by Paula Roe
“When are you back?”
“In a few days. I fly in Monday.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Listen, Kat, I don’t want to leave you in the middle of this, but I also have a thing in Melbourne, then Sydney. I won’t be back until the day before the FFA awards.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Her cavalier attitude irritated him—as if she expected his absence.
“I have an appointment for an ultrasound next week,” she added.
Damn. He scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
He frowned. “I could’ve rescheduled.”
She gave him a look. “Not when you’re booked months in advance. And anyway, it’s only an ultrasound.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m not abandoning you, Kat.”
“I know. But until I make a public announcement, I think we should keep you out of it, don’t you?”
He gritted his teeth and grabbed the handle, swinging the door wide. “No, I bloody well don’t. Honestly, this is getting ridiculous. There comes a time when you just have to say, ‘What the hell,’ ignore what everyone says about you and live your life.”
He got out of the car, slammed the door and, with long-legged strides, headed into the airport terminal, Kat following. And thanks to that little encounter earlier, he spent the whole time surreptitiously glancing around at the crowd, wondering if someone somewhere was taking photos, eavesdropping on their conversation. It was bloody unnerving.
Finally they made it through departures, past the check-in counter and into Qantas’s private VIP lounge, which consisted of a bar, dining area, plush lounges and a communications center. They settled in and ordered drinks and food, but otherwise the silence stretched out between them. Marco checked his phone. Kat opened her iPad for her mail. Still not a word.
Was this how a friendship ended? he thought as he stared at his phone screen. Not with a spectacular all-out screaming match, but in a forced silence so uncomfortable she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.
It wasn’t an argument. They didn’t hate each other. He just... She just...
She didn’t want to marry him. And he wanted her to.
He scowled at his phone. They had nineteen years between them, and he was damned if he’d let her push him out of her life. Once they dealt with this current situation, they’d have a serious talk about everything—including marriage.
* * *
It must’ve been some kind of record. Barely a day later, their “marriage proposal” hit social media, then the national papers, spreading out what could have just been a one-off article into a planned series on celebrity weddings and divorces, which were advertised with annoying regularity on TV. Marco and Kat were, of course, given plenty of airtime through the media, and, with the tabloid press, including the TV networks, setting up camp at her home, she’d had to hire a driver to take her to and from work.
Some photos still managed to leak out—one of her getting out of the car at the station. One when she’d not quite closed her curtains all the way. And some old cringe-worthy celebrity shots of her in full party mode.
That last one had been published two days ago, and she hadn’t heard from Marco since. A dozen times she’d picked up the phone, ready to call, but stopped herself every time. It was something they needed to talk about face-to-face, not get into over the phone.
Of course, Grace had been mega-pissed about the attention, and the pressure at work had been high, compounding her stress about her family issues. After each day of her Job from Hell, she’d come home and collapsed on the sofa, finally allowing herself to think about the whole adoption thing, not to mention where to start finding out if her biological mother had had family, which in turn would be her family.
How did you tell someone you were his sister? Granted, it was Connor, one of her closest friends, but still. She wanted to do it right.
Armed with a laptop and a bowl of cereal, she crawled into bed and started on some research. Thanks to a bunch of online forums and chat rooms, she’d gathered heaps of information, read about people in similar situations and how they’d gone about connecting with their biological family.
That evening, after she’d bookmarked the last site and closed down the laptop for the night, her mind swung back to the physical part of her reality. In less than seven months, she’d be having a baby. The appointment she’d scheduled for next week loomed on the horizon, and suddenly her body went prickly with nervous tension.
She curled up in the bed, gently sweeping a hand over her belly. An official appointment. In writing. Out there.
It was really happening.
And Marco would be away for it.
She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let the guilt get to her. There was nothing she could do, right? He couldn’t reschedule everything for her. It was as she’d said—just an ultrasound. There’d be plenty more opportunities for him to be involved.
Except she’d told him she didn’t want him to be.
Did she even know what she wanted anymore?
Unable to answer that question, Kat buried herself in her work the next day, in the frantic energy of detailing Cyclone Rory’s tragic path and sourcing stories that were all too depressingly bountiful now. Yet during their regular staff meeting when they argued the merits of each story and rearranged and reworked them for maximum viewer impact, she couldn’t help but refocus on Marco’s suggestion to follow her own dream.
A charity. A foundation where she would be in control, raise money and see each case through to completion from beginning to end.
So she began drafting a list, slowly filling in more details until she had two pages of handwritten notes. That night, during her usual hour on the treadmill, she reorganized it all in her head, until she finally had a semblance of a game plan. And the more she thought about it, the more excited she became. She’d even reached for her phone, eager to discuss it with Marco, but ended up balking at the last minute.
He was obviously busy, which was why he hadn’t called.
