.” She looked down at the table.
“So how did we go from that to sleeping together?” He prompted, genuinely curious.
Her cheeks flushed pink as the details stormed through her brain. “Does it matter?”
“I want you to fill in the gaps for me,” he murmured softly. “I want to remember.” He wanted her to assuage his guilt, as a point of fact. To know that he hadn’t taken undue advantage of her.
Her look was one of panic but finally, she nodded. She supposed, in his shoes, she’d have felt the same. “You were hungry, but the kitchen was closed. We don’t do meals through the week, just weekends. We’re not busy enough, generally.” She was rambling. “But I offered to make you a cheese platter and you followed me into the kitchen. I was singing …”
“The A-team,” he said, remembering suddenly the way he’d walked up behind her, and she’d been wiggling her butt to the Ed Sheeran song and something like fate had shifted over him, suffocating him with certainty.
“Yes.” Her eyes were clouded by memories and he knew she was back there in the kitchen, her mind soake
d by the past. “I can’t explain it. I turned around and you were there and we looked at one another and…”
“You kissed me.” He expelled a breath, his eyes so dark they were like lead. “You kissed me.”
She nodded, biting down on her lip. “I can’t believe it but, yeah. I threw myself at you.” She groaned softly. “And if I’d known you were drunk, I would never have taken advantage of you like that. I just … something between us felt so strong. Like we were meant to …I don’t know… something? And I suppose I thought you felt it too.”
“I did.” He reached over and grabbed her hand. “If you hadn’t kissed me, I would have kissed you.”
“How do you know? You don’t even remember.”
“But I feel it now,” he said simply. “And that night, I remember my driver calling and I knew I had to leave you. But I didn’t want to.” His frown was etched deep in his face. “I remember the regret.”
Imogen sucked in a breath as something like pleasure spun through her. “You didn’t even leave a note.”
“No.” He nodded, his eyes showing the truth of what he said. “At the time, I thought… no. I didn’t think. It never occurred to me that you could be pregnant.”
“Why would it?” She murmured, shrugging her slender shoulders.
“I spent so long wanting a baby in my marriage; I never thought it would be happening now – so soon after my divorce.”
Imogen was very still, as his words lodged into her mind. She let them settle, making sense of them from every angle. “You were trying for a baby?”
He was as surprised by the revelation as she. “Well, we were older,” he said after a moment. “Marie has three years on me, so if we were going to have children, it would have needed to be soon.”
“But you didn’t? She didn’t?”
“No.” A tight smile. Dismissive. Angry?
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He reached across and squeezed her hand. “Life has a way of working out, sometimes.”
CHAPTER SIX
“I LOVE THE CITY,” she said softly, as they walked home. The night was cool and crisp, despite the warmth that had made the day glow. “When I was younger, I used to come here with my dad sometimes, stay overnight if he was meeting with suppliers.”
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