One Kiss in... London: A Shameful Consequence / Ruthless Tycoon, Innocent Wife / Falling for her Convenient Husband

‘No one. I’m sorry,’ Connie attempted. ‘I had the television too loud. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Just my pillows.’

She hated sorting his pillows most, and it was the thing he most often asked. How she hated leaning him forward and arranging the pillows, knowing where his eyes were, where his cheeks were.

Had Nico been able to see the smile on Henry’s face at that moment, instead of Connie laying the old man back down, he’d have been laying him out, but for now he sat in the quiet kitchen, trying to work out how best to handle things.

He had not stopped to think since he’d heard the news—after finding where she was he had pretty much stepped on a plane and now he had to sort something out.

Thankfully the baby was sleeping. Nico did not go over and look. It was almost as if he did not want to see, to know, to have it confirmed.

Deal with the issue.

It was his mantra and it never failed him.

In crises at work, he simply silenced the voices, cut through the tape and dealt with what was, not what might be, not what had been, but what was.

Constantine, for now, was the issue.

If it was not his son … He looked around the kitchen, heard her footsteps walking above and knew that even if the baby were not his, he couldn’t simply walk away.

And if it was … Nico sat still for a long moment, wrestled with indignation, with the betrayal at not being told, which led to more anger against a woman who wanted to go alone, so he clamped his mind closed on those issues and fought to get to the vital point. If this was his child, what then?

She did not want him in her life.

His mind raced for an instant solution.

Declare her unfit?

Take the child?

To what?

For what?

Raw was his honesty.

His lifestyle was lavish, he ate out most nights, hopped on planes, and the only thing he had to think about changing was the time on his watch.

He looked at the dark hair on the back of the child’s head, to the white sheet over his shoulders, and it was a relief not to see his face, safer by far not to love him.

Love did not last. Something deep inside told him that.

‘You must go.’ Constantine was at the door.

He should, Nico realised. He should get up now and let her continue her miserable life and get on with his—except he could not leave it there.

‘Come with me.’

She gave a tired smile, but Nico wasn’t joking.

‘I mean it,’ Nico said. ‘Come back to my hotel.’ He saw her eyes shutter, no doubt thinking he was about to add to her exhaustion. ‘Separate rooms,’ he added.

Which just made her feel worse. Oh, she wasn’t up for a sexual marathon, but for him to so quickly discount her …

‘I’m not your problem.’

The baby might be, but he did not want to broach that, so he tried another approach. ‘I feel that I engineered this, that you would be married to Stavros if it were not for me.’

‘And I’d no doubt be feeling exactly the same,’ Connie pointed out, ‘with my little IVF baby and a husband that couldn’t stand to touch me—a little less tired perhaps, but still on the happy pills!’ She hated this, hated to be seen like this. Pride was her downfall, because she could beg and weep to her family, could go online tomorrow and tell the world how she was living and shame would move her family to bring her home, but she would not force charity. ‘It would be just as bad …’

‘It could not be as bad,’ Nico refuted. ‘It could not be worse.’

There were unexpected prices for pride, and she paid one now—because here was the man who had seen her so beautiful. Here was the man she escaped to in weary snatched dreams, looking more beautiful than she had dared ever remember, yet she had seen the shock in his eyes when she had opened the door, the bewildered start as he’d realised the swan had reverted, and now he was seeing her at her very worst.

‘If I had led you back to your room instead of mine, if I had not said those things about choices …’

‘I’m glad that you did.’ Her admission surprised even her, but now she thought about it, now she looked at how her life would have been without Nico’s intervention that night, despite all her problems, it was still here that she would rather be. She felt better for him being there, better for their talk, better now that she could see more clearly, and spirit rose within her. ‘Things aren’t great now,’ she admitted. ‘I know there will be struggles ahead, but I will get there.’

And there was still a glimmer of fire in her tired, dull eyes, and Nico was in no doubt now that with or without him she would.

‘This is temporary,’ Connie said, her voice firmer now. ‘Had I stayed I would have felt like this forever.’

‘Why didn’t you call?’ Nico asked the question he had when he had first arrived at her door, for he had given her his private number that morning at breakfast. Even then he had been worried to leave her.

‘Why didn’t you?’ Connie asked. She could never tell him the real reason so she went on the defensive instead—after all, he would have surely heard from his family the scandalous outcome to the wedding. Why should it be her that picked up the phone? Had he cared, even a jot, if their one night together had meant even a fraction of what it had to her, surely he could have called in those days and weeks as the news broke, just to see that she was okay. That he had not spoke volumes.

The only reason he was here was because of the child and she must remind herself of that.

He was here for his son, nothing else.

‘I did not hear about this till today,’ Nico said. ‘The moment I found out I had my PA track you down and I got on a plane.’

‘Oh, please,’ Connie retorted, because she knew how big the news had been, that even if he only made occasional visits and duty phone calls to his family, he would have been told. ‘As if your family wouldn’t have gossiped about this—’

‘We were not talking for a long time—only in recent weeks have we spoken,’ Nico interrupted. ‘After your wedding …’ Only the slightest pause gave indication that this subject was a painful one. ‘There was a falling out—a large one. Only in the last few weeks have we started speaking again. I have had a difficult year.’

Not that difficult, Connie wanted to say, because he stood tall and strong and beautiful; he was every bit the man she had left. ‘Too difficult to pick up the phone?’

And he never shared private matters and he wasn’t particularly comfortable in doing so now, but better that than her to think he had known and not thought to contact her. ‘I found out they were not my parents.’

Connie stood frozen—not at the news, because she had found out the same already, but that he knew and that Nico would tell her. She was shocked he would share what surely no one else knew, because if that news got out it would make her annulment and pregnancy idle chatter.

‘How?’ It was husky, and the word stuck in her throat. Did he know already that her father was involved? Was that, in fact, why he was here?

‘I remembered.’ He said it so simply. His voice did not betray the pain and the heartache, the jumble of feelings and dreams that made, almost, a memory. ‘I’m wrong apparently. My parents deny …’ His voice trailed off. He was not here to talk about himself and not used to sharing.

‘Tell me,’ Connie offered, because pain had entered the building, and now that he was not looking at her, now that he focussed instead on the television behind her, she could really look at him. Yes, the year had left its mark on him, too. He was a touch thinner perhaps, but that was not it. She tried to fathom what the change was, but couldn’t.