Playing the Dutiful WifeExpecting His Love-Child

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I am telling you that I am not lazy, Millie. Don’t think for a minute you get a cheque from me and I make an occasional visit.’

  ‘I wasn’t th-thinking that at all…’ Her teeth were chattering so violently she could barely get the words out.

  ‘Don’t think I pay my membership and then forget, or I am too busy to come. I am there every time.’ He was there now, right in her face as he made himself beyond clear, his accent more pronounced in his anger. ‘Making use of all facilities, making sure I get full use—’

  ‘No!’ Millie shook her head at what he was surely implying, but Levander just laughed in her face.

  ‘You think I talk about you? You think I could want you after reading this filth? I am talking about our baby—I am in that child’s life now, whether you like it or not. So get used to seeing me, Millie. Get used to it quickly—because I am in your life now, every day.’

  Emotion and exhaustion, coupled with a good dose of the morning sickness that had her feeling so wretched, so weak, washed over her. She couldn’t even attempt to argue with him—to thrash out the details that she knew had to be sorted. She just wanted to close her eyes on the horror, to find somewhere safe where she could lick her wounds and regroup.

  ‘We’ll talk about this later…’ Somehow she found her voice, somehow she managed to look at him, her red, bloodshot eyes trying and failing to recognise the man she’d thought she once knew. ‘You do what you have to, Levander, and I’ll do what I can. But right now I’m going to my hotel…’

  ‘You’re staying here.’

  ‘After the way you’ve just spoken to me? You really think that I’m going to stand here and attempt to defend myself to you when you’ve clearly already made up your mind?’

  ‘You have no choice,’ Levander retorted. ‘There are photographers, press down in the foyer. You really think they will just let this story go?’

  ‘Why the hell are they so interested?’ Millie flared. ‘What does it have to do with them?’

  ‘I am a Kolovsky!’ Levander shouted at her for the first time—and it was almost a relief. Raw anger was easier to face than the simmering hatred that had greeted her at the airport. ‘I am one of the wealthiest single men in Australia—my life is their interest. Do not pretend for a single moment longer that you didn’t know that. Now, if you choose to go down there and make matters worse instead of better then I will not stop you. I wish you luck getting past them and into a taxi. I wish you luck checking into another hotel and trying to get the sleep you clearly need…’

  He had a point, Millie realised, recalling the frenzy of the press at the airport. The thought of facing them without Levander to control them wasn’t particularly appealing.

  ‘Go to bed.’ He must have sensed her hesitate and he seized on it, his voice more reasonable now. ‘Go to bed and I will not disturb you. Rest, and then, when we have both calmed down…’

  ‘When did you find out?’ For the first time she got to ask a question—strange the details that mattered when chaos reigned. ‘Did they call you to confirm…?’

  ‘I read it an hour ago.’

  It took a moment for it to sink in, for her to realise how low the press had really stooped, the shock tactics they were prepared to use. She might have landed in Melbourne to face that greedy crowd alone. And even if Levander’s greeting had been less than cordial, even if his words had been reprehensible, she was grateful that despite his own shock he’d been there for her.

  ‘I was going to tell you.’

  ‘Just go to bed, Millie.’

  Only she couldn’t now. The massive impact that had hit was receding, but aftershocks were rippling in. ‘I really thought she was my friend…’ Rubbing her fingers on her temples, Millie struggled to take it all in. ‘I trusted Janey. I can’t believe—’

  ‘It is done,’ Levander interrupted. ‘Now it is time to fix it.’

  ‘Can we?’

  ‘I will think of something,’ Levander answered. ‘When you go to bed I will speak with the public relations people and work something out. Tonight we will have dinner with my family. At least if we put on a united front for now…’ His voice trailed off. Perhaps he was realising she was too dammed exhausted to take it all in, too bone-weary for out-loud musings. ‘Get some sleep, Millie; just try not to think about it now.’