She pressed the end button on the treadmill and grabbed her bottle, downing half the water as she cooled down. As amazing as it had been, the stupid sex thing had ruined it. She was thinking like a woman in a relationship, not as a best friend. Best friends didn’t care who called whom first—they just called. They didn’t stress about how many days, hours, minutes had passed since they’d spoken. And they certainly didn’t let the other person get away with such a lengthy silence.
Just as she finally stepped off the treadmill and picked up her phone, it rang.
It was Connor. “Hey, stranger,” she answered, way too cheerfully, as she grabbed her towel and walked into the kitchen.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.
“Saturday?” She jammed her phone under her chin then flicked on the hot water jug. “Oh, the usual. Watching TV. Eating by myself. Hiding from the hundreds of paparazzi camped on my doorstep.”
“Where’s Marco?”
“Swanning around in Darwin, I believe.”
There was a pause as he picked up on her tone. “Did you guys have a fight?”
Kat sighed. “No, we are having...a difference of opinion.”
“Anything to do with this engagement thing the press is going crazy with?”
She walked slowly back to her lounge room, clicked on the TV and muted the sound. “Partly. I just...” She sighed. “It’s complicated. The baby. This press thing. Work. And I feel guilty that his appearances have been overshadowed by the media craving a sound bite. Did you know someone actually asked him about us during a ribbon cutting yesterday?”
“The press is full of idiots. Which is why I’m coming to see you.”
&
nbsp; She perched on the edge of her lounge. “If that were the real reason, you’d have come to see me way earlier than this.”
His chuckle brightened her mood. “We’ll lounge around and ignore the press together, eat pizza and watch The X-Files.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds divine.”
“Or, you know, we could just go to Marco’s island. Plenty of privacy there.”
“God, don’t you start. Next they’ll be hooking you and me up instead of Marco.”
He laughed again. “I dunno—I do like the sound of ‘Kitco.’ Much better than ‘Markat.’”
“Shut up.” When he laughed, she reluctantly joined him. “You’re an idiot, Connor.”
“Shh, don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
She was still grinning when she hung up. Yes, her emotions were all over the place, and she had too many questions to ask and no idea how to approach Stephen...if she even wanted to. Frankly, the man scared the hell out of her and always had. But the one thing she had no issue with was accepting Connor as her brother. She loved him like a brother. More, actually, because she’d had years to appreciate him as a friend without any pressure or family obligation. As she walked down the corridor to the bathroom, she had to admit that she was looking forward to telling him. She had no idea how he’d react, but hopefully he’d feel the same way.
* * *
The next night, barely thirty minutes after she made it through her door with a relieved sigh, her intercom beeped.
“Chez Jackson?”
“I heard someone’s having a pizza party.”
She grinned at Connor’s commanding voice. “Yep. With beer and juggling monkeys.”
“I’m so there.”
She buzzed him up and then unlocked the door. He stepped through the door five minutes later with an overnight bag, a steaming-hot Crust pizza and a huge grin.
“You are my savior.” She hugged him then took the pizza and stepped back to allow him entry. He strode in with his usual lanky gait, his broad frame filling her space.
He dumped his bag near the couch. “Midnight must be a bit late for the paparazzi. I didn’t see anyone about.”
She shoved the pizza on the coffee table. “Oh, they’re there—you just can’t see them. Like cockroaches.”
His laughter followed her as she went into the kitchen to get drinks and plates. When she emerged, he was scowling at his phone.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Everyone’s got marriage on the brain.” Connor slowly placed his phone on the table and sprawled on her couch. “My mother’s been bugging me about it. Apparently a successful thirty-three-year-old guy needs a wife to appear more stable to our conservative European investors.”
Kat patted his hand sympathetically. “Well, between Marco and me, I can honestly say it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.”
Connor snorted. “Yeah. Two apiece, right?”
“I’m two. Marco is one and a half.”
Connor centered a coaster on the table and placed his beer bottle on it. “So is there any truth to the rumors?”
“Which ones?” She flopped down on the single-couch chair.
“The marriage ones. Because everyone’s waiting for the real press statement, you know, not the lame ‘no comment’ one.”
“I know.” She fixed him with a look. “Yes,” she said at length.
“Yes, what? Marco actually asked you to marry him?”
“A few times, yes.”
His breath came out in a whoosh. “Wow. And?”
Kat shook her head. “He only offered to avoid the nightmare PR—which is ironic, considering we’re in the middle of it anyway. I haven’t even announced I’m pregnant yet, so imagine what that’ll do,” she said as she flipped open the pizza lid and inhaled deeply. “Anyway, enough about that. I’ve got something more important to talk to you about. I need to—”
“Hang on, reverse.” He leaned in. “More important than you being happy?”
“What?”
He sighed. “Can you not see it?”
“See what?”
He thumped a palm on the table. “You and Marco. You’re perfect for each other.”
