Suddenly Expecting

by Paula Roe

  “You’re terrible.”

  He laughed again, and again she felt the burden of the past few weeks shift.

  Finally, something was going right. If only she could fix things with Marco.

  Her expression must’ve given something away, because Connor’s brow suddenly creased.

  “Problem?”

  “Oh, besides the gossip, pregnancy hormones and the fact Marco won’t speak to me?”

  “Well, you’re not exactly speaking to him, are you?”

  She opened her mouth to deny it but wisely closed it instead. “Plus his network contract’s up for negotiation, so naturally they’re speculating on that, too.”

  “They won’t drop him. He’s too much of a draw.” Connor leaned back, cradling his beer with a small smile.

  “What’s that look for?”

  “It’s awesome you two are finally a couple. I always knew there was something, despite your denials.”

  “Connor, we’re not. We’re not speaking.”

  “Only because he’s not here. Wait until you guys see each other again...next week, right?”

  “Yes. At the awards thing.”

  “There you go. You’ll be in Sydney, in a hotel. A perfect opportunity to talk alone.” When Kat remained silent, he impatiently tapped a finger against his bottle. “Listen. Is moping around with a head full of what-ifs better? No. Just say you love him, then kiss and make up.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “Sure you do.”

  “No...” Yeah. You do.

  It was like a revelation. As if something fundamental had changed deep inside her. The false positive, the adoption, the baby had all added bit by bit to this moment, forcing her to see what was truly important in her life. To reassess again, to work out what was of true value to her.

  The answer was so blindingly simple she gasped from the impact.

  Marco. He was the one.

  She sighed. “I told him we’re just friends a few times, Connor,” she said softly, voicing the doubt that had plagued her the past few days. “Surely there comes a time when he actually takes me at my word.”

  “You’re talking about Marco here,” Connor said. “And anyway, you’re his best friend and you’re having a baby together. He can’t cut you out of his life permanently.”

  Kat nodded, saying nothing. Three times she’d pushed him back into the friends zone, and three times he’d not put up a fight.

  Surely that said something?

  She sighed, leaning back into the sofa. Either way, she’d have her answer next week.

  She took a shaky breath. This was scary, so much scarier than anything she’d ever done in her life. Because in laying everything out there, there was a real possibility of rejection.

  He could reject her. Say he just wanted to remain friends. And the question was, would she be satisfied with that?

  Ten

  The next five days were a crazy, breathless mess of activity. Kat was flat out at work, working on the Cyclone Rory stories, the follow-ups, the charity lines, but the overwhelming media attention on her personal life had started to impact on her work, with some sponsors severing their partnership at the last minute, leaving her frustrated and angry. Outwardly, Grace didn’t seem overly concerned, but Kat knew she was furious. Couple that with their already cool tension, and work was not a pleasant place to be.

  Marco had managed to call her once, the day of her ultrasound, but other than that, their texts had been short and sweet. And it broke Kat’s heart, knowing their friendship was showing those irreversible cracks.

  Finally something had to give. So the day before she was due to fly to Sydney, she walked into Grace’s office and firmly closed the door.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?” Grace asked, glancing up from stirring her morning coffee.

  “The interview. An exclusive.” She quickly put up a hand as Grace started to speak. “But everything—and I mean everything—has to go past me first.”

  Grace blinked slowly, then her face broke out into a huge grin as she shot to her feet. “Kat, this is brilliant! Wonderful! Oooooh...” She rounded the desk and embraced her in a cloud of perfume. “This has made my week...my month—hell, possibly my entire year!” Kat slowly pulled away, smiling thinly as her boss perched on the corner of her desk, beaming. “Can I ask you why now?”

  Kat shrugged. “Timing. It’s the right time.”

  Grace paused, watching her closely. “Really.”

  “Yep. Time to set the record straight once and for all. About everything.” She met her boss’s gaze unwaveringly, and in that small pause, an understanding passed between them, one that needed no words. This was Grace’s moment and Kat was giving it to her. They both knew there’d never be another opportunity, just as they both knew things had fundamentally changed between them these past few weeks.

  She knew it and Grace knew it.

  “When?” Grace finally asked.

  “Next week. After Sydney.”

  After another moment’s pause, her boss nodded. “I’ll set it up and let you know.”

  “Okay. And can you wait until after the awards before you start publicizing? The night should be about the players, not me,” she added with a thin smile.

  To her surprise, Grace nodded. “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” Kat moved toward the door, unprepared for the wave of sadness that engulfed her. They both knew it wasn’t just an interview date they were setting: it was Kat’s quitting date, too.

  Even knowing she was moving on to something bigger and better, something that really made her heart sing, didn’t make leaving hurt any less. Despite the stress, the imperfections and the recent personal issues, this job had come at a perfect time, when she’d needed it the most. She’d always be grateful for that.

