I rub his arm. “It’s all right. There’s only me here. She had a hard life, and she struggled a lot with her issues. But she knew you were always there for her. She must have been so proud of you and Izzy, with all that you’ve achieved.”
His gaze caresses my face, and then he pulls me into an embrace with his free hand, and kisses my forehead. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”
“It’s very rare. Usually I’m the first to screw things up.”
He gives a short laugh. I slide my arms around his waist, and we stand there like that for a while, as he sips his whisky, the seagulls crying around us.
“You said ‘It’s those who share their lives with someone who are the lucky ones,’” he comments. “You know I’m going to want to talk to you about that later, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I bury my nose in his T-shirt, trying not to cry. I feel such a sense of hope mixed in with the sorrow. He still wants me. There’s so much promise here, as if we’ve planted seeds in the spring and are waiting for signs of growth. But those new shoots are vulnerable to the elements. Can I bear to hang around and see if they take?
“I want to wait, though,” he says. “Get this out of the way, get the funeral done. So I can think clearly.”
“That makes sense.”
“You’ll think about it, too? I know what you told me originally, that you wouldn’t let yourself fall for me, but I hope you really think about us, and what we’ve had this week. I think we could have something really good, and I hope you agree.”
I nuzzle his neck, breathing in his scent. “I know we could.”
“Loving isn’t easy,” he says. “Loving people is hard. It means being open and vulnerable, and letting yourself be in a position to be hurt. It doesn’t matter if that person is a lover or a friend or a relative.”
“I know.”
“Just… think about that. Because the question is coming, and I’m going to want an answer.”
“I know.”
He finishes off his whisky. “All right. Come on then, let’s get to the airport and get it all done.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Poppy
The next ten days pass agonizingly slowly for me. I try to be there for Marc as much as I can, but after Izzy gets home on Sunday, the two of them decide to take a week off and fly back to Hamilton to make the final arrangements for the funeral, and to go to Jocelyn’s house and sort through all her stuff.
I’d like to have gone with him, but I sense it’s a time for brother and sister to reconnect and grieve together, and Hal’s staying at the Ark, so I don’t feel as if I can offer to go with Marc.
He does call me every night, when he gets back to the hotel—neither he nor Izzy wanted to stay at Jocelyn’s house. We talk for a while, and he tells me about the state of the house—that it’s full of junk they’re having to sort through, and I tell him what’s been going on at the Ark. I’d love to chat for longer, but he sounds exhausted, so I don’t keep him for long. He finishes by softly telling me he loves me, and I tell him I love him too, because it feels awkward not to say it back.
Do I mean it? I ponder on it after I hang up. I’m not sure. I miss him beside me at night, curled around me, his chest to my back, his arms holding me tightly. His hand stroking my back in the early morning, before dipping lower, waking me up in the best way possible. I miss sitting on the two-seater sofa in the living room of the lighthouse, watching TV while we sip our whisky, or looking out at the stars up in the viewing room, in the darkness. I miss his kisses, the way he taught me so tenderly to accept him, and to explore my own pleasure. I miss his low chuckle, his wry sense of humor, his quiet, solid manner. I miss him.
But there’s no time to talk about it, and so I know I’m just going to have to wait until he gets back, when we can talk about it further.
He and Izzy return for a couple of days, during which he’s super busy at the Ark. He doesn’t ask me to stay at his place, and so I don’t mention it either. We catch up at work a couple of times, but he’s brisk and businesslike, and I don’t push it.
It’s Noah who tells me that Marc and Izzy have decided to have a private cremation for Jocelyn in Hamilton, to give Jocelyn’s neighbor and Luke a chance to say goodbye, and then they’re going to have the wake in the bay, at Noah’s house, at his suggestion. He tells me that, this time, Hal’s flying down with her for the funeral. Marc doesn’t ask me to go, though, and I don’t offer because I’m not sure I can face the rejection.
