by Paula Roe
Grace laughed. “I don’t think we’ve ever really been off. I’ve got plans.” She took another sip of water. “Let’s face it—my body clock’s been ticking steadily for years. And now I have an established show and some serious credibility in this industry. It’s time I started thinking about having a baby.”
Kat choked, tea dribbling down her chin. She swiped at it then stared at Grace. “With Marco?”
“Of course with Marco!” Grace frowned slightly, eyeing the guy adjusting the lighting. “Is that a problem? I know you and he are close...”
“Oh, no. I mean, yes... I mean...” Kat took a breath, trying to steady her clenching gut. “We’re close and share a lot, but we do have one rule—never butt into each other’s love life.”
“Really?” Grace looked intrigued. “So he’s never commented on James or Ezio, not even in passing?”
“No.”
“And you’ve never said anything to him about me?”
Kat gave her a look. “No. It’s not my business. You want to have babies, it’s fine with me.” She gave a smile, one she’d learned to adopt out of necessity. A smile designed for intrusive cameras, when they’d been camped outside her door, trailing her on the way to work, shopping, to the gym, interrupting her family and friends and becoming so invasive she’d had to get a court order to put a stop to it.
“You sure?” Grace asked curiously as she gathered up her notes. “I always thought there was some subtle sexual tension going on with you guys, but—”
“Me and Marco? No. No way!” she denied, a little too forcefully. “I mean, he’s a great-looking guy and he’s my best friend, but he’s...” She groped for a word. “A free spirit.”
“I would’ve said a tart,” Grace added with a smile. “And a world-class flirt. A good thing, too—he won’t butt into my life and make demands on how I should be raising my child.”
What could she say to that? Everything Grace said was true. Marco loved his life and lived it at breakneck speed. He had no room for a permanent partner, let alone a child.
Kat swallowed thickly, watching everyone fuss around Grace as the cameras got into position. For all her confusion, her crazy thoughts and outrageous scenarios she’d gone through these past few days, the choice was simple. He wouldn’t want a baby. She most certainly didn’t.
Kat adjusted her headset and sidestepped the studio camera as it wheeled toward her, watching Grace smiling into Camera One as she continued with her dialogue.
Grace could be snippy, snarky and demanding, but beneath the polished blond exterior she had a heart of gold. Kat sourced the hard-luck stories and Grace reported them, raising thousands for each charity they publicized. Grace was the public face, the ex-soapie star clawing her way back from alcohol and drugs to become the biggest-rating breakfast talk show in Queensland. Kat preferred it like that, preferred to work behind the scenes. It made a nice change, even though she still fielded a handful of interview requests every day.
No, she was content with her life. Work filled every waking moment, which meant no time for dating. Just as she’d told Connor during their regular “bon voyage, Marco” night out ten weeks ago in a Brisbane bar, she didn’t do attachments or relationships anymore.
“Too much work, too difficult to navigate and way too painful when they inevitably end,” she’d said, downing her drink and eyeing her friends across the table.
Marco and Luke had laughed, but Connor had had a weird look, a kind of sad-but-deadly-serious one that had annoyed her enough to order that last, fateful vodka and orange.
She swallowed an irritating lump in her throat. There was nothing wrong with her. As a teenager she’d never been obsessed with boyfriends, weddings or babies, which had set her apart from most girls in the elite Southbank Private School in Brisbane. Couple that with her preference for sport, pub bands and getting dirty over short skirts, makeup and gossip, and she’d naturally migrated toward the boys. And then there was “that incident”—as her father had called it—when she’d shoved Marco Corelli, the son of the now-notorious crime boss Gino Corelli. After the furor had died down and she’d done her counseling and detention stint, she’d realized she’d become a bit of a legend to her peers. Connor Blair, the moody silent one, had allowed her to sit with them at lunch. Luke—always so very angry—had bonded with her over obscure pub bands, and Marco... Well, he’d apologized and she’d scored a friend for life.
Complicated, complex Marco. The cocky, flirty teenager with an insane gift for soccer, who’d grown up into a gorgeous, talented, self-assured man. The guy knew her secrets, her childhood wishes, her family tragedies.
Especially her family tragedies. With her mother’s death from motor neuron disease and the chances of Kat being a carrier, she’d never allowed that particular fantasy of becoming a mother take root. But now, faced with the bald-faced reality of actually being pregnant, she had absolutely no clue how to feel. After all those years of refusing the tests, of arguing with Marco that she preferred to spend her life living and not worrying, she’d actually gone and gotten tested. Now she had to wait for the results, which added extra stress to her already stressful situation.
Which was why she couldn’t tell Marco. Ever.
With a sigh, she refocused on the here and now. By the time they’d finished filming the week’s shows, it was eleven at night and Kat was dead on her feet. She said good-night to everyone and dragged herself to her car, fumbling with the keys as she went, her mind focused on takeout, a hot bath and double-checking her apartment for the impending storm.