  “Grace,” she said now. “I want to thank you for—”

  “No.” The older woman shook her head, smiling softly as she reached for her ringing phone. “I thank you. It’s been a pleasure working with you, Katerina Jackson.”

  Their gazes held for a moment, then Grace answered her call and it was Kat’s cue to leave.

  * * *

  Kat flew into Sydney on Saturday and spent all day getting massaged, primped and fussed over, satisfied she’d gained at least some control over the spiraling situation. Meanwhile, Marco spent hours under harsh studio lights dressed in nothing but his underwear, fulfilling his Skins contract, so the first time they actually saw each other was half an hour before the limo picked them up for the FFA awards ceremony.

  When she heard the knock at her hotel door, she nervously smoothed down her pale blue satin dress and pushed her hair behind her ears. All the half sentences she’d barely had time to practice crumbled on her tongue when she opened the door and saw him standing there, looking incredible and perfect in a designer suit and tie, his hair casually tousled and a familiar this’ll-be-fun smile on his generous mouth.

  His eyes swept over her thoroughly, taking in every last detail from her tight elaborate updo, to the dangling earrings and the strappy floor-length ice-blue ball gown with a respectable amount of ever-growing cleavage on show.

  Then he held out his arm, said softly, “You look beautiful,” and her heart just melted.

  Twenty minutes later, stepping out of the limo onto the red carpet together, Kat took a moment to note the familiar players currently in European competition, now all returned for this special night that honored Australian-born sportsmen and women. As usual a smattering of die-hard and local fans stood behind the roped barriers, taking photos, and she felt her mouth curve, her expression calm.

  She was ready to face the crowd.

  She spent minutes gaining more confidence, her tension relaxing as she mingled with people she knew,
chatting casually to old acquaintances.

  This was going to be a good night, she thought as they made their way slowly down the carpet. No intrusive press, no focus on her. Just dinner and the awards. Yet as she turned, midsmile, and saw a familiar figure stride across the carpet, she faltered.

  James Carter. James Bloody Carter.

  Marco’s former Marseille teammate, the Irish-born center who’d charmed her for over a year then convinced her to get married in a quickie Bali wedding. Then had promptly shagged some woman in their bridal suite seventy-two hours later.

  It was too much to expect that he’d gotten fat and ugly in the years since she’d last seen him. If anything he was more handsome, more toned. Broader in the shoulders, leaner at the waist. His flashy suit set off a healthy physique so discreetly that to the untrained eye it might have seemed effortless. Kat knew better.

  “What?” Marco was squeezing her arm, and she glanced up to see the concern in his face.

  “James is here.”

  His mouth twisted briefly. “Really?”

  She frowned, ignoring the fact they were on a red carpet with cameras within recording distance. “Wasn’t he supposed to be in Italy or something?”

  “Yeah.” He took a step forward and they kept on walking. “Look, he’s just a presenter. He’ll be onstage most of the time, not at our table. He won’t come over, and if he does, just say nothing.”

  “Easy for you to say. He’s not the one who cheated on you.”

  Marco sighed. “Just...be cool, okay?”

  She snorted. “I am always cool.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He squeezed her hand, she grinned at him, and suddenly it was just as it was before, where they’d been so familiar, so close. So comfortable.

  Damn, she missed that. It’d been three weeks since she’d seen him, and boy, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him until he’d turned up at her door dressed in a formal suit and one of his expensive silk ties. And when he’d smiled...it had taken a massive effort not to tackle him then and there.

  Now, with the heat rising in her belly, she glanced around at the smattering of people who’d stopped to rubberneck, the long red carpet that led into the plush foyer and the familiar faces of Sydney’s football community. With a deep breath, she put on a smile and firmly shoved everything else from her mind. This was Marco’s night, and she should just enjoy it. There was time enough for stress and worry later.

  * * *

  The ballroom easily seated two hundred and was elegantly decorated, with tiny blue downlights in the ceiling casting a cool glow over the round banquet tables. The tables themselves featured art deco–style centerpieces. People hovered around the bar, and a slide show above the stage was playing highlights of the past season backed by a classic-rock sound track.

  Surprisingly, despite the presence of cameras and James, Kat was less tense than she thought she’d be. For one, the evening was about the awards and the players, not her. There were no intrusive questions or random photos or the usual stares-and-whispers from complete strangers. Sure, there were cameras, but she could smile nicely and handle a few shots. And as long as James kept his distance like he’d been doing for the past hour, she’d make it through the night unscathed.

  She smoothed her gown down, thankful for the flowing empire style that hid her growing belly, only just managing to stop herself before placing a telling hand on the thirteen-week-old bump as she walked over to the bar. Even though this was a private function and she was fairly relaxed, everyone was still equipped with a camera and a Twitter account.

  After she reached the bar and ordered drinks, she casually scanned the room, a small smile on her lips. A smile that immediately fell when she felt a guy standing way too close behind her. She frowned, preparing to say something, but when she glanced back, all the words just stuck in her throat.

  “Hi there, Kitty.”