  With a tired nod she headed to the bedroom, peeled off her clothes and sat on the edge of the bed in her bra and knickers, wondering just what the hell she should do—how on earth it had come to this, how she could possibly tell her parents what had happened since her arrival in Melbourne. She jolted as yet another aftershock hit.

  ‘Oh, no…’ A whimper of horror escaped her lips as the implications of the very public demise of her reputation became all too apparent—as the appalling realisation hit that her parents would probably already have read a similar article in the UK, would be reeling in horror at the thought of their daughter landing on the other side of the world to this nightmare.

  They already knew.

  Everyone knew.

  That was why the immigration officer had given her such a hard time. He had known she was pregnant—had known because he’d read about it…

  ‘I need to borrow your phone…’ Her tear-streaked face appeared at the door. She didn’t even notice he was standing where she had left him, talking on his mobile.

  ‘Of course.’ He gave a bemused nod. ‘Is the one by your bed not working?’

  ‘It’s an international call…’ Mille started, then understood the confusion behind his question. The richest, most eligible bachelor in Australia clearly didn’t give two hoots about his phone bill.

  Perhaps he heard her numerous attempts, understood that in her emotional state the international code to the UK might not come easily to mind, because after a few moments he came in, dialled in the number, and turned to go. He halted as she literally crumpled at the sound of her mother’s hysterical voice.

  Seeing her standing in just a bra and knickers, shivering in her own misery, hearing her shaking voice begging her mother to calm down, for the first time he wasn’t thinking about the baby, nor was it the vile words in the article that consumed him. For that moment it was her. Her pain, her anguish, was so raw, so deep, even Levander couldn’t remain unmoved. He placed a hand on her shoulders for support as she doubled up with the pain of it all.

  ‘Mum, please,’ she begged, over and over. ‘It’s not that bad. I’m fine—the baby’s fine. I know—I can’t believe what’s happened… You have to calm down. I can hear Austin getting upset. Please, Mum, it really isn’t as bad as it seems…’ But clearly Mrs Andrews didn’t believe her daughter; Levander could hear her cries as Millie attempted to reassure her.

  ‘I don’t know why Janey did it, either. She’s been acting a bit strange recently—I thought she was a bit jealous about my paintings. But whatever her reasons, it’s done now…’

  Again his conviction wavered. The anger, shame, and humiliation at being the last to know, the sheer panic that had propelled him to the airport, dimmed a touch as he started to see things from Millie’s side.

  Her best friend had betrayed her. Her whole life was under the microscope. Though for him it was the wretched norm, for Millie it must be like awaking to a nightmare. Seeing her pale, shell-shocked face, listening to her try to sound upbeat for the sake of her mother, he felt something inside him shift—and not just towards her. Guilt flickered in for the way he had spoken to her, for the anger he had unleashed towards the mother of his child.

  His child.

  The realisation was starting to hit home. She was carrying a baby—his baby—and the thought literally paralysed him, terrified him more than Millie or anyone could ever know. Yet somewhere deep within there was a flicker of excitement—a flare of want for the tiny life they had created.

  A strange defensiveness towards her.

  ‘Do you want me to speak with your mother?’ Levander offered. The sudden change in his manner obviously
confused her, and he watched as Millie’s stunned eyes jerked to his. Though she shook her head, and gripped the phone tighter to her, he could tell she was considering it. ‘I will tell her that I am sorting things out.’

  ‘I don’t think speaking to you will help right now…’ Mille covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘But I don’t know what else to say. She’s really upsetting my brother. I just can’t calm her down.’

  ‘I will talk with her,’ he said, and even though he had no idea what he should say, he was ready to step in. But as he held out his hand Millie shook her head, closing her eyes as she swallowed her bitter medicine—the united front she’d so vehemently opposed just a few moments earlier was the only viable option for now at least.

  ‘Levander met me at the airport, Mum…’ She blew her hair skywards as her mother’s hysterics halted. ‘He’s dealing with the press. I promise you he’s taking care of it, and that things will all seem better tomorrow. I’m at his home, he’s standing next to me now…’ She was trying to sound positive—happy, even.