Kat felt the tingle of embarrassment all the way down her spine, her eyes quickly darting away. “It’s not like that, Connor. He’s my—”
“Best friend, yeah, yeah, I know.” Connor rolled his eyes. “You’ve both been preaching that old chestnut for so long, I’m ready to strangle someone. Why don’t you guys just admit you love each other and put yourselves out of your misery?”
“I do love him, Connor. I love you, too.”
He grinned. “Ditto, sweetheart. But you’re not in love with me.”
She frowned, the denial on her tongue, but instead she just pressed her lips together. “Look, forget that for a moment. I need to talk to you about something.” She leaned in, hands tucked between her knees. “You know how I went for that blood test last month?”
Connor paused, midchew. “Yeah?” At her look he slowly placed the pizza on the plate, wiped his hands on a napkin and gave her his full attention. “Ah, Kat, don’t tell me they got it wrong again....”
“No, nothing like that,” she said quickly. “Okay, so the reason why my test was clear was...because...well...” It was still unbelievable, no matter how many times she tried to process it. Saying it aloud only made it more real. “Keith and Nina aren’t my biological parents.”
A deathly silence permeated her apartment.
Connor’s brow dipped. “What?”
“I had a blood test. Nina and Keith are not my biological parents,” she repeated patiently.
Connor’s jaw dropped, eyes rounding. “No way.”
Kat nodded. “It’s true. My blood type and Mum’s aren’t compatible. Then we flew down to see my dad and he confirmed it.”
“We? Marco went with you?”
She nodded. “And there’s more.”
He huffed out a breath. “Jeez, what?”
Kat smiled. “Connor...” She held his gaze unwaveringly. “My father is Stephen Blair.”
Everything was still for a few seconds, maybe more, until Connor’s loud bark of laughter split the air like a shot and she jumped. Frowning, she watched in silence as he sat there, chuckling and shaking his head. What did that mean? Was he...upset? Happy? Freaked out?
“Are you okay?” she finally said after a few moments.
He shot to his feet. “No, actually. Give me a moment.”
She watched him pace, with one hand running through his hair, the other on his hip. It was worrying, not knowing if he’d taken the news as a good thing or not.
Finally, after a few interminable minutes, he turned to her. “You know, I just knew it was something like this. I knew it.”
“What?”
He paused, taking in her expression, and shook his head. “About ten years ago, I caught the tail end of an argument. Couldn’t hear much but I did eventually work out Mum and Dad were talking about a child. Oh, I didn’t realize at the time that it was you,” he hastened to add. “I never would’ve worked that one out.”
She blinked. “What did they say?”
“Well, Mum was pretty pissed off—that was clear. Dad didn’t want to talk about it, as usual. Then after, Mum ended up with a new Prada handbag and a necklace from Paspaley, and everything just seemed like normal.”
Kat sat back in her chair, processing that information. “You didn’t say anything about it to us.”
Connor gave her a look. “I don’t tell you guys everything.”
True. Connor was extremely private when it came to his family—it had taken years for him to share even the most basic of details. It was only because they’d witnessed
his parents’ arguments firsthand that they knew about them at all. It was a deep source of embarrassment for him.
“Mum’s always going on about Dad’s affairs. You know that,” he said now, picking absently at the label on his beer bottle.
Kat nodded, her expression solemn.
“So I overheard a bit more than usual. Apparently my mother still hasn’t forgiven him for being in bed with another woman the day I was born.”
Kat’s mouth thinned. Connor projected such a hard and capable facade that people refused to believe there was a heart of gold under that swish Armani suit and classically handsome face. She knew that mask was to protect him from feeling too deeply, but she’d known him long enough to realize that he sometimes felt more than any of them put together.
“My sister, huh?” he said now, taking another swig of beer with a smile. “How do you feel about that?”
She was his sister. She had a brother. With everything else going on in her life, she’d pushed the impact of that detail to the back of her mind, but now, faced with a grinning Connor and the familiar way his eyes creased, the easily recognizable sweep of his nose, it was unmistakable.
She felt her mouth stretch into an answering grin. “Do we need to hug to mark this momentous occasion?”
“Hell, yeah.” When he opened his arms, she got up, moved toward him and was enveloped in his embrace. The relief, the utter joy she felt at this moment, when it had just been bad news after bad news, was like a weight off her shoulders. She leaned into the hug, into his solid, hard warmth, and felt the tears well up. She couldn’t believe how happy this actually made her.
Damn pregnancy hormones.
“Are you going to tell your dad that you know?” she asked, muffled against his shoulder.
He pulled back with a grimace. “I have no idea. After all these years of keeping the secret, do you think he’d want us to know? Plus, it could create a backlash with yours.”
She nodded. “And it doesn’t really change anything, him knowing, does it? I mean, I’m not going to demand in on the will or anything.”
Connor laughed. “But it would be fun to call him Grandad in seven months’ time.” He glanced pointedly at her belly.