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He wasn’t walking out fast enough for her coping mechanism.
‘It’ll be fun.’ She pasted on her best smile. ‘Really good.’
Still he stood in the middle of her lounge, not moving. ‘You’re sure you’ll be okay?’
She wasn’t an invalid. But she held back her mounting upset and made herself beam. ‘Yes. Go.’
And thank heavens, he did.
She ran to the bathroom, her mouth filling with bitter spit. Then she spent five minutes brushing her teeth. Then she looked in the mirror.
She couldn’t help wondering about the baby—would it inherit her orange hair and skimmed milk complexion? She sure hoped not, she hoped it would have all of Jack’s genes and none of hers. Except that wasn’t quite possible.
Poor thing.
He was so handsome. Everything that was perfect. And she just wasn’t.
She stared at her reflection, bent forward and took the contacts out and then stood and stared even harder. She’d stopped bleaching her hair the minute she’d found out she was pregnant. So her natural orange was starting to show through already, her skin was paler than tissue paper and speckled all over.
She was what every kid in the playground had called her—a freak.
If she had a sparkling personality maybe that would cancel it out. But she wasn’t one of those really outgoing sort who could talk to anyone about anything. One-to-one conversation she could do, but a room full of party people?
No.
And while she might be a damn good web designer, that wasn’t exactly a talent that scored accolades.
But the father of her baby wasn’t just modelicious-looking, he was seriously monied and an international sporting star. He’d have a million beautiful women throwing themselves at him tonight. And why would he refuse them?
Why would he want her instead of them?
Short answer—he wouldn’t. He didn’t. He never would.
And that was when—for the first time all week—the tears finally fell.
She went back into her little lounge and curled up with a cushion, burying her face in it as she howled. Knowing damn well she was being pathetic. She was resigned to her looks, was content to make herself ‘quirky’ rather than cute. But sometimes, just sometimes, she wished she’d been born pretty.
This was so one of those times. And where was a fairy godmother when you needed her?
Jack felt as if an army of ants was dancing up and down his spinal cord. He fidgeted as he walked towards the venue, his feet slowing as he saw it in the distance. He really didn’t want to go there. Not without Kelsi. He’d hoped she might say yes to coming with him. He knew she liked art and the function was being held in the city gallery. But she’d shied away from the invite. Even though he’d deliberately kept it casual, she’d still said no.
Hell, he should have said no, too. He didn’t feel like seeing the other guys. He just wanted to be with Kelsi. He was tired of fighting it. They had to get to some better arrangement—he had some feelings that were worsening, not lessening. Denial wasn’t doing it. He stopped in the middle of the path and thought for another split second.
And then he turned around. As the house came back into view he imagined it whole again, imagined it filled Kelsi-style—with that warm, welcoming chaos that somehow he’d gotten used to. There was security in all that stuff. She’d make it such a great home. A funny feeling splintered his chest and he realized something—his baby was lucky.
She didn’t answer when he knocked. But her door wasn’t locked and he couldn’t not check on her. Surely she couldn’t be asleep already—he’d been gone less than half an hour. He’d just peek and see.
She was on the sofa, tucked into the cushions. Maybe she was asleep. But then he saw her shoulders move.
‘Kelsi?’
She jerked up, swiftly turning away from him. ‘What are you doing back here?’
‘I didn’t—’ He broke off and saw her shoulders shudder again.
She was crying.
‘What’s wrong? Is something wrong?’ His heart pounded faster than the first time he’d attempted a 1080 and smashed down flat on his face.
