The Billionaire's Christmas Baby
Page 16
She took a deep breath and struggled to stay calm. To be still. To say it like it was.
‘What’s important is family,’ she told him. ‘I understand...you’ve never had that so you don’t know. You’ve made yourself believe that independence is the most important thing, but believe me...’ She closed her eyes. ‘The day after Mum died... When the social workers came and took the kids to foster homes... They told me they’d be safe and cared for and that was the most important thing, but I was fourteen years old and I knew it wasn’t. Even at fourteen I knew that love was bigger, and I knew I’d give up everything to get it right. Tell me, Max, what will you do if—when—Phoebe needs you? Will you drop anything and go to her? Or will you send a nanny?’
‘If she really needs...’
‘Define needs,’ she said harshly. ‘Does she have to fall under a bus for that need to kick in? What if she just needs a cuddle? Or someone to read to her every night?’
‘If it’s minor...’ He was hopelessly out of his depth and she knew it. He didn’t understand, and it was useless trying to change it.
The situation was impossible. The whole thing was impossible.
She reached down and flipped the top of the crimson box closed. It closed with a snap that seemed to resound through the restaurant.
Dream over.
‘It can’t work,’ she said dully. ‘This time...for me it’s been magic. A dream. But that’s all it can be, a dream. I wish for Phoebe’s sake—and, okay, for ours—that I could say yes but I’d be giving up too much. Gran and Pa need me. Daisy and Sam and Chloe and Tom are part of what I am. They’re my family. Yes, they can put too many demands on me, and yes, sometimes I resent it, but love goes both ways. I need them as much as they need me. Living with you... Loving a man who gives and gives and never acknowledges that need is a part of loving too...’ She shook her head. ‘Okay, I’m not making sense. I can see that you don’t understand and I can’t help. But please...accept it’s over. Let’s go interview these nannies because we need one soon. I’m going home, Max. I’m going back to where I belong.’
* * *
There was no way to dissuade her.
They worked their way through the list of nannies. Sunny was a great interviewer. She asked questions he would never have thought of.
How are you at cuddles? What’s your favourite kids’ storybook? What would you do if the kindergarten teacher phoned and said Phoebe’s just bitten someone? How do you feel about puppies? What do you feel is the most important part of your job?
The one who stood out was Karen, a single mum with a toddler of her own, Harry.
‘How do you feel about living in if you get the job?’ Sunny asked and Max pretty much froze. To have two kids...
But Karen was warm and caring, and as she left Sunny turned to him and said, ‘She’s perfect.’
And he knew she was. He’d been around Sunny long enough now to know what perfect was.
Only Sunny was more perfect.
‘And she can start now,’ Sunny said in satisfaction. ‘Which means I can go home.’
‘I don’t want you to go home.’
‘That’s where I’m needed,’ she told him and before he could say anything more she’d backed away and headed to the sanctuary of her own room.
A room she hadn’t used for two weeks because she’d slept with him.
Her rejection had him stunned. What was between them was so right. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Their bodies meshed. Her intelligence blew him away. Her warmth and humour reached parts of him he hadn’t known existed.
He could offer her so much and yet her rejection of his offer had been instantaneous.
She’d said no and she meant it. She was going home and he had no way of stopping her.
Except by changing.
But how could she expect him to change when he didn’t have a clue what she was on about?
He was gutted but he was also...angry? To throw away what he was offering...
Don’t think about it, he told himself. It’s her choice. Head into the study, draw up a contract for the new nanny and then get on with your life.
Move on alone, as you always have. You should know by now that it’s the only way.
* * *
And, as if on cue, while Sunny lay sleepless, staring at the ceiling, her cell phone rang.
Chloe.
‘Sunny, Pa’s had another stroke. Not...not fatal, we think. We hope. We’re not even sure how bad it is but...we thought you’d want to know.’
‘Oh, Chloe...’ Sunny heard sobs suppressed behind her sister’s voice. They matched the sobs she’d been trying to suppress herself.
‘I’ll come home,’ she said.
‘I don’t think... I wish I could say...’
‘Don’t say anything at all,’ Sunny told her. ‘I’m coming.’
She disconnected. Then she headed for the bathroom and washed her face.
The light showed under Max’s door. She knocked and asked for his help.
At eight the next morning the jet took off, heading for Australia.
The dream was over. She was on her way home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS A huge day in the life of Phoebe Raye Grayland.
And of Max.
The adoption had taken almost a year to organise but this afternoon Max had stood in front of a judge with Phoebe in his arms. He’d promised to provide her with a loving home, for ever and ever.
He’d expected it to be a formality, a simple signing of documents. Instead, as the attorney had asked him to confirm before the judge his intention to love her and care for her, he’d felt something shift inside him. Something huge.
And then the judge had taken Phoebe from him and dandled her, and told Max how lucky he was. He’d let Phoebe have the gavel and Phoebe had banged it with gusto.
The documents were signed and sealed. Phoebe was his.