Then she glanced at her car and stopped in her tracks.
Marco.
Her heart pounding, her gaze swept over him—his suit, his loosened tie, the dark hair flopping over his forehead and curling at the collar. The faint shadow of stubble dusting his firm jaw. The way he stood, all sexy and casual, hands buried in his pockets. And those wide, piercing brown eyes staring straight at her.
On another man, one with less confidence and overt sexuality, his features could almost be called pretty, if not for the overabundant aura of pure male surrounding him. His hair was a controlled crop of curls, perfectly framing those high cheekbones, lush mouth and come-to-bed eyes. And when he smiled...Lord, you could hear the knickers dropping for miles around. He reminded her of days gone by, of stocking-and-breech-clad heroes, flamboyant coats and huge romantic gestures full of wild symphonies and desperate, love-smitten poems.
And he’d been the best sex she’d had in her life.
Yes, he was adored by millions around the world. Everyone knew the story—only son of Italian immigrants, raised in Australia until a talent scout had recruited him for the French futball league at the tender age of sixteen. Marco, the dreamy Italian with romantic eyes and glorious touch-me hair. If that wasn’t enough of an unfair advantage, he’d also acquired a hot French accent from his years living and working in Marseille and Paris. Marco, her best friend.
Her heart contracted then expanded again, and she wanted to die from the sudden ache of it all.
They’d known each other for nearly twenty years. Telling him would irrevocably change everything. Marco didn’t do commitment. He loved his job, he loved women and he loved the freedom to enjoy both. And there was no way she’d lose him as her best friend after one foolish—amazing—night. She couldn’t.
With a deep breath she continued, heading straight for her car. And the closer she got, the worse the weird feeling grew.
They’d done things—intimate things. Things she’d never imagined doing with him. They’d gotten naked, and he’d touched her and kissed her all over. Now he wanted to talk about it, and she’d rather swim with a pod of sharks than rehash her supreme stupidity that involved that night.
God, could it get any worse? With false bravado, she clicked off her car alarm and then crossed the last few meters to open the d
oor.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, resisting the urge to lay a hand on her belly. Instead, she tossed her bag into the passenger seat.
“We need to talk.” His unique voice—a sexy mix of French and faint Italian accents—never failed to make her shiver, but now she shoved her hair back behind her ear and steeled herself to face him. The bright security lights slashed across his face, revealing a serious expression that made her heart thump. But instead of giving in to the panic, she swallowed and crossed her arms, tilting her head.
“About?”
“We can talk on my boat.”
She sighed. “Look, Marco, it’s late and there’s a cyclone approaching. Can’t this wait another day?”
“You’ve been avoiding my calls, so no. And the storm’s not due for hours yet.”
He glanced up at the dark sky and narrowed his eyes at the barely discernible wind that had picked up.
“I’m tired.”
He stared at her, irritated. “Phone calls. Avoiding.”
She blinked slowly. “You’re not going to give up until I agree, are you?”
“Non.”
She sighed. “Fine. But be quick about it.”
He eased off her car, moving into her personal space, and instinctively Kat took a step back, which only prompted him to frown. “You’re not going to stand me up, are you?”
“No, I am not. Girl Guide’s honor.”
“Good.” With a firm nod, he walked past her, got in his car and drove off.
She watched his taillights blink as he turned left out of the parking lot before she had time to fully comprehend what her acquiescence really meant.
We need to talk. Those four little words lay heavy with meaning, conjuring up a multitude of awkward scenarios from her disastrous past. Ten weeks ago, they’d not only crossed that line between friends and lovers, they’d burned it to the ground, and part of her wanted to run home and hide under the bedcovers. The other part wanted this awkward situation over and done with.
With a sigh she got in her car, fired up the engine and drove out of the car park. She couldn’t run from him forever. It was time to suck it up and face whatever consequences that one night had wrought.
* * *
The marina was alive with activity, crowded with people securing their boats and belongings in preparation for the oncoming storm. Kat parked and headed down the wooden platform, eyeing the foreboding water as the dark waves lapped against the jetty. In a few hours’ time, a category-four cyclone would sweep across the coast, and everyone knew all too well the devastation it would bring. The city had only just managed to recover after Cyclone Yasi had slammed into North Queensland some years before.
Marco’s boat was moored at the end, a sleek, shiny thing he’d gone into great loving detail about when he’d first bought it. The only thing she remembered from that conversation was not the horsepower, the dimensions or the fuel consumption, but rather his little-kid excitement. It had made her heart flip then, as it did now when she recalled the three-year-old memories.
He stood on the deck and offered his hand as she stepped across the gangplank. Without thinking she took it.
It was weird—she’d held his hand a thousand times before, and yet right now this one simple gesture was making her jittery, as though her whole body had been put on alert and was awaiting the next eager move.
Which was stupid. Ridiculous. And highly inconvenient.
