Her Nine Month Confession

by Kim Lawrence

‘What?’

  ‘Your massage.’

  With no warning an image scrolled through her head, hands strong and brown, clever long fingers kneading her flesh, and she almost stumbled. It would have taken more than a massage to iron out the knots in her neck and shoulders.

  ‘Very relaxing,’ she lied.

  The cobbled surface became more even as they entered the harbour. The transition from the empty road, fringed by rain forest, to the lively little harbour, strung with coloured lanterns and lined with cafés and bars, was abrupt. The laid-back café atmosphere was a world away from the luxurious but carefully manicured world of the hotel. Lily preferred it—or she would have, had the circumstances that brought her here been less fraught.

  Ben led her directly to a restaurant that had tables set out on a platform over the water.

  ‘I thought you’d like to sit outside?’ he said as they were led by a smiling waiter to a relatively private table at the water’s edge. Muted sounds of jazz playing from inside mingled with the sound of the water lapping against the harbour wall. It was relaxing. ‘Apparently the food is good.’

  She huffed an impatient sigh. Why was he pretending this was civilised? ‘I’m not hungry.’

  Elbows resting on the table, he leaned forward. It was a small table and their knees almost touched under it. Lily fought the urge to lean back; instead she sat bolt upright in her chair.

  ‘This doesn’t have to be so hard.’

  Without warning, a fly-on-the-wall image of herself sitting astride Ben, her hands on his hot, damp skin, drawing hoarse cries from his parted lips, flashed into her head. She pressed a hand to her throat, felt the sweat pool in the hollow between her breasts and picked up the menu, wishing it were big enough to hide behind.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she repeated flatly.

  He shrugged and sat back. ‘Suit yourself.’

  She watched, indignant that he seemed so relaxed, as he calmly scanned the menu. It appeared to be written entirely in French, and he ordered in the same language.

  Connecting with the smoky green eyes regarding him with hostile suspicion above the menu, Ben arched a brow.

  ‘I’ll just have a salad,’ she said to the waiter.

  Ben waited until the young man had left before saying, ‘I’ve spoken to my lawyer.’

  The word sent alarm bells off. Thoughts of custody battles spinning through her head, she pulled herself back from the brink of panic.

  ‘Water?’

  She nodded and ran her tongue across her dry lips. ‘Please,’ and added, ‘Lawyer?’

  ‘He’s making the necessary changes to my will.’

  She looked at him blankly as he began to fill his own glass from the iced bottle on the table. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not planning on dying tomorrow or any time soon, but should something happen...’

  He sat there looking more vital and alive than any person on the planet. She nipped in a quick breath but it didn’t lessen the compressing band around her chest. She couldn’t think anything at all beyond a total rejection of a world that didn’t have this man in it.

  ‘I’m being practical.’

  I hate practical, she thought.

  ‘I need to make provisions,’ he said, perfectly aware that he had flung himself headlong into the practicalities of his new role because it delayed the moment when he’d have to face up to the other aspects—aspects he felt unqualified to tackle.

  Could love be learnt? Or were the experts who claimed that a person who’d not been loved as a child could never feel that emotion in their own life right?

  He pushed aside the questions in his head and continued. ‘Oh, and the trust fund, they can run the details past you next. I’m assuming that you would like to be one of the trustees?’

  With all the talk of trust funds and wills, Lily’s head had started to spin. ‘This is all very—’ She looked at him with a frown and shook her head. ‘I thought you’d want to ask me questions...’

  ‘About what?’ He pretended not to understand the you’ve got to be joking look she slung him.

  ‘Emmy.’ Her frown deepened as she struggled to name the emotion she had seen flicker in his eyes before they shuttered and the blue surface showed nothing but her own reflection. ‘Don’t you want to know about her?’

  ‘I don’t know much about babies...she seemed to have all the right bits in the right places...’ he said, feeling as lame as he knew he sounded. ‘I know she has a good set of lungs.’

  The inspired observation made her smile, then a moment later she stiffened. ‘How? How do you know?’

  It was not difficult to see that her imagination was running riot. ‘I saw her, remember.’

  ‘And she was crying? Why...what?’

  ‘Don’t panic!’ He put his hands up in a calming gesture. She had leaned forward in her seat and looked ready to throttle the information out of him if he didn’t cough it up. ‘She’d fallen and bumped her head, chasing a cat, I think.’ His hand went to his throat. ‘She ate my tie.’ His blue eyes softened at the memory.

  Lily leaned back in her seat. ‘Everything goes in her mouth.’ She caught herself smiling and stopped. ‘So what’s the deal here, then? Do you want to spend time with her?’

  ‘Of course I do. She’s mine, I’d like to get to know her.’

  ‘A child takes up a lot of time, and you have a very busy schedule.’ It didn’t seem like a massive leap to make; a man didn’t reach his position unless he was a bit of a workaholic.

  Ice formed in his expression as he listened to her. ‘Are you trying to suggest that I’d put my work ahead of my child?’