I’ve hardly spoken to him over the past few days, and I feel forlorn and adrift. I also feel achy, as if I’m coming down with something. It could be PMS. Or it could be something else.
The day before the funeral, I check my calendar for the umpteenth time and confirm—it’s day twenty-nine of my cycle. My period usually starts around day twenty-nine, sometimes twenty-eight, and the test I’ve bought says it can tell if you’re pregnant from when you’re one day late, so I know it’s time to try it.
When I get home from work, having thought about it all day, I go into the bathroom and, with shaking hands, I pee on the stick. While I wash my hands, my heart races. I feel excited and panicky and a little sad, all rolled into one. I’d kinda hoped I might be doing this with Marc by my side, but that obviously wasn’t to be. Wasn’t this what I wanted? To do it alone? I told him I didn’t want a relationship—that I wouldn’t let myself fall for him. I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and see tears glistening in my eyes. I’ve been five kinds of idiot, as usual, useless at dealing with people, with no idea of how to handle a relationship. Fancy agreeing to sleep with a guy just to get pregnant. I’m such a fool. I was always going to fall in love with him, wasn’t I?
I turn over the stick.
There’s no line in the large square. I’m not pregnant.
I stare at it. I’m not pregnant?
We’ve made a baby tonight, Marc told me that night he tipped me onto the carpet in the viewing room. I know it, one hundred percent. Unfortunately, he was wrong.
I sit on the toilet seat, my legs suddenly shaky. I keep staring at the test, just in case I haven’t left it long enough, and the line’s going to suddenly appear. But it doesn’t. I’m definitely not pregnant.
I blow out a long breath. It’s good news. It was a stupid arrangement anyway. It would have been really awkward knowing the father, and I know he would have made a fuss, and wanted to be involved. This way, I can go back to my original idea and do it the way I wanted. Cold and clinical. With no emotion involved at all.
I put my hand over my mouth and burst into tears.
*
The next day is the day of the funeral. In the morning, Leon flies Marc, Izzy, and Hal down to Hamilton in the helicopter for the cremation. The Ark stays open until two p.m., with Stefan, Clio, and Summer manning the veterinary center, and then we close, go home and get dressed, and come back to Noah’s house by four p.m., ready for the wake.
By the time I arrive, Brock and Erin are there, and Matt and Georgia, and Dad turns up just after me. Mom is in Australia at the moment, visiting my grandmother—her own mother, who hasn’t been well lately. Half of me wishes I’d gone with her. I miss her, and it would be nice to see my grandmother. Everyone from the Ark is there, along with lots of dogs, and the caterers that Noah has hired are just starting to hand out glasses of champagne when someone shouts that the helicopter has arrived.
Some people go outside to welcome them back, but I stay inside, helping Abby put the finishing touches to the fruitcake she’s made.
“You okay?” she murmurs once we’re on our own. “You’ve been very quiet since you got back.”
“I’m fine.” I give her a quick smile. The truth is that I feel awful. I’m nervous about seeing Marc again, and I’m not looking forward to the conversation we might or might not be having.
“You’re not…” She leaves the question open, and I remember telling her before we left to go to Hawke’s Bay that Marc was hoping
to get me pregnant.
“No,” I admit, trying to ignore the hollow feeling I have deep inside. “Unfortunately not.”
“Oh well,” Abby says brightly, “next time for sure, eh?”
I just smile, not wanting to go into it all. She studies my face and opens her mouth to respond, but at that moment Izzy and Marc come through the door, and so the moment passes.
Izzy looks pale, and her eyes are red-rimmed, but she laughs as Noah says something and presses a glass of champagne into her hand, and accepts a kiss on the cheek from him. Everyone goes up to them to give their condolences.
I sip my champagne, unable to tear my eyes away from Marc. He’s wearing a dark-gray suit, a white shirt, and a black tie, and he looks so handsome it makes my heart ache. God, I’ve missed him so much. I wait for him to see me and come over. Will he hug me or kiss me in front of everyone? At that moment, I wouldn’t have cared if he had. I want him to. I just want to touch him, to hold him.
