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Silence.
She swallowed, aware that she was on the tipping point of a major life change. Once spoken, these words could never be undone.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if she could take solace from the baby’s proximity. And somehow, it worked. She sucked in a deep breath, opened her eyes and focussed with renewed determination on the wall opposite.
“I’m pregnant. You’re the father.”
He didn’t say anything and she was glad. This was easier without hearing his voice.
“To be honest, I was devastated when I found out. Children aren’t something I’d really thought about, and the timing is particularly…inconvenient. But there you have it. I’m pregnant.”
The line crackled with silence.
She waited, frowning. Then, “Dante?”
“Are you certain?”
She laughed, because it was so ludicrous, but something in the desperate tone of his voice had her sobering. “Yes.”
“You’ve done a test?”
“No, I read the tea leaves. Of course I’ve done a test. Multiple tests in fact, and I’ve stopped getting my period and I can’t eat anything that remotely resembles meat or smells like cheese and my lower back feels like hell on earth pretty much all the time. I’m pregnant.”
He swore.
It was pretty much exactly the reaction she’d had.
“Look,” she almost took pity on him. “I really would prefer you not have anything to do with us. I can do this on my own. I already have, sort of. I don’t need you, and we clearly don’t want an ongoing connection.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Another curse. “You must be mistaken.”
She scoffed. “Because you don’t want it?”
Silence. Then, “Where are you?”
She held the phone more tightly. Once she’d learned where he worked, she’d flown to London and booked into a cheap hotel on the Edgeware Road side of Marble Arch. She wasn’t against seeing him again if it was to talk about the future of their baby, but she also had no intention of seeing him if he was in his dictatorial, rude, angry mood.
“It doesn’t matter where I am. You don’t need to know that.”
“I want to see you.”
“No, you don’t. Neither of us ever wanted to see the other again. You want to see that I’m pregnant.”
“I’m a very wealthy man,” he pointed out. “How do I know this isn’t about money?”
She was shocked. She let out a tight laugh, anger whipping her spine. “Dante, let me give you the good news. There is no fortune on earth that could induce me into having anything to do with you, ever again. The only reason I would bother calling you is because I think it’s the very least our baby deserves. For my part, I would just absolutely love you to tell me that you don’t want a bar of our family and let me go on with my life without you in it. So?” She waited, feeling elated at having thrown such home truths at his feet.
“Where are you?” His voice was harsh, angry, rich with disbelief.
“I’m not going to tell you. But I will give you my phone number,” she said. “Once you’ve had some time to get to terms with this, you can call me.” When he didn’t respond, she rattled off her temporary UK number then disconnected the call, half hoping he’d missed the digits in their entirety and wouldn’t be able to contact her again. God knew, duty done, she wouldn’t reach out to him.
Dante stared at his familiar desk in his familiar office of his familiar building and recognised nothing. The whole world had changed. A thousand images cut through him, like shards of broken glass. He saw Bianca, her happy face when she told him she was pregnant. Her rounded belly. Their baby being born. He saw Livvie, held her, breathed her in. He heard the words that had tortured him for years: there was nothing we could do. The world turned, too fast. He felt woozy, dizzy. His balance slipped.
And there she was: Georgia. He’d tried to blank her from his mind, but she so easily filled it. Her voice flooded his veins.