  But seeing the tears coursing down her cheeks as she spoke, as she tried to look out for her mother, made Levander feel like an utter heel.

  ‘Honestly, Mum—Levander’s not cross. He knows me better than to take what Janey said at face value. We’re going out tonight with his family. Yes…’ With her free hand she pushed his off her shoulder, gritting her teeth as she lied into the phone, her eyes blazing with loathing for Levander as she spoke. ‘Please don’t worry—tell Dad not to, either—everything’s going to be fine.’

  Finally, when nothing she could say would appease her mother, when she could hear Austin’s mounting distress in the background, Millie gave in, handing the phone to Levander and dropping to the bed, hugging her knees and biting on her lip, wondering what reaction he would get.

  ‘Mrs Andrews, I am sorry we have to first speak in these circumstances. I understand that you must be distraught, but let me assure you that your daughter is okay…’

  He was so commanding, so perfectly polite and yet so effortlessly charming, that the tears, the panic that was engulfing her stilled. Millie jerked her head upwards as clearly Levander had the same effect on her mother. The buzz of anxious chatter spilling out of the phone hushed as Levander took control—but even as he said the right things, even as he soothed with his silken voice, still he unnerved her. Like a doctor walking in and giving a cancer diagnosis, his delivery was slick and effective, riddled with fact yet utterly devoid of compassion.

  ‘I met her myself at the airport, and I will tell you now what I told the press, so you get no more surprises—I have asked that your daughter be my wife. Tonight we are going out with my family to make things official.’ He handed the receiver back to her and Millie listened to her much calmer mother, twittering away, saying that Levander sounded nice, that it sounded as if he had things under control, was she sure she was really okay…?

  ‘Honestly, Mum, I’m fine.’

  Millie dropped the receiver into the cradle, and her voice was a monotone when next she spoke, her eyes dull when finally she managed to look at him. ‘Well, you got what you wanted—you got your united front.’

  ‘I always get what I want,’ Levander said ominously. ‘Always.’

  * * *

  She could go.

  Sitting in semi-darkness, all phones turned off finally Levander could think. He had had to resort to calling hotel security and insisting someone be placed on his floor, to halt the endless banging on the door, telling them that under no circumstances, no matter how dire the emergency, was he to be disturbed.

  This was the emergency he must deal with.

  What the hell had he been thinking? Over and over he berated himself for even thinking of taking her out to dinner tonight—exposing her to the snake pit of his family and the chance of stumbling on the truth.

  He managed a glimmer of a smile as he envisioned her happy, lively voice attempting conversation, asking questions that, when you were with a Kolovsky, were completely out of bounds.

  They’d crush her.

  He had to somehow warn her without telling her—but how?

  How many times he’d headed to the bedroom door, braced himself to enter, to wake her from her much needed slumber and tell her what was on his mind, Levander didn’t know. A couple of times he had even got as far as opening the door, standing for a breathless second or two and watching her sleep—her tumble of curls sprawled across the pillow, the steady rise and fall of her chest, long eyelashes fanning her cheeks and the flicker of her eyelids that told him she was dreaming…

  How could he wake her to tell her his nightmare?

  And if he did, then what?

  How could Millie, how could anyone, fathom what he was feeling? And anyway, if he told her his truth—if he exposed his family secret—she could use it against him. Closing his eyes, Levander dragged in air, his mind racing faster—wincing at the prospect of the Kolovskys undertaking damage control. Like a flawed piece of silk, she’d be relegated as seconds, her name muddied and soiled till there was nothing of her left—anything was permissible if it meant preserving the family’s reputation.

  He stared at the passport sticking out of her handbag, sitting beside the suitcase half opened on the floor beside the bed. He figured at most it would take her five seconds to pack and walk out the door.

  And who could blame her?