He straightens from giving someone a hug and his gaze scans the room. It falls on me, and he pauses for a second. I can hardly breathe, and my heart is banging against my ribs.
He gives a small smile. Then someone says something behind him, and he turns away to talk to them.
That’s it. That’s all I get. That’s all I’m worth. I’m not a wife, not a girlfriend. Just a girl he banged for a week while he was on holiday.
It’s unfair, and I know it, but my eyes fill with tears. And suddenly, I know I can’t stay.
As quietly and unobtrusively as I can, I pick up my purse and slip out of the open door.
I run down the path to the main car park. Nobody tries to stop me. It’s a beautiful spring afternoon, and the Pacific is a stunning blue, but I can’t see its beauty today. I get in my car, start it up, and leave the Ark behind me.
I drive through Paihia, the sea on my left, tears pouring down my face. I’ve been such a fool. I’ve lost everything. Marc, the relationship, and the dream of having a baby with him.
Why didn’t I tell him at the time that I loved him? That what I wanted deep down was to have a family with him? Why did I insist on staying aloof? It’s all my own fault, and that hurts more than Daniel’s cruelty ever did.
I reach my house without even remembering the drive there, park, and go inside. It’s cool and quiet, filled with sunshine. I stand in the middle of the room and let the tears pour down my face. Oh God, this was what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to fall in love because when it all goes wrong, it hurts so much. I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen! Why didn’t I follow my own instructions?
I manage to make it to the sofa, sink down, and curl up on my side. I keep thinking about that smile he gave me. Full of pity and regret. Just the memory makes me ache.
God, I’m such a fool.
*
There’s a knock at the door.
I unfurl and look at my phone. It’s only been twenty minutes. I know I must look a sight. I’ve been ugly crying, and my hands are streaked with black, so I know my makeup has run. I’m so stuffed up I can’t breathe. I don’t want to see anyone.
The knock is insistent, though, and then, to my surprise, I hear my father’s voice. “Poppy! I know you’re in there. Let me in, please, sweetheart.”
“Dad?” I get up, go over to the door, and open it.
“Wow,” he says, his eyebrows rising. “Mascara explosion.”
I burst into tears again. “Don’t make fun of me,” I sob.
“Aw, honey. This isn’t like you. Come here.” He walks into the house, closes the door behind him, and takes me in his arms.
He smells comforting and familiar, bringing back memories of sitting on his lap as a girl while we watched TV. “It’s all right,” he soothes, leading me over to the sofa. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“It’s not.” We sit, and I cry into his shirt, conscious I’m covering it in black blotches and not caring.
“You’ve got to give him time.” He kisses the top of my head. “He’s just lost his mother. Guys take that hard sometimes.”
“It’s not that.” I try desperately to wipe my face and fail. He takes his silk pocket square out and hands it to me. I stare at it doubtfully, and he flaps it in the air, so I take it and blow my nose, then try to clear my tears. “I thought I was pregnant, and I’m not.” It’s no good—fresh tears appear as soon as I wipe the others away.
“Oh,” Dad says. “Right. So… you wanted to get pregnant?”
I nod miserably. “I asked Marc to be a sperm donor, and he said he’d only help me get pregnant if we did it the old-fashioned way.”
Dad gives a short laugh, then purses his lips as I look at him. “Sorry. But I have to admire his approach. That was pretty ballsy.”
“I wanted a baby,” I whisper, and give a little hiccup. “Someone of my own to love, who wouldn’t leave me.”
Dad sighs and leans back, taking me with him. “Even children leave you eventually,” he advises. “They go out into the world and become amazing teachers, and break your heart.”
“Aw, Dad. Are you trying to make me cry even more?”
He rubs my back. “So you were trying to get pregnant while you were away?”
I nod. “But I took a test yesterday, and I’m not.”
“Well, it’s not the end of the world. Maybe you just need more practice.” He smiles.