  She looked surprised by the question. ‘It wouldn’t make you unique, but what I’m actually trying to say is that people don’t realise how much hard work a small child can be...even if it is just for the odd weekend.’ She dropped the napkin she had been twisting between her fingers, as the mental door she had closed against speculation opened another inch. ‘When you look after her, will you have a nanny?’ It seemed a massive extravagance to Lily for the handful of hours involved, but then he could afford it. ‘If you do, I’d like to be part of that choice.’

  ‘So you’ve no objection to nannies?’

  ‘Better a nanny than your latest girlfriend.’

  ‘So you want to be part of that choice too? Or am I to be celibate?’

  ‘Laugh if you want but—’

  ‘Relax. I want to get to know my daughter without third parties.’

  Would there come a time when he would consider her an intrusive third party? The panic inside her grew until she was within a second of telling him she’d changed her mind, that she wasn’t agreeing to anything at all. But then his calm voice cut through her inner turmoil.

  ‘I’m not trying to kidnap her, you know. I just want to be part of her life. I want—’ He paused and thought, What? What do you want, Ben? The answer, when it came to him, made him relax back in his seat. ‘I want her to know that if she ever needs me I’ll be there.’

  There was no question that he was genuine. He would be there for Emmy. And that was something I was going to deny her? Suddenly overwhelmed by a tide of guilt, Lily looked away.

  ‘You sure about the salad?’

  Lily looked up. ‘What?’

  Ben was watching a platter of seafood being whisked past the table. ‘That looks really good.’

  ‘I’m really not hungry.’

  ‘Do you want me to be there when you tell your mother?’

  The suggestion made her eyes fly wide. ‘No, I don’t! I hadn’t even thought about telling her.’

  He laid down his glass. ‘I really don’t think that’s an option, do you?’

  ‘No...yes...there’s no need to go public with this, is there? It’s pri
vate.’

  Ben’s jaw clenched as he guessed that by private she actually meant secret. ‘Oh, no, I want you to send me report cards and...’ He gave a contemptuous grimace. ‘Of course I want to “go public”, as you put it. After I’ve broken the news to my grandfather, that is.’

  Lily leaned back in her chair. ‘Oh, God!’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be delighted. Once he gets over the fact he’s been living half a mile from his granddaughter for two years. Two years he’s missed out on.’

  Lily lowered her gaze from his expression. It was obvious that Ben was no longer talking about his grandfather.

  ‘Everything is going to change,’ she realised.

  He was never going to forgive her. With a sinking heart she recognised the fact that this much, at least, would never change.

  She looked up and saw the mockery in his blue eyes. ‘You catch on quick. Tell me, what did you think was going to happen?’

  ‘I suppose...’ She swallowed and gave an unhappy little shrug. ‘I thought we could go slowly...you could see Emmy with me there at first for an hour or so. Later maybe, when she got to know you, take her to the park or something. I thought we were going to talk some more and discuss things...’

  ‘We are—we have been.’

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she denied. ‘We are not talking. You are telling me, not asking.’ The waiter appeared and she waited while the food was set down before adding, ‘There’s been no discussion.’

  ‘So what do you want to discuss?’

  Lily looked at him in seething frustration as she tried to organise her thoughts. ‘This is too much too fast. You might change your mind. I don’t want Emmy to get to know you, only to have you disappear from her life. She needs stability, continuity...not—’

  ‘She needs a father. I get it that you think I’m some sort of low life...’

  ‘I didn’t say that!’ she protested, watching him dissect the steak on his plate.

  He laid down his knife and looked up at her, his steely gaze as unrelenting as a surgical scalpel.

  ‘It isn’t going to happen.’ His jaw line tightened as he spelt out his intention. ‘Lily, I’m going to be part of my daughter’s life so get used to it. I’m in this for the long haul.’

  His take-it-or-leave-it stance made her feel angry and helpless.

  ‘You say that now,’ she countered, dropping the fork she was stirring her salad with and glaring at him. ‘But your track record doesn’t inspire confidence. And I have to protect my daughter.’

  His dark brows lifted. ‘Care to elaborate?’ he drawled.

  ‘Well, I expect you told the woman—the one you were engaged to when you slept with me—that you were in it for the long haul...?’

  To her amazement some of the tension left his jaw; he actually laughed. ‘Caro...?’

  ‘Was there more than one?’ she asked sourly.

  ‘We were never actually engaged.’

  This display of deceit sparked her anger into life. ‘I saw the ring!’ she exclaimed contemptuously.

  His ex had been wearing the ring in several of the photos accompanying the article.

  ‘There was a ring, granted. But it was a gift.’

  Anger boomed in her head like a pulse. She pressed her fingers to her temple and realised it actually was her pulse. ‘So she imagined the engagement, then?’

  Her thinly veiled sarcasm drew a calm response. ‘No, she invented it.’

  ‘As you do.’

  ‘You had to be there,’ he drawled, thinking of the nightclub Caro had dragged him to. With the music booming, it was usually the sort of place that he avoided.

  He’d even been amused when she’d transferred the ring he’d bought her to her left hand. Then he’d seen the paparazzi and realised it was a set-up—he’d been set up. You had to admire her ingenuity and she hadn’t even tried to deny it.

