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‘I thought you’d figured this out,’ Simone whispers urgently.
‘I have,’ I say crisply. ‘Things are good. They’re fine.’
‘Fine?’ Simone stares at me. ‘They should be fabulous. You have a wonderful woman and you’re—’
‘Fine. It’s under control.’
‘It clearly isn’t,’ Simone mutters. ‘She said that she’s merely the mother of your baby. That’s all. That there’s still time for one of them to make their move.’
Anger swishes inside—I’m an overfilled bucket about to spill. ‘Talia can say whatever she wants.’
And it was a sarcastic comment, right? But one I don’t want her to say. Not to any of these people. Not at all. Especially when she’s not said anything like it to me first.
I visually sweep the crowded bar but can’t spot her. Was this event too soon? Maybe she wasn’t ready. Maybe she felt more pressure than I realised. Or maybe she’s messing with me and I don’t know why. I thought I had iron-clad defences and could handle this.
Are we my parents creating public drama? People will talk if you give them something to talk about. And of course there was always going to be talk about us, but she’s inexplicably caused more. That she’s merely the mother of my child?
Rot.
How could she say such a thing when minutes before we arrived she was pressed close, begging me to take her? She was barely able to control herself, supple and slick in my arms, her eyes like jewels, dazed and full of desire, uncaring that we were in the back of a moving car. I battle the urge to find her, pull her close and prove to everyone present just how much she isn’t merely anything. Prove to her that she can’t resist me.
But I can’t stand a scene and we’re already a scene just by being here.
I still can’t see her in the bar and a suspicion chills me. Has she run away from the party? The bigger question is whether she’s run away altogether. That emotion I thought I could suppress so easily? It burns and my control slips. While she wants me, she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t want to need me and I suspect she doesn’t want to want me either.
I struggle to keep my breathing even. I thought things were going to be okay. But it seems I’m wrong and my only relief is that Lukas is too young to be aware of any of this. We need to sort this out properly before he gets any older.
As I walk through the crowd one of the barmen slips me a scrap of paper. I glance at the scrawled note.
She’s feeling unwell. She’s sorry. She’s taken a taxi home.
She’s so damned proud. So damned independent. So damned defensive. I have a love-hate relationship with those things about her. Right now it’s more a hate thing.
I crumple the paper and shove it in my pocket. She thinks she’s been discreet in arranging this message, instead she’s given the bar staff something to gossip about as well as half the guests. But I refuse to let anyone know how irate I am.
‘Talia and I won’t be able to attend the play, please enjoy it without us.’ I mention the pertinent ‘facts’ to a key group who I know will pass the information on. ‘Lukas is unsettled.’ I smile and act as if I’m not seething inside. ‘Talia’s gone ahead already but I need to be with them both.’
I ignore Simone’s silent scrutiny and say nothing extra to her. I tell the bartenders to be liberal with the champagne. It might help everyone forget Talia’s comment. Except I don’t care about any of them or what they think any more. I just want to get out of here and home to her. I want to make sure she has gone home.
Fear slices through me. I need to talk to her. But I need to regain control first. Good thing there’s a drive to endure. I count the seconds as my chauffeur speeds through the darkening streets but it doesn’t stop my brain from racing from one horrible thought to another.
I finally arrive back at the house. It’s dark. I grit my teeth and head upstairs hoping like hell she’s actually here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Talia
I’M SUPPOSED TO be sitting in some fancy theatre right now. Instead I’m pacing around my room. I can’t lie still because of the pounding on one side of my head. The killer headache is my own fault. I hadn’t drunk a whole real coffee in so long it really affected me. I doubled back to the bar from the café and got one of the barmen to pass a note to Dain before getting in a cab. Now I’m jittery and nauseous as hell and I can’t think what to do.
But my gut knows. My gut’s already made me take action.
He’s inspired strong feelings within me from the first. I’ve been passionate, possessive, jealous—yep, a whole gamut of intensity. But now I know everything I feel boils down to the one base element. Not lust. It’s much richer and deeper than that.
I’m in love with him.
And the longer I’m around him, the further in love I’m falling. Now I feel even more sick. I can’t let myself drown. I can’t want it all like this—because it’s an impossibility.
I’ve never felt as overwhelmed in my life as I did in that champagne bar with the blinding smiles and brilliant jewels and scintillating talk of things I know nothing about. My inferiority? I’ve never known it like that. I’m just not on his level. And to prove it I screwed up in seconds.