  James Carter was standing there, all casual as you please, hands in his pockets, face creased into a charming grin. After darting her gaze around to see who was watching—and seeing the coast was clear—she sent him a withering look.

  “What do you want?”

  James’s smile was perfect—too perfect. “What—no hello? No ‘how’ve you been these last few years?’” His faint Irish accent oozed over her like thick molasses, bringing with it a wealth of conflicting memories.

  “I have nothing to say to you, James,” she snapped.

  His mouth quirked. “Is that any way to greet a long-lost—”

  “A long-lost what? A friend?” She snorted. “Let’s call it like it is. You’re my cheating ex—a drinking and gambling ex with a serious money-management problem.”

  “Kitty, darlin’...” His expression was pained. “Don’t be like that. I didn’t come over here to rehash old wounds.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She frowned. “So why? You want to give people more to talk about?”

  “No.” He drew a slow hand over his eyes. “But you’re kind of a one-woman pap magnet—the magazines and papers are all over you. I flew in for the awards and—”

  “I’m not interested in your life,” Kat interrupted, turning back to the bar.

  As she waited for her order, she could feel his scrutiny. Dammit, don’t take the bait. Just ignore him, and then go back to Marco. Ignore it, ignore it. Ignore—

  With a sigh, she turned to him. “Fine. What do you want, James?”

  “Forgiveness.”

  Kat blinked. “Sorry. Fresh out of that.”

  James took a step closer, and instinctively she stepped back against the bar. He winced. “Believe me, Ki-Kat. I’m truly sorry.”

  “Are you.”

  “Yes.”

  Kat flushed. “Well, ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She nodded to the barman and then took the drinks.

  “You know, after the divorce I spent a year working my way down to rock bottom,” he began stiffly, following her as she made her way across the room. “I got into a car accident, spent forever in rehab. I’m a completely different person now.”

  She stopped. “I know. I read all about it.” Briefly she recalled the headlines, the shock then relief she’d felt at reading about his struggles. “But I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

  “I told you. I want to make amends.”

  “Fine. You’ve apologized. Now I’m going.”

  “Wait.” His hand shot out, grabbing her elbow, and she stilled, staring at him.

  Slowly he withdrew then self-consciously looked around at the clusters of noisy people milling about the room.

  “You can’t expect absolution just because you ask for it. This is so typical of you, James.” She scowled. “So selfish. I was your trophy girlfriend and then you cheated on me. There’s no forgiving that.”

  “I know.” His expression dropped, and for a second he looked genuinely contrite. “I can’t excuse my past behavior.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  She moved off, hoping he’d get the hint, but still he followed, until she got to her table and she finally put the drinks down.

  James’s mouth thinned in frustration. “You never let me explain. I wanted to talk on our honeymoon, but you stormed off. And anyway, you weren’t such a saint yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. You had this chip on your shoulder the size of Alaska. You carried around your toughness as if it were some goddamn bravery badge, instead of the defense it really was. And I always had to compete with Marco. The perfect, do-no-wrong, everybody-loves-me Marco Corelli.”

  “He is my best friend!”

  “Really. Can you swear, right here and right now, that you never thought of
him as more?”

  “Of course not!” But she’d hesitated a second too long, and the look on James’s face said it all.

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, gaze darting to the people around them. “Oh, my God, James, I am so not doing this with you. This is ridiculous!”

  He glared at her, his handsome face twisted into angry lines, until he finally let out a breath, hand going to the back of his neck. “Look,” he muttered, his gaze firmly on the floor. “I didn’t come here to argue. I just wanted to—”

  “You okay, Kat?”

  Kat whirled, the words dying on her lips as her eyes collided with the steel of Marco’s at the same time his arm looped loosely around her waist.

  She was so stunned by the suddenly intimate gesture that she totally forgot to step away, to create a more platonic space between them. And Marco... Well, it was as if someone had cast a spell and turned him to stone, he was so still. Yet beneath that stillness, that cold expression, Kat could sense his body coiled as if he was ready to spring into action any second.

  Dangerous.

  “James,” Marco finally said, his voice low and painfully polite.

  James looked startled but swiftly recovered, holding out his hand. “Hi, Marco.”

  Marco slowly and pointedly looked at it and remained where he was. “Congratulations on your award. Player of the Year is quite an achievement.”

  James shot Kat a look of part frustration, part wariness. “Thank you.”

  She had to hand it to him—her ex was smooth. From the top of his expensively shaggy haircut to the soles of his shiny black dress shoes, the man had all the right props. He was someone who used charm and looks to get what he wanted.

  When he flashed a perfect let’s-all-be-friends-now smile, she couldn’t suppress one of her own. Oh, you’re good, aren’t you? So smooth. And Marco can see right through that.

  “So, Kat,” James was saying, “we need to talk some more. I’m in room fourteen-oh-five.”

  “She won’t be coming,” Marco cut in smoothly before she could reply.