  ‘Do you know how many cookbooks get published in a year? Even the novelty value of me being an ex-model will only get me so far... Being dumped by a heartless billionaire?’ She had produced a mock sad face before delivering an equally brilliant smile and adding, ‘It will raise my profile.’

  ‘And sell books.’

  ‘Obviously. But I was thinking more of a TV show. That’s where the real money is.’

  That was what he’d liked about Caro: she’d never pretended. That and her appetite for sex.

  ‘So we’re splitting up?’

  ‘You’re heartbroken. I can tell. Honestly, I don’t want to, but a girl has to make a living.’

  He shook his head as the formerly meaningless memories faded. Now he realised that the implication that he’d been engaged had stopped Lily from telling him she was pregnant.

  ‘I was there, remember?’ Lily bit back. ‘I was the other woman.’

  He stared at her and looked thoughtful. ‘And that bothers you?’

  Her cheeks grew pink. ‘As a matter of fact, yes, it does.’

  ‘If you mind so much, it might be a good idea in future to ask a few questions before you jump into bed with someone.’

  Indignant, she sat bolt upright in her chair. ‘Talk about double standards. I don’t recall you asking me many questions. For all you knew I might have had a boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not trying to occupy the moral high ground,’ he retorted. ‘Though I have to admit, skipping out while my partner is asleep has never been my style.’

  Feeling the flush mounting in her cheeks, she lowered her gaze and grabbed her glass.

  ‘It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I had to have you.’

  The sudden raw, throaty admission brought her eyes up. She had barely registered the dark feral gleam in his eyes before it was gone. Then he picked up the threads of their previous conversation as though nothing had happened.

  ‘So do you want me to be with you when you tell your mother or not?’

  ‘Tell my mother?’ Had she imagined it? The heat between her thighs was not imaginary.

  ‘Well, we’re not telling mine.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Signe has been known to forget she has a son. I seriously doubt she’ll be interested in a grandchild.’

  It took her a moment to place the name. He called his mother by her Christian name. ‘No, seriously—’

  ‘Yes, seriously. She is not the most family-orientated woman in the world. Sadly I inherited that much from her, so this is going to be a learning curve for me.’

  The admission surprised her.

  ‘You sound like... Do you dislike her, your mother?’ He did not seem offended by the question. It seemed to her he was actually thinking about it.

  ‘Not dislike, no. We are not close and I actually admire her achievements. She has carved out a niche in the world of international law—small world, smaller niche, but she is the undisputed authority.’

  ‘She’s your mother.’ Lily was shocked by the objective analysis. ‘You sound as though you’re talking about a stranger.’

  ‘We don’t all get given the perfect family, like you had.’

  ‘My family wasn’t perfect. My dad...’ She stopped, mortified to feel her eyes fill with tears.

  ‘Sorry. I remember your father.’ From somewhere he retrieved a memory; it was pleasant. ‘One Christmas when we were staying at Warren Court, before I moved in, he taught me to fish.’

  ‘Did he? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘He was really one of the good guys.’

  ‘You sound like my mum. She always talks about the past as though it was perfect, glowing and golden, never a cross word. Truth is they used to fight all the time. I hated it—it made me feel...not safe.’

  She stopped before she poured out anything further. Why on earth had she said those things to him of all people?
It was not even something she had discussed with her twin.

  ‘I suppose it is a matter of interpretation. For me it was the silences, the apathy when people can’t be bothered to fight. That’s when a relationship is dead. Conflict can be healthy.’

  She gave a snort of disbelief.

  ‘For what it’s worth your parents always seemed passionately in love to me. They sparked off one another.’ Before she could respond, he reached across and speared a slice of avocado from her plate with his fork, studying her face. ‘But then it’s not a subject I’m an expert on.’

  ‘Have it if you want,’ she said, pushing her plate towards him when he appropriated some more.

  ‘I will. I’ve not had time to eat and the only food in the house was a cupboard of tinned peaches.’

  ‘House?’

  ‘It turns out I have one here.’

  ‘Turns out?’

  ‘I had an uncle who lived here—you know about the Danish connection?’

  She nodded. ‘Someone mentioned it.’

  ‘He died last year.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I never met him. Signe is not big into keeping family connections. Well, I inherited the place and I never got around to putting it on the market. It’s in the old part of town.’

  ‘The conservation area?’ She had walked past the big old houses and been charmed.

  He nodded. ‘I’d invite you over but the dust is inches thick.’

  ‘So he was all alone?’

  ‘With a house full of memories.’

  ‘That’s so sad.’

  He was twisting the lid off a bottle of iced water. He had long, elegant fingers, deft and strong. She could remember how strong and how sensitive. Tactile images rushed in, threatening to drag her back. She struggled to banish them, but not before she had relived the moment his hand had closed around one breast, cupping it in his palm.

  ‘I should have asked if you wanted wine. I’m the designated driver.’ He held her eyes as he poured the water over the chinking ice in his frosted glass, then, lifting it in a silent toast, he looked at her through the glass.

  ‘I don’t.’ The last thing she needed was her inhibitions loosening.