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“Because you’re moving too fast, Saint Theodore.” She shook her hands free of his.
“Theodore Saint Garvey Montgomery,” he clarified. “And what about your experience with me makes you think I move any other way?”
“I thought you wanted a paternity test?” She paced back to the table. “Let’s both take a beat while we wait for the results. After that, if we decide to try—” her voice faltered “—living together, I’ll give notice at work.”
“Do you really doubt that I’m the father?” he asked with a frown.
“I thought you did.”
He chewed the corner of his mouth, thinking about the way she’d flinched when he’d said back at the hotel that he couldn’t take her word for it.
“My father will want one, but you and I need to be able to trust each other, so tell me the truth—I swear I won’t be angry. Is there someone else who could be the father?”
She flinched again, making him want to probe why, but after a moment of hesitation, she pressed her lips together and shook her head, conceding, “You’re the only person I’ve been with.”
“Good.” A strange sensation washed through him. It was something like relief and something like elation. It sank so deeply into him, it crept toward places he guarded very closely, threatening to get under the door.
“How is that good?” Fliss asked skeptically.
“You’re being honest with me. That’s very good.” He was side-stepping what she had really asked so he didn’t have to explain his inexplicable reaction. He was far more comfortable with stepping into action. “Now, you said yourself that you’ll be showing soon, so let’s get ahead of this. Come to New York with me, and we’ll let people see we’re in a relationship. We’ll announce the baby news when we can no longer hide it.” He took out his phone to text Willow. “What’s evening traffic like? Is it realistic that we could be at the airport in two hours?”
“No.I just finished bringing my things from London. I can’t pack up my life again in ten minutes. Where would I even put it?”
“I genuinely don’t understand the question.” He searched Fliss’s distressed expression, trying to see the problem. “I’ll pay the rent here until we find a place in London, then I’ll hire movers to bring all of this there. Pack what you want with you in New York, which I presume is that photo of Granny and your tarot cards. Text your employer that you quit. We’ll say goodbye to Mrs. Bhamra on the way out of town.”
Fliss was on Saint’s private jet before she had fully absorbed what she had agreed to do, but it was too late for all the qualms that piled on her with the climb in altitude.
This was the real fall from the Tower, she realized. She was literally in the air, the life she’d built, such as it was, falling away. She didn’t even have a job to go back to. She had a few hundred pounds in the bank and Mrs. Bhamra’s insistence that she should call if she needed anything.
As they reached cruising altitude, the flight attendant offered drinks and asked if they would like her to prepare their meal.
“I’ve eaten, thanks,” Fliss said, stifling a yawn.
“I’ll eat later.” Saint frowned with concern at her. “Are you tired?”
She’d nodded off in the car on the drive to the airport, so she ought to have had a little more in her, but, “I was up really early this morning, and it was a long day. I wouldn’t mind shutting my eyes for a bit.” Plus, she needed time to process all that had happened.
“Use the bed.” He unclipped his seat belt and rose. “Come. I’ll show you.”
It was a throwaway comment. He didn’t mean he’d show her how to use the bed, but he sure had the last time they’d been together. As she followed him to the back of the cabin, her cheeks stung with self-conscious heat.
“Are you blushing?” he asked in an amused undertone as he held the door for her.
“Don’t tease.” She covered her hot cheeks.
“This from the woman who showed up in a schoolgirl skirt today?”
“You said I looked like an assassin,” she said over her shoulder.
“The sexy kind from the free-love era. I was looking forward to engaging in hand-to-hand combat, but you got the advantage over me in other ways.”
She lost her sense of humor as she moved further into the stateroom. Like the rest of the jet, it was decorated in earthy colors and textures. The head of the bed was a huge, illuminated panel with the silhouette of bamboo plants cast from the backside, giving the impression the forest was just beyond a translucent window. Lamps stood on night tables made of faux granite, and the walls were paneled in mahogany.
“That was a joke,” he said in a low voice.
“I know.” But it was actually bothering her that she stood to gain anything from this baby, even a free flight to America. She had a dream, but she also had a heavy not-good-enough complex, thanks to years of stumbles and false starts. Shortcuts didn’t win. She’d learned that with the invitation debacle.
While she peered into the luxurious bathroom, Saint pressed a louvered panel, opening it to reveal drawers. He pulled blue satin pajamas from one and tossed them onto the bed.