  He couldn’t keep her a prisoner here. And no matter how loudly he might have insisted today that he would fight her all the way, a woman like Millie wouldn’t take long to regroup—in a day or two the wind would be back in those glorious sails and she’d be gone.

  They’d be gone.

  On the next flight to London, with all the ammunition she needed to fight her case. What court in what land would rule in his favour?

  Nina’s jeers were coming back to haunt him now… making him imagine the vile outcome if Millie ever had her day in court.

  It wasn’t the fear of losing money or reputation that had stopped him in his tracks with Nina—it was fear of the court’s inevitable decision that had chilled him to the bone.

  How could she not be the better parent?

  Closing the door behind him, Levander knew what he had to do.

  Stepping into his lounge, he pulled back the curtains and stared out at the wintry morning, at the heavy grey clouds that smothered the skies Millie had been in so recently—the skies that would surely claim her if somehow he didn’t get in first.

  She had to marry him.

  His breath whistled through his teeth as he let it out.

  He couldn’t let his guard down for a second—couldn’t let her even a tiny bit close till that ring was safely on her finger.

  Whether she wanted to or not, Millie had to marry him so he could protect them all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘MILLIE?’ Jumping at his rather brusque greeting, blinking as the bedroom door opened, Millie could only compare this awakening to her father coming in a decade earlier, when she’d stayed out too late and partied just a little harder than she’d promised her parents she would.

  ‘Am I grounded?’

  ‘What?’ Cruelly turning on the lights, he frowned down at her and placed a heavy glass of water on the bedside table. Despite not wanting to accept anything from him, the chink of ice against the glass, combined with a very dry mouth, had Millie reaching over and gulping thirstily as Levander continued. ‘It is time for you to get ready. I tried to let you sleep as long as possible, but our dinner reservation is for eight.’

  ‘Oooh…’ Millie closed her eyes and leant back on the pillow. ‘How could I forget that little gem?’

  ‘You should start to get ready.’

  ‘Do we really have to go?’

  ‘We agreed on it.’

  ‘Actually, no, we didn’t.’ Sitting up, Millie wrapped the sheet around her, her woolly jet-lagged brain functioning a lot better after a decent sleep. ‘I was told there were a lot of things I ought
to do, but I can’t actually remember agreeing to any of them. And for your information I don’t want to go—so I’m not.’

  There. With a little nod at the end, she said it and, closing her eyes, rested back on the pillow.

  ‘Are you always this selfish?’ She’d expected him to stalk out—had prepared herself for a rather loud slam of the door—but instead he stood over her. Not that she could see him—her eyes were still firmly closed—rather she could feel his brooding presence, hear the contempt in his voice as he stared down at her. ‘You really think I want to do this tonight? You really think I want to be out with my family, posing for happy-family shots after all that has happened?’

  ‘Then don’t,’ Millie attempted, only her voice wasn’t quite so brave. Peeking one eye open, she remained insistent.

  ‘We have to make things better.’

  ‘How?’ Millie demanded. ‘How could it possibly make things better? Frankly, from where I’m standing—or rather lying—going out tonight hand in hand, and pretending everything is okay between us, can only make things a whole lot worse.’

  ‘Ring your mother and tell her that, then.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And then you can ring the restaurant and tell them to cancel the booking, and let our guests know when they arrive.’

  ‘They’re your family,’ Millie said, huffing onto her side—hating what they had become, refusing to be forced into a corner.

  But the sight of her back didn’t halt him. In fact it inflamed him. ‘And they are the very last people I want to dine with—who, despite what you read, I do not get on with.’

  ‘So why—?’

  ‘Why?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘You have the temerity to ask why? Do you ever stop to think of consequences, Millie? Do you ever think more than five minutes ahead in your life?’

  ‘Of course…’ she attempted.

  ‘You know…’ He shook his head in disbelief at her response, and with each passing word his accent was more pronounced. ‘My family think you trapped me—they try to tell me you knew what you were doing that night—’