Expecting His Love-Child

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I get the message.’ She halted him with a shaking hand, her tense face splitting into a rueful smile, tears stinging at the back of her nose, wishing he would stop. But Levander hadn’t even started.

  ‘You know, I don’t think you do—so I make this clear. You are not a prisoner—your passport is in the safe and you know the combination. Walk out through that door—go back to England—the choice is yours.’

  ‘I just need to think,’ Millie said helplessly. ‘I’m not saying no to marriage…’

  She was going. It was all he could hear—all that consumed him. All week he’d been waiting, knowing that now she knew the truth of what he was she would leave him. She was going and taking his baby, and as sure as night followed day Levander knew she wouldn’t be coming back. The second she got home, back to her family, they’d claim her, talk to her, tell her just how much she didn’t need him.

  She was going—and he’d move heaven and earth to stop her walking through that door. He didn’t deserve her, but he couldn’t let her go.

  ‘You try to keep me from this baby—I warn you how it will be.’ Once again his deepening accent signalled his inner emotional turmoil. His eyes were as black as the darkest night as he fought with the gloves off. ‘It is your shame that was smeared over the newspapers—your talk of ending the pregnancy that is documented. You are the one walking out on a chance of giving our child a stable home—you deny my child a chance to properly get to know its father. See how far you get.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’

  ‘Then I will explain better,’ Levander sneered. ‘You are some two-bit artist who when we met hadn’t sold so much as a painting. There is one advantage to being a Kolovsky—money—and if I have to work in the family business for ever I will do it—if I have to spend every last cent ensuring my child is brought up beside his father I will.’

  ‘Levander…’ Fear was licking at the edges—real fear. His demands were so unreasonable it was almost impossible to fathom that he was serious. But he was. If she went back to England then she’d be plunged into hell: her private life spewed across the papers, endless lawyers and bills and fighting…But how, after issuing such threats, could he possibly expect her to stay?

  ‘We’ll go away.’

  His voice was hoarse. As quickly as that he had changed. He had been a ball of lightning, rolling towards her, hissing anger and singeing all in its wake, but suddenly his anger had dispersed, replaced with an urgency that scared her on a different level—it scared her for him. For just a split second she glimpsed the little boy he must have been—the scared child whose life had been ripped away from him by the untimely death of his mother. Then the shutters came down, but he continued softly, urgently.

  ‘Right now. We’ll go somewhere we can talk. I will arrange it now—we will go this afternoon. I will try…’ His eyes were imploring her to listen, to just please hear him out, two black holes of dark emotion as he offered her the impossible. ‘I will try to let you know me.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘NEARLY there now.’

  They’d barely spoken the whole journey, but Millie didn’t mind. As they’d headed for the fabulous tropical north, leaving the cool southern winter behind, the silence had at first been strained, then mutual. Both were lost in their thoughts, both trying to comprehend the magnitude of whatever lay ahead. Slowly, as the plane had gobbled up the miles, the tension had seeped out of them, and by the time they arrived at Great Barrier Reef Airport, where they boarded a seaplane to take them for the final leg of their journey, they were actually managing to string together a few words.

  Millie’s face was pressed to the window. She was taking in the azure of the water, so clear she could see the fish, and occasionally lush green islands rushing beneath them like some fabulous holiday brochure.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ Millie breathed. ‘But cross with myself.’

  ‘Cross?’

  ‘I should have made the effort to get up here the first time. I can’t believe I might have missed out on seeing this.’

  ‘You haven’t seen anything yet.’

  He wasn’t exaggerating.

  A small speedboat greeted them, taking them on their last journey, sweeping them up to the beach—and it was like stepping into paradise as Levander helped her out. Cool water lapped around her ankles, and a gentle breeze skimmed over the Pacific Ocean, heralding the arrival of dusk. The endless white sand was so soft and powdery it was as inviting as a bed, and beyond low wooden huts blended so carefully with the forest of trees that at first glance they were missed entirely.