Dammit, that was what came with sleeping with your bestie. Because now she couldn’t stop the memories of those same hands roaming all over her body and doing things that had gotten her all hot and panting.
As they walked aft, she managed to surreptitiously slip her hand from his, avoiding his sideways glance by determinedly staring straight ahead.
God, she hated this awkwardness. They’d gone and done the unthinkable and ruined everything, and for a second, she felt that indescribable pain slice into her heart, leaving a deep and wounding scar in its wake. Things would never be the same again. It was like one of her disastrous relationships all over again, like everything her father had blurted out that one awful time in the heat of argument.
For God’s sake, Kat, can you just for once not be front-page news? Stop with all the attention and drama and just be a normal person?
The shame burned briefly as she recalled his expression, a bitter twist of anger and disappointment. Then her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar hum and throb of engines as they entered the cabin.
She stopped in her tracks. “Are you casting off?”
“Oui. We’re going to the island.”
She gaped. Annoyance quickly morphed into fury. “Are you out of your mind? No!” She strode outside but it was too late. Furious, she whirled, pinning him with dagger eyes. “I didn’t agree to this! And there’s a cyclone on its way, in case you haven’t noticed.” She threw an arm wide, indicating the dock rapidly disappearing. “The town’s in lockdown. And my car is at the marina.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back onto the rail, then absently pushed back a curl as the wind whipped his hair around his face. “First, my house on the island is designed to withstand weather extremes, cyclones included. It’s probably safer than most places on the mainland. Second, I’ll call someone to pick up your car. And third, the reports say the island will only catch the edge of it—the eye will hit Cairns after 3:00 a.m.”
“And by that time, we won’t be able to return for God knows how long. No. Go back, Marco.”
“No.”
She growled. “I hate it when you get pushy.”
His mouth quirked briefly but he said nothing. She continued to glare, putting all her anger into it, but he merely held her gaze calmly.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls,” he finally said.
With a frustrated growl she whirled, planting her hands wide apart on the railing. “Dammit, you can be sooooo annoying!”
“Says the woman who still hasn’t told me she’s pregnant.”
A moment passed, a moment in which Kat’s heart sped up, then slowed down again as she closed her eyes and dropped her gaze to the churning black water below. A moment in which those meager rehearsed words all crumbled to ashes in her mouth, and she was left with nothing but the sound of slapping water and rushing air.
“I’m going to kill Connor.”
Marco raised one dark eyebrow. “Don’t blame him. He thought I should know.”
Finally she straightened, crossed her arms and faced him. “Turn the boat around. It’s not safe to be out.”
“I checked with the coast guard. We’re fine for at least another hour, enough time to get to the island.” He shook his head. “And we have things to discuss.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
A dark scowl bloomed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re pregnant, Kat. It’s not just about you. It’s about me, too.”
She knew that. But the bubbling frustration inside forced the words from her mouth. “My body, my decision.”
He stilled, his expression a mix of shock and seriousness. “Are you saying you want an abortion?”
She blinked, shaking her head as her stomach pitched in time with the waves. “Marco, you know what I went through with my mother. She was dead within two years of diagnosis. I could be a carrier.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “So get tested. I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“I did. Plus, I do not have one single mothering bone in my body. Babies hate me and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up.” He frowned and held up a hand. “You actually went and got tested?”
“Yes. Last week.”
“After all these years of ‘I don’t want to know’ and ‘I don’t want that hanging over my head, directing my choices in
life’? All the times we argued when I tried to convince you otherwise?”
She nodded.
She’d shocked him, if his gaping expression was any indicator. “When were you going to tell me?” he finally bit out.
“I just did!” she snapped back, inwardly wincing at his thinly concealed hurt. “And speaking of not telling, what about you and Grace?”
“What about me and Grace?”
“So there is a you and Grace!”
He scowled, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You and her, having a baby together?”
From the look on his face, she’d stunned him. “Since when?”
“She told me you were back together.”
He sighed, hands going to his hips. “Well, it’s news to me. We’ve been over since before the Coup de France.”
“How long before?”
“Way before our night together, chérie,” he said softly.
She swallowed, refusing to allow herself a moment of remembrance. “So, you’re saying Grace is lying?”
He shrugged. “Wishful thinking?”
She snapped her mouth shut, taking a deep, steady breath before mumbling, “This is a bloody disaster.”
Was it her imagination, or did she see his mouth tighten? Then he sighed and dragged a hand through his hair and the moment was gone. “Kat, I can’t stop you from making the final decision about what you do. If it were me, I’d be having the baby, regardless of those test results. But it’s ultimately your choice.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not me,” she said quietly. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what the disease did to my mother, every single day, for two years. I refuse to let that happen to my child.”
His soft murmur sounded more like a groan. “Kat...”
The boat went over another wave, and suddenly the day’s lunch didn’t seem so secure in her stomach. She swallowed thickly then took a deep breath before meeting his eyes.