“No, I think we’re done,” I tell him. “I said to Marc that I didn’t want a relationship, and that I wouldn’t let myself fall for him. He doesn’t think I’m interested.”
“So tell him you are.”
“Dad, it’s not that easy.”
“It really is. What do you have to lose?”
I glower at him. “My pride. My dignity.”
“I lost those a long time ago. They’re not really worth anything, believe me, when love is in the offing.”
Love? Yes, I love Marc. I know I do. Oh, I’m such an idiot.
I shift on the sofa, lowering a hand over my tummy. “I wish I didn’t ache so much.”
“Period pain?”
“No. I’m waiting for it to start. I think I caught a cold in Hawke’s Bay.”
Dad raises an eyebrow at me. I shake my head. “I told you, I took a test yesterday. It was negative.”
“How late are you?” he asks.
“Two days. But I feel achy—I know it’s going to start any minute.”
“Sore boobs?”
“Um, well, yeah.”
“Overly emotional? Feeling queasy?”
I just stare at him. Come to think of it…
“So you took a test when you were a day late?” he says.
“Yes. Although sometimes my cycle is twenty-nine days. But the test says it’s accurate most of the time…”
He sighs. “Sweetheart, if you ovulated one day later than normal, the test might not have picked it up yet.”
My heart is beginning to race. “No, that’s not possible…”
“Trust me, I’m a doctor. Do you have another test here?”
“Yes, but—”
He lifts his arm. “Go and take it.”
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
“Humor me.”
I get up in a huff. “Okay, but when I’m right, you’re going to owe me another test. They’re not cheap.”
He pretends to check his pockets. “I think I have a billion dollars in here somewhere…”
Pulling a face, I go off to the bathroom. I know he’s wrong; I know I did the test right before. But my heart still races as I take off the package and pee on the stick. I wash my hands, then look up at my reflection. Dear God, I look like an extra from The Rocky Horror Show. I scrub under my eyes, trying to shift the black, but it’s waterproof mascara and I need to cleanse it properly. I sigh and toss the tissue in the bin, knocking the test off the sink in the process. Mumbling under my breath, I bend and pick it up.
And stare at it.
The large square has a line in it.
/>
I’m pregnant.
Dad taps on the door. “Poppy?”
I open it and look up at him, eyes streaming.
“Told you,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb with his hands in his pockets.
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “I’m pregnant.”
“I’m going to be a grandad again,” he says. “Oh man, I’m getting old.”
I make a sound like a squeak, and he laughs and puts his arms around me. “My own baby is having a baby,” he whispers. “There’s something extra special about that.”
The words mean a lot to me. I know he loves Summer, and he’s worked extra hard all his life to try to develop a cure for her CF, and to make her feel as if she’s a part of his family as much as his own children. Because of this, there have been times I’ve been jealous of her. She has two fathers to love her, for a start. She’s older than me, more confident, and she doesn’t have the social difficulties I have. She fell for Zach at a young age and the two of them have been deliriously happy. Dad calls her boys his grandkids, and I’ve never begrudged her that. But for him to acknowledge, just between the two of us, that this is special touches me to the core.
“I’m such a mess,” I whisper.
“I know. Me too. And your brother. It’s amazing how we find people to put up with us.”
“What am I going to do about Marc?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well maybe you should give it some thought before you talk to him.”
I’ve got to tell him I’m pregnant. I feel dizzy at the thought.
Just then, there’s a knock at the door.
“Poppy?” Marc yells. “It’s me.”
“Oh my God.” I pull back from Dad and look at my face in the mirror. “I can’t see him now. Look at the state of me.”
“Wash your face,” he instructs. “I’ll keep him occupied.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I’ll sing a song.” He kisses my cheek. “Love you.”
I watch him go, feeling a swell of happiness and excitement in my heart, swiftly followed by a surge of nerves. I have no idea how this is going to go.
My Wounded Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 5) Page 17