  ‘This whole island belongs to your family?’

  ‘It does. This was one of my father’s wiser decisions—he bought it for a song when mortgage rates soared and everyone was going under. At the time he couldn’t afford it, of course, but now…’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Millie breathed.

  ‘I come here a lot.’ She heard the full stop, and watched as he faltered, as he visibly attempted to do what he had promised to do—let her in to his thoughts. ‘Mainly I come alone—here I seem to relax.’

  ‘I can see why.’ Millie smiled. ‘It’s just stunning.’

  ‘It is,’ Levander said simply, taking her elbow and leading her along the beach to a vast hut, along its decking and through a vast marabou door.

  Though it was simply furnished it too was stunning—massive white sofas, beneath a whirring ceiling fan, the focal point of the lounge. All the shutters on the windows were open and the setting sun streamed hues of orange against the white walls. Endless white sofas were littered with cushions, family photos adorned surfaces and walls—it was way more intimate than the lavish hotel Levander called home.

  Millie took her time looking at the photos, smiling at a younger Levander, serious and scowling at a family wedding—but even as she smiled it tore at her heart. His undocumented childhood had never been more evident as she stared at dark-haired, dark-eyed twins racing around on tricycles, and Annika too, blonde and gorgeous, beaming out of her pram.

  ‘Is that you?’ Millie jumped at the prospect, picking up a black and white baby photo and staring at the solemn eyes and the thatch of dark hair.

  ‘That is my father.’ Levander glanced over. ‘I am not so old that I wore a dress as a baby.’

  ‘He looks like you.’ Millie laughed. ‘Or rather, you look like him. I wonder…’ A shiver of the most unexpected excitement rippled through her. The fleeting maternal impulses that had seen her through to date were beating more strongly now, coursing through her and settling to a rhythm, thrumming into a beat, as she surveyed this magnificent gene pool—as the baby deep inside her was fashioned into more than a possibility. An almost tangible image was teasing her mind’s eye as she merged their features.

  ‘I wonder too.’ Levander finished her sentence for her. ‘Since I found out I have wondered if he will be blond…’ She opened her mouth to correct him, but Levander spoke over her. ‘Or if she will be dark.’

  ‘What would you like?’ Millie asked. ‘I mean, I know it doesn’t matter, but if you could choose, what would you like our baby to be…?’

  He really seemed to think about it—frowning at her question, then shaking his head.

  ‘I’ll think about it and let you know.’

  Which was rather a strange answer, but she didn’t dwell on it. Her mouth had dropped open as for the first time she saw her picture—the one she herself had painted.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that…’ Even if he’d meant well, even if he’d done it for all the right reasons, still it was wrong. Her hard-fought-for success seemed not so worthy now. ‘We both agreed that that would be cheating.’

  ‘There was no cheating. I followed up with the lady who bought it. She was happy with my price.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He heard her little thud of disappointment and smiled. ‘She is an art dealer, Millie—she bought it to sell it on. You are going to have to get used to
that. People will not always buy your work for sentimental reasons.’

  ‘So why did you?’ Her cheeks flushed as she asked, a tiny glow flickering inside as she awaited his answer. But it was soon doused when Levander shrugged and then stared at the picture.

  ‘It interests me, I suppose…’ He peered a bit more closely. ‘Really I have never invested in art. But perhaps I will think about it now…’

  ‘So it’s just us here?’ Millie checked, changing the subject, trying to hide her disappointment, kicking herself for expecting anything more and staring beyond to the vast view outside. ‘Well, apart from the staff.’

  She could see them on the beach—setting up a table, lighting a fire—but Levander had promised seclusion and he really meant it.

  ‘They will leave soon—they come twice a day while there are guests.

  ‘Do they live here on the island?’

  ‘No—there…’ He headed to a window and pointed at some glittering lights, seemingly miles away. “That is a luxury hotel, some ten kilometres away. The staff are from there.’