Family.
The feeling was almost overwhelming.
He should send the picture of Phoebe and the gavel to Sunny.
Would she like it that he’d added her name to Phoebe’s?
He’d taken the full day off to mark the occasion. Karen and her Harry were out Christmas shopping.
Max was pushing a dozy Phoebe in her stroller, feeling...discombobulated. As if he wasn’t sure how to feel.
Manhattan looked like one blazing Christmas tree, albeit an oddly shaped one. Cold had descended in earnest. There were flurries of snow in the air. Phoebe was currently wearing the cutest little Christmas hat, half beanie, half muffler.
Eliza had bought it for her. Karen had decreed it was the cutest thing and Phoebe loved its furriness. A week ago he’d arrived home to find both women clucking over his half-sister, and Phoebe grinning toothily at both of them. She’d pretty much worn it night and day since.
He’d done okay by her. She was loved.
So now she was his. His.
For some reason he couldn’t go home. He needed this time, pushing his little sister through the throng of Christmas shoppers. To look at the shops. To lose himself...
To think of Christmas.
To think of what was happening back in Australia?
Except he shouldn’t be wondering. He knew. Once a week he had an email from Sunny, outlining how things were. Her grandfather had pulled up after the stroke, weakened but still essentially okay. The new gardener he’d insisted on paying for was doing magnificently and the house repairs were very much appreciated. How was Phoebe doing?
They were grateful emails. She was embarrassed that he was doing so much, though there was so much he’d like to do that she wouldn’t permit. He was permitted to help Gran and Pa, but not her. Nothing personal.
Her emai
ls were thus filled with gratitude, plus concern and care for a child she’d learned to love.
They contained nothing to admit she might love him.
He wrote back in the same style. They’d become...friends?
At his insistence she told him the basics. She was back at the hotel, working, but she’d been promoted. She was now a team leader, so scrubbing floors was no longer part of her usual duties. She only scrubbed occasionally, in a crisis.
She was doing another subject at night school.
She was still bicycling to work, caring for her grandparents, worrying about her siblings.
Preparing for Christmas.
He’d ordered a hamper to be sent. It was filled with the most indulgent delicacies money could buy. He’d topped it with another truly extravagant box of cherry liqueur chocolates and he’d sent it in plenty of time to reach them.
Except as soon as he’d sent it he’d had doubts. Was part of Gran’s pleasure in receiving the sweets the fact that Sunny gave them to her? Had Sunny already bought a cheaper version?
He was second-guessing himself and that was pretty much how he was these days. In unfamiliar territory.
In his business world he was crisp, incisive, authoritarian. His father’s legacy of dubious business dealings was over. The Grayland financial empire was going from strength to strength. In the financial world, Max Grayland was a man in charge.
But he came home at night and Phoebe reached her little arms up to be cuddled and doubts crept in. He held her close, he snuggled her warm little person, he admired the new skills she’d learned that day and he wanted...someone to share.
Karen and Eliza were great but...
But yesterday Phoebe had pushed herself to a wobbly standing position. Today he’d formally adopted her. Both were huge milestones in the life of Phoebe.
And he’d wanted...he’d ached for Sunny to be there. To share it with him.
He’d taken today off but last night he’d reached home at eight, and he’d had ten minutes admiring Phoebe’s new standing skill before she’d slept.
Sunny would have expected—needed—him to be home before that because Sunny needed a family. She hadn’t emailed him yet this week and he guessed it was because she was caught up with Christmas preparations. He thought of the vast Christmas table at her grandparents’ house, of the preparation, of the work she’d be doing to make this Christmas wonderful.
And he had to fight back a longing so powerful it made him stop dead in the street.
A Christmas tree bumped into him and apologies were everywhere. The tree—Mum and Dad under it, three kids trailing behind—went on its way and he watched its going.
Christmas trees were being half towed, half carried along the snow-covered streets, lugged by laughing friends, mums and dads, grandpas, tribes of kids. Young women breezed past him in bright, happy groups, laden with Christmas shopping. An elderly lady slipped on the icy pavement and her husband fell to his knees to help her. They were surrounded in an instant by a crowd of people aching to assist. The lady rose shakily to her feet, smiling her thanks. The old man put his arm around her and ushered her into the warmth of a nearby café.
He was lonely.
The thought almost blindsided him. He, Max Grayland, who’d carefully built his life so he needed no one, was lonely.
How could he be lonely? He had this new person in his life, a beautiful little girl he’d grown to love. Back home he had Eliza, and Karen and her little Harry, increasingly belonging, increasingly filling the apartment with charm and laughter.
At work there were people everywhere.
He was surrounded, so how could he be lonely?
They’d been walking past shop windows full of brightly lit Christmas tableaux. Phoebe had been fascinated but was now drifting to contented sleep. He needed to get her home. And there was another jolt. Home.
How come, filled with all these people, his apartment didn’t feel like home?
