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I’m pregnant.
He dropped his head forward, barely catching it in the palm of one hand, his fingers tormenting his hair as these two sentences flooded his brain and sought to coexist. There was nothing we could do. Enormous pain. Loss. Impotence. Despair. I’m pregnant. Not again. How could he do this again, knowing what the loss of a loved one felt like? He couldn’t. It would break him if he had to go through that again. I’m pregnant. There was nothing we could do.
He would never love again. At least with Georgia there was no risk of that. They didn’t know each other, and after the way he’d treated her, she probably hated him. Good. He deserved that. And it would make it all so much easier if there were no emotional complications between them.
But what about the baby?
Livvie’s eyes filled his mind, sparkling and full of wonder. He ran his fingers through his hair faster, angrier, seeking answers.
He didn’t groan, he didn’t speak. Silence was the only appropriate outlet for the torment of his mind.
The exhaustion of the first trimester had faded a little, and feeling somewhat more like herself, Georgia actually enjoyed leaving her tiny room and stepping out onto the sunlit streets of London. The weather was perfect for exploring. While the sky was blue and the sun was shining, the temperature was still cool enough to require a denim jacket over her shirt, and pleasant enough for Georgia to be able to walk comfortably for miles, through Hyde Park, admiring the flowers, and into Knightsbridge, where she wandered into the Harrods food court, ravenous, and chose a small selection of deli food to enjoy on her walk back to the hotel. Her palette and cravings were ever changing, and she noted with a whisper of amusement that the cornichons she’d adored two days ago now made her stomach roll in disgust. She stuck to the dry crackers and hummus, before finishing with a small pot of yoghurt and muesli.
She walked home more slowly than she’d set out, and before turning into her street, paused to buy a small decaf cappuccino from a local café. She’d been there a couple of times a day since arriving in London and the staff now knew her name and order, and enjoyed hearing about her exploration of London.
Today though, Dante was on her mind. Two days after calling him, she had to face the reality that he probably didn’t want to be involved. And while she was delighted with that outcome, she couldn’t help feeling a little peeved for her baby. Rejecting her was one thing, but to willfully ignore your biological child only served to underscore how cold and unfeeling he was.
She removed her jacket and draped it over one arm, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the café window as she left. She didn’t look so pregnant that a stranger would notice, but for Georgia, who was used to being slim, she clocked the rounding of her belly with a strange rush of emotions she couldn’t put into words. She wouldn’t even try. Her feelings were too jumbled and she worried that if she bothered to analyse them too deeply, she might still find resentment and grief at the forefront. She refused to feel either of those things—her baby deserved better.
She stifled a yawn as she approached the hostel and was too distracted to notice the black SUV parked on a double yellow line in front of it. She sipped her coffee gratefully, moved up one step, her hand on the railing, and was about to take the next step when his voice wrapped around her, forcibly, fully, in an all-consuming way.
“Georgia.”
She almost vomited. Panic slicked her spine and the hairs on her body stood on edge. She whirled around fast, disbelief etched into her features.
She gaped, her mouth moving but unable to say anything at first. She could only stare, until she knew she needed to take matters into her hands. “What—what are you—how did you find me?”
His eyes though had dropped to her stomach and they stayed there for what felt like an eternity. She curved a hand protectively around her belly. “What are you doing here?” She asked again, determined to keep her mind, not to let him throw her off kilter, even when just by arriving he’d already done that.
“You’re pregnant.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, careful not to spill her coffee. “Yeah. I’m aware of that.”
His face paled and finally, he dragged his gaze to her face. “We need to talk.”
She feigned a sense of calm she didn’t feel, lifting the coffee to her lips and taking a sip. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Not here.”
“Why not?” She shrugged belligerently. “I have coffee. I’ll wait if you want to go get something.”
“I don’t care about a damned drink,” he snapped, so she winced, her veneer of calm slipping momentarily. His voice softened. “Is there somewhere inside? Your room?”
“No,” she rejected instantly. “We can go to the café,” she held up her cup. “It’s just at the end of the street.”
“This is a private conversation.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Georgia—you were right. This is about the pregnancy, not you and me. Let’s say from the outset that neither of us ever wanted to see the other again, that there’s no pleasure in this reunion, for either of us, and just go somewhere to talk about how the hell we sort out this mess.”
She flinched again. Even though she had, many times, thought of this situation as a mess, hearing him say it was a whole other matter. She felt there was accusation in his tone. He was, however, right, and she knew they needed to talk. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
“Fine.” But even though she didn’t want to be in the car with him, the thought of walking the kilometre or so back to the café was almost impossible to fathom. “Let’s just talk in the car.” It was better than her hotel room, which had a bed taking up almost all the space. At least this way she could get the conversation over quickly.
He nodded once, moving to the front passenger door and opening it, reminding her bitterly of the way he’d done the same thing in Como.
She lifted up into the seat, the signs of wealth all around her, from the luxe features of the obviously state-of-the-art Range Rover to the smell that was distinctly new-car, to the wallet in the centre console from which several fifty pound notes were visible carelessly poking out of the top.