  ‘So, no Room Service at night?’ Millie said, blowing her fringe skywards as she let out a breath and reeled at the opulence of the Kolovskys’ existence, trying and failing to see how she could ever even begin to belong.

  ‘If you want something, then I’m sure it can be arranged.’ There was a distinctive edge to his voice. ‘I’ll go and tell them we’re ready to eat. Would you like to shower before dinner?’

  Even in the middle of nowhere—even in the most romantic setting on God’s earth—it would seem there were still formalities to be observed. Still there was protocol to follow if you were dining with a Kolovsky.

  ‘Of course.’ Mille gave a tight smile. ‘I shan’t be long.’

  She’d spent that morning in a spending frenzy. Utterly unable to stomach another Kolovsky freebie, she’d taken a thoroughly excited Anton on a shopping spree—though he’d been initially less than delighted to learn she would have to postpone her ‘meet the artist’ night—and had spent half her earnings to date on what she hoped was a suitably fantastic holiday wardrobe. It seemed to have helped him get over his disappointment. Now making her way into the bedroom, ready to pull out the few inches of gold fabric Anton had selected from her suitcase, Millie blinked at the impeccable room. After a moment she realised there would be no unpacking. It had all been taken care of—her new clothes were hanging neatly in the wardrobe, her new shoes were neatly arranged on the floor, her perfume, make-up, even her hair straighteners were all neatly arranged in the fabulous bathroom.

  The Kolovskys’ attempt at low key made her swoon in wonder. Everything was cool white, from the floor-to-ceiling marble to the fluffy white robe and towels, and one wall entirely taken up with the biggest mirror Millie had ever seen—it was like stepping into a movie set. She wanted to fill the bath with bubbles and sink into it. But worried her hair would frizz, she pulled on a cap and settled for a quick shower instead. After that she pulled on her very new, very expensive, not particularly comfortable underwear—but the effect was surely worth it, Millie thought. She picked up her dress and pulled the raw silk over her head, the luxurious material hugging the curves of her body as she stepped back to check herself in the mirror.

  Pregnancy was certainly starting to wreak its changes on her body. Her breasts, which had always bordered on generous, were like two ripe peaches now—and just as bruisable. The tender nipples were like two thistles sticking out under her dress, and nothing was going to slim down the curve of her buttocks to the supermodel proportions he was no doubt used to.

  And yet…

  …she felt beautiful.

  The strange, slightly angular jut of her stomach as she stood side on fascinated her.

  Pressing her hand against the dress, Millie closed her eyes. Instead of a soft, doughy mound of tummy, she was greeted instead with a hard wedge of flesh.

  ‘Does it move?’

  He made her jump, but Millie gave a resigned sigh—since when would a closed bathroom door stop a man like Levander?

  ‘The baby, I mean,’ Levander elaborated when Millie failed to answer, a touch embarrassed that he had caught her staring at herself.

  ‘It was jumping around like anything on the scan.’ Millie smiled at the memory. ‘But I don’t think I can feel it yet. The doctor said not for a few more weeks.’

  ‘You don’t think you can feel it?’

  ‘Sometimes…’ Millie gave a rueful smile at her own imagination. ‘Sometimes I think I feel a little flutter, but the doctor said it was probably just—’ She chose not to go on. She didn’t really want to discuss her digestive system with him. But it was nice that he was so interested—nice that he wasn’t angry, or mocking, or any of the other hateful things he could so often be. ‘Do you want to feel?’ Beneath her foundation she was blushing to her roots, but comfortable with her decision all the same. Sex was utterly off her agenda till this entire mess was sorted, but this wasn’t about that. ‘I mean, there’s nothing to actually feel, but…’

  ‘I would love to.’

  His hand through her dress was thankfully more intimate than sexy. Even if her bump wasn’t exactly spectacular, he ran a fascinated hand over her and it was his moment to keep. His hand moved up and cupped the soft jut of her stomach so tentatively that Millie gave a soft laugh.