It must be Christmas, he decided savagely. He hated this time of year. It did his head in. And this year, once again he couldn’t hide away with his accounts and a formal dinner with his friends.
Karen and Eliza would both be spending the day with their families.
It’d be just him and Phoebe.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. He was getting maudlin. What was different? He could still bring in his accounts and work when Phoebe slept. And when she was awake...they could have fun.
They’d have more fun if Sunny was here.
His phone pinged in his jacket pocket and he almost lunged to reach it. He’d set his emails to silent. They were a huge constant in his life, almost overwhelming, but there was one email address he’d given priority to, and set up an alert.
Sunny.
And the words on the screen were heart-wrenching.
Hi Max
Sorry for the silence. I had to make a decision whether to tell you and decided not to. We didn’t want you making some heroic effort to come for something that really affected only our family. But I need to let you know now.
Pa died a week ago last Sunday, suddenly, in his sleep, from a massive stroke. He’d had a lovely afternoon in the garden you’ve helped make so beautiful. All of us had been here for one of Gran’s roasts, which he presided over. He didn’t eat much but he seemed happy and contented as Gran and I helped him to bed. He made one of his awful puns that made us giggle, then hugged us goodnight and went to sleep. And didn’t wake.
So his passing was as good as it could be. That doesn’t mean we’re not all gutted, but we know to count our blessings.
We had his funeral in the little church you came to with us, the church he and Gran have attended all their lives. It was lovely. Now it’s hard to believe it’s over but we’re trying to pick up the pieces. All our care has to be for Gran. She’d been needed so much for so long and suddenly she’s lost. We’re caring for her as best we can but her grief...
I don’t know how to help her and it’s doing my head in.
Enough, though. You don’t need to worry, we’ll get through this.
Your hamper arrived yesterday. It has pride of place under the Christmas tree but we’re not opening it until Christmas morning. Though I’ll admit I had a peek and saw the cherry liqueurs. Thank you. That’s one thing I can now remember that I can forget.
We hope you and Phoebe have a lovely Christmas Day. I suspect all the kids will text you after they open the hamper, but I thought I should give you this heads-up first.
Christmas will be strange but it’ll still happen.
Love you
Sunny
He didn’t move. He couldn’t. Shoppers, Christmas trees, bundles of gifts on legs, had to detour around the man standing in the middle of the pavement staring at his phone.
John was dead and he hadn’t known.
Sunny would be gutted.
But more... His thoughts didn’t stay with Sunny. They moved tangentially to Ruby, to the lovely old lady who’d taken in her five grandchildren and loved them so fiercely. And to the rest of Sunny’s family. He imagined them at the funeral, young men and women fiercely protecting their gran. Gutted with grief. Loving...
He should have been there.
Home.
Why did the word slam back and stay? Why was it so powerful it didn’t let him move?
He crouched down, almost involuntarily, and gathered Phoebe up into his arms. She was almost asleep, but happy to be hugged. She nuzzled into his neck, warm and secure.
Loved.
Sunny had given him this.
Home.
The tableau in the store behind him changed its tune from a corny rendition of Jingle Bells to a softer, lovelier melody.
Silent Night.
Sleep in heavenly peace...
Knowing she was loved.
And across the world... Sunny would be sleeping alone because he, Max Grayland, thought independence was everything.
He thought again of that front row pew at the funeral. Of grief. Loss went with love, he thought. That was why he’d held himself so tight, so rigid, so aloof. To deny himself something he wanted to be a part of so much it was a physical pain.
Sunny...
He was walking. He was moving automatically back towards the apartment, pushing the stroller with one hand, cradling Phoebe with the other, because there was no way he was putting her down.
He needed her.
And there was another flash of insight so great it almost blindsided him. He’d taken on Phoebe’s care because she needed him but now...
He needed her.
He could never go back to what he had been. His defences had been breached and he didn’t want them.
And his feet kept moving. He knew what he wanted and he was a man on his way to get it.
He had four days before Christmas. No. Three days, he reminded himself because Australia was almost a day ahead.
There was so much to organise...but if there was one thing Max Grayland was good at it was organising.
There was so much to hope for...and that was one thing he wasn’t good at. Max Grayland liked certainty. He liked his world being ordered. He liked...
No. He didn’t like any more, he reminded himself. He loved and that was a whole new ball game.
It meant that life as he knew it was about to turn upside down.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WAS PUTTING one foot in front of the other. Going through the motions. Getting through it.
They’d discussed—briefly—going out for Christmas dinner. Taking a picnic to the park. Booking into a restaurant. Anything to take the focus off the empty chair, the empty space, the emptiness of grief. But in the end Gran needed the quietness of this place, time with her family. So the kids were all here.
Sam was manfully carving the roast, trying to pretend it was no big deal to be doing what Pa had done for years. Gran was pretending to eat. They were pretending to laugh at the dumb jokes in the bonbons. They were wearing silly party hats, thinking of stories to fill the silence. Anything...