Their Baby Surprise

She had to think of her baby. And one thought kept snaking around her brain, around her heart. What if her depression returned? Who would take care of her child then?

She went to the kitchen counter and poured a glass of water.

The cold liquid calmed the nausea swishing around in her belly. ‘Do you mean it when you say that it will be a business relationship and nothing more?’

‘Let’s call it a team effort—we will raise our baby together and support one another at home and in our careers.’

His voice was calm, conciliatory, at peace with the decisions he had taken. A red rag to all of the fears coursing through her. ‘But will we be a team...or are you expecting me to make all of the changes? It’s me who has to leave my home, my independence. The plans I had already made for our future, the baby and me. Will you accept my desire to have a career of my own? Will you accommodate my friends, my parents, my interests? Or will I have to flex to your way of life? Will you change the way you work, your socialising? Will you welcome me and the baby into your life or will you always begrudge us?’

She had spoken angrily, her fear sitting at the base of her throat. She expected him to respond just as angrily but instead he walked towards her. He held her gaze while gently fixing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I will never make our child feel unwanted.’

His expression grew even gentler; concerned eyes swallowed her up. Just as they had the night they made love. ‘Don’t be so afraid.’

‘I’m not afraid.’

His smile told her she wasn’t kidding anyone. So she added, ‘It’s just that this is the craziest idea ever. We don’t know each other.’

‘We’ll get to know one another. You don’t have to do everything in life by the book.’ He lowered his head closer to her and whispered, ‘We can make this work, trust me.’

Her heart dipped and then soared in her chest.

He spoke with such strength, determination, even kindness, she forgot every reason why this could never work and said with a gulp, ‘Can we?’

His hand reached out and for a moment rested just above her hip. She stopped breathing. She fought the urge to move in closer. Longing to feel his arms wrapped around her, his body pushed against hers.

His gaze moved to her tummy and then back up to hers.

He lowered his head, his lips not far away from hers.

She fell into the green burning depths of his eyes.

His breath whispered across her lips.

She swayed closer.

His eyes burnt even brighter. And then his lips brushed against her cheek until he reached her ear. In a low voice he whispered, ‘We’ll make this work.’ His hand cupped her hip even more. ‘I’ll make sure it does.’

And then he was moving to the door. ‘Our appointment is at nine-thirty tomorrow. I will collect you at nine-fifteen.’

Dazed, she stared after him.

A gut-wrenching thought hit her.

Had she just witnessed a master manipulator at work?

She followed him to the front door, resolute that she was going to say no to everything he was proposing. There was no way she was agreeing to marrying this expert schemer...player...heartbreaker.

But before she could speak he turned and, with a quiet, intent dignity, he said, ‘I will be the best father and husband that I can. I’ll change my way of working, my socialising. I will be faithful to all of my marriage vows.’ He paused and his hand moved close to where her belly lay beneath her sweater top, his fingers tipping against the navy cotton. ‘Why wouldn’t I, when I have something so special waiting for me at home?’

CHAPTER THREE (#u84aa8ffb-41d6-5985-9a72-1828201ef2b5)

Wednesday 20th April, 10:45 p.m.

This is my private number. Contact me any time you need me.

LATER THAT EVENING Lucien pressed ‘send’ on his text and went back to the never-ending stream of emails awaiting his attention. His stomach growled. He needed food. He had missed the gala dinner he had been scheduled to attend tonight in Palais Brongniart in favour of returning to London.

Knowing that decisive action was needed.

Knowing that he had to cut off any ideas Charlotte had of excluding him from their lives before that idea became entrenched.

And if that took marrying her, so be it.

He was doing the right thing.

He had a duty to his unborn child.

Unlike his own parents, he would be a responsible parent.

But that did not stop the whispers of doubts that were creeping into his bloodstream. Could he make this work? Would he mess up as a father, as a husband? He had failed as a husband once before. Would he do so again?

His phone pinged and the screen glowed in the low light of his home office. He grabbed it impatiently, annoyed to admit to himself that he had been waiting for her response.

I understand why you want to be part of my child’s life. But why do you want us to marry? C

After his first marriage had failed he had sworn never to marry again. Hurt and angry at the endless arguments, sick in his heart at his own weaknesses that led to the marriage imploding. Sick at the knowledge that he was no better than his own spineless father. He had been repulsed the day he had found his father in the act of betraying his mother with another woman.

But not repulsed enough to fight the weak nature he had obviously inherited from him. For Lucien had gone on to betray his first wife, Gabrielle. A betrayal driven by anger and jealousy and hurt and pain. He had found Gabrielle semi-naked in the arms of another man and in pathetic revenge had gone out and slept with another woman. Frantic to ease the panic and loneliness that had threatened to crush him, knowing that there was no one in this world he could trust.

But now an unexpected need to protect his own was hammering through him and it pushed even his fears of marriage, of how it would expose the coward at the heart of him, to the side. He stabbed out his response.

I don’t want our child to have any doubt about how much he’s wanted, or about our commitment to raising him together. This is a public commitment to our baby.

After ten minutes of waiting for a response, he gave in to his hunger and was cooking fresh spinach and ricotta ravioli he had found in his fridge when her response finally came.

It might be a girl. C

Puzzled, he checked back on his previous text and saw he had unwittingly referred to the baby as a boy.

He popped a white grape from a bunch he had also taken from the fridge into his mouth. And then crunched down on another. And another. The sweet but sharp juice easing the dryness in his throat. His heart did a funny little shiver. He was going to be the father of a boy. How he knew he had no idea. But he knew. The knot of tension eating into his neck all day tightened even more.

He texted back.

It’s a boy.

He was plating his pasta when his phone lit up again.

Do you really want to do this? I know you are impulsive in work, in the decisions you take, but this is about a baby, not a business deal you can walk away from if it doesn’t work out. C.