Baby's On The Way!: Bound by a Baby Bump / Expecting the Prince's Baby / The Pregnant Witness

Her honesty eased that little knot of tension from his stomach, and he couldn’t tell her how grateful he was for this acknowledgement that maybe she didn’t have it all worked out after all. Funnily, her apology for creating the schedule in the first place made him want to help her with a replacement more than ever; he wanted to do whatever it took to make this work for them, even if it felt like seeing Exit signs being ripped down in front of him. Because what was an escape to him now? Sure, he could run. He could get far away from Rachel, throw money at the situation to keep the lawyers happy and have nothing to do with this woman and her child ever again. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

And just like that his relaxed feeling was gone. He sat a little straighter in his chair, the tension in his neck and shoulders not allowing him to lounge. There was no escape now. Nothing for it but to plough on, into whatever it was his life held for him. He couldn’t escape the facts: he was going to be a father. This woman, her plans and her notebooks, would be in his life for ever.

But not every part of his life. Rachel’s presence had become an accepted fact between that Italian lunch and her turning up here. But just because he had her in his life, didn’t mean he couldn’t keep parts of it for himself. Keep part of himself safe. So she would be the mother of his child. He couldn’t change that. But that was all she would be. He would stop these daydreams and night-time fantasies about that night. Forget the feel and taste of her lips and skin. He wouldn’t fall into a relationship with her just because she was carrying his child.

‘Let’s just get this over with,’ he said, forcing out the words. ‘We have to talk about it some time, and we’re both here now. What else did you have written down before?’

‘Well...there was one part of the plan I had trouble with,’ she admitted. ‘Without knowing your financial position it was difficult to be accurate, so I came up with a number of different scenarios.’

‘You should know, I’m not as well off as you might think.’ He wasn’t sure why he just threw the words out like that. Best defence perhaps, hoping to scare her off. Instead, he could see from her scowl that he’d offended her. He cursed under his breath. How could they misstep at every turn?

‘And how would you know what I think about your financial position?’

‘Well, we met at a fundraiser where the tickets cost two hundred quid a plate. It would be reasonable on your part to assume that I was loaded. I’m not,’ he added, watching her carefully to see her reaction. She didn’t even look surprised, never mind disappointed.

‘If you remember, I thought you were crashing. So the price of the ticket is neither here nor there.’

She was impossible to second-guess this morning, Leo realised. But nothing he’d seen so far screamed gold-digger. He was cautious of money, and those who wanted it. And he had every reason to be. He’d grown up surrounded by it, rich and miserable. When he’d turned twenty-one, and for the first time could decide for himself how much of the family money he wanted to use, he’d decided the answer was ‘none of it’.

He’d been selling his artwork since school, and when he’d left had set up a website and taken a few commissions, still trying to decide what he wanted to do with his life. When the paperwork had come through authorising his access to his trust fund, he’d decided once and for all that he didn’t want a penny of it for himself. So he’d set up donations to charities, funded a few local projects he was interested in, and left the remainder in the bank, waiting until he could decide the best place to send it.

He’d saved almost every penny he’d earned, and as the commissions for his work increased, so did the nest egg he was building up. He’d wanted to buy a home, somewhere completely his, where he could feel safe. All he could afford was this wreck, a shell of a place when they’d exchanged the contracts, but it was his, and he loved it. He worked the renovations around his commissions, and the time that he spent in his studio, so progress had been slow, but he had relished every minute of the work.

His art had gained a reputation now, and it had been a long time since he’d had to worry where that month’s mortgage payment would come from. And he could certainly support a child.

But he wouldn’t see his son or daughter grow up with the sense of entitlement—to money, to people, to anything they wanted—that he’d seen from the boys at school.

‘I’m not loaded, and I can’t give you a specific figure right now,’ he said eventually. ‘I pretty much just turn everything over to my accountant and let him worry about it. But I’ll do my bit, I can promise you that.’

* * *

Rachel reached down and pulled off her flip-flops; she threaded her fingers through the straps as she walked along the beach, swinging her arms and enjoying the feel of the sand between her toes. Well, Leo didn’t seem to be in any hurry for her to see whatever he wanted to show her, she thought, as they ambled down across the sand. The tide was out, and the beach stretched before her, flat and vast. A dark stripe of seaweed bisected the view, and as they grew closer she detected its smell—raw, salty, and not entirely pleasant. She couldn’t help but notice that Leo seemed to be getting more interested the closer they got. His eyes scanned the beach.

‘Looking for something?’

‘For anything,’ he corrected, though Rachel wasn’t any the wiser for this clarification.

‘Looking for anything.’ She spoke seriously and nodded as if this made perfect sense to her.

‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

Leo grabbed her hand and towed her the last few yards across the sand, dragging her, as far as she could tell, to the largest pile of stinking seaweed.

‘Ah, now I understand,’ she lied, looking down and laughing, still completely clueless about what they were doing here. She could hardly be expected to play detective when her hand was trapped in his. When her every nerve ending and neuron seemed intent on those few square inches of skin where their bodies were joined. ‘You love the seaweed. You think a city girl like me will be impressed by its...pungency?’

He laughed. ‘Exactly. I brought you all the way down to the coast to enjoy the finest seaweed this country has to offer. No, don’t be daft.’ He threw her another smile, and gestured to the stinking pile with their joined hands. ‘Let’s get stuck in.’ Abruptly, he dropped her hand and to his knees, before picking up a huge handful of the slimy green fronds and throwing it to one side.

She let out a bark of laughter, unable to hide her amusement at this grown man’s pleasure at rooting through rubbish. ‘And what exactly are we looking for?’ She crossed her legs and dropped beside him, gingerly picking through the nearest weeds.

‘Whatever the sea has sent us.’

She sat with the idea for a moment, trying to see if she could leave that statement as it was. If she could accept it. Nope.

‘You’re sure you’re not looking for something in particular.’

‘I’m sure. I’ve found all sorts down here. You never know what will turn up.’ He looked up and his gaze met hers. When he saw that she still didn’t understand, he rocked back on his heels. ‘If it helps you to have a bit more of a plan, look out for driftwood. Something big, rubbed smooth by the sea.’

She frowned a little. His answer had taken her by surprise, and she didn’t like the feeling. ‘What do you want it for?’

‘To make something beautiful. Something for the house, or something to sell. I’ve found all sorts out here,’ he went on—he must have seen she wasn’t yet convinced. ‘Jewellery, pottery, beautiful rocks and shells. Just have a dig around.’

Sitting on the sand, she couldn’t do more than pick through the pile directly in front of her, so she clambered up onto her knees, getting used to the feel of the weeds slipping through her fingers. She snuck a glance at Leo from the corner of her eye, still trying to see where this exercise was leading. As if there was some part of him that was a complete mystery to her. He was wandering along the line of debris, kicking it with his toes at times. Unable to see anything but weeds and the odd carrier bag, she decided to catch him up.

‘Any luck?’ he asked as she reached him.

‘Not—’ She started to speak but then a glint of something on the sand caught her eye. She dropped to a squat on her heels like a toddler and carefully pulled the glass out from under the detritus. As she cleaned it off, an antique bottle emerged in her hand. She stared at it, taken aback by the appearance of this beautiful object. Leo came to stand behind her and peered at the bottle over her shoulder.

‘Very nice.’ He reached out to take it. ‘May I?’

She handed it over and he turned it in his hands, brushing off a little more sand and scrutinising the lettering.

‘It’s been in the water a long time, I think,’ she said, just making out the figures ‘1909’ on one side. She took it back from Leo and tested its weight in her hands. ‘No message, though.’ She peered into the neck, wondering if it had once carried a slip of paper.

Energised by her find, hitting gold her first time beachcombing, she started walking again, stopping often to pull aside some stone or vegetation, offering up shells and rocks for Leo’s admiration.

Before long, she had pockets full of pretty shells, and her bottle tucked safely under her arm. She could feel the waves and the sand working their magic on her and Leo, as an easy chemistry and camaraderie grew between them. ‘Do you find a lot of stuff out here?’

‘Enough to keep me in hot meals and building materials.’ She raised an eyebrow in question, too relaxed to be