  ‘You won’t feel anything like that; here—’ She pressed his hand in harder, pushing his index finger in between her pubic bone and her tummy button, just enough so that he could feel the firm ridge of her uterus, and she stared down at their entwined hands. The glitter of the diamond on her finger caught her eye. It was a diamond given for the wrong reasons, but somehow it felt right that it was there. And she knew from the way he held her, from the intent concentration and wonder on his face, that come what may her baby would always have a father, that whatever transpired between them Levander would be in this child’s life for ever.

  ‘I would like our baby to be happy.’ Levander smiled at her confusion at his unexpected statement. ‘I was thinking about what you asked, and I guess if our baby is happy we will have done a good job.’

  She’d meant would he want a boy or a girl—had thought surely he had understood that—yet the answer he gave was exactly the right one. Strange that it brought tears to her eyes…

  ‘Everything is local produce.’

  A waiter was ladling barramundi onto her plate. The tangy citrus of lime reached her nostrils, and tiny, heavily buttered baby potatoes tossed through caramelised shallots soaked up the fragrant juices. She felt the strategically lit fire warming her bare shoulders as the smoke drifted down-wind.

  ‘It looks fabulous.’

  It tasted it too, and under any other circumstances Millie would have closed her eyes and relished the cocktail of taste on her tongue. Under any other circumstances perhaps she would then have opened them and gazed in awe at her dining partner…

  …just not this one.

  As the waiter melted into the shadows Millie chanced a peek from under her curled and blackened eyelashes and rued the promise of make-up.

  Truly impeccable features could only ever be enhanced by nature—and the low half-moon hanging like a strategic lantern in the navy sky did the job perfectly, shadowing his jawline, the jut of his exquisite cheekbones slicing through his face, over the dark, suspicious eyes that watched her.

  ‘Do they have to be here?’

  “Who?’ Levander frowned.

  ‘The staff,’ Millie attempted, leaning forward, speaking in a low whisper, afraid that the waiter might hear what she was saying. ‘I just don’t feel we can really talk…’

  ‘They are not listening to us.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Millie retorted. ‘I’ve been a waitress, remember—your waitress—and look where we ended up.’

  ‘I can dismiss them for tonight, if it makes you more comfortable. If you are not happy with the service, I will tell them to be more discreet, to—’

  ‘
The service is fabulous…fabulous,’ Millie said, her urgent whisper drifting across the table. ‘But we might as well be sitting in a restaurant in Melbourne, or London, or anywhere on the globe…’

  ‘I don’t get you, Millie—I tell you I am taking you away, somewhere we will not be disturbed, you disappear for three hours, come back with your hair done and a whole new wardrobe. You are no sooner here than you moan there will be no room service…’

  ‘I was being—’ Millie attempted, but Levander spoke over her.

  ‘You put on a gold dress for dinner, and use a trowel for your make-up, and now you complain that you want low-key.’

  God, he could be so brutal at times!

  ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to be with you, Levander,’ she returned, salty, glitter-filled tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘I know myself is the obvious answer, but since you came along I don’t know who I am any more. I just hoped it would be the two of us.’

  He didn’t say anything. Just stood up from the table and headed over to the waiter, speaking in low tones Millie couldn’t hear before rejoining her.

  ‘They are leaving. There are enough provisions in the cupboards and freezers; I do not have staff when I am here by myself. I just wasn’t sure what you would want.’

  ‘Touché.’ Millie sniffed, then managed a watery smile. ‘You could have at least waited till they’d cleared up after dinner. I’m joking,’ she added, in case he thought she was being precious.

  ‘We met when you were clearing tables—and if you had any idea of the effect you have on me, you’d know how delighted I am to farewell the staff.’

  It was dark enough that he couldn’t see her blush, but it was a dangerous hint of a flirt and it worried her. Till they’d sorted out this mess, he’d jolly well better forget about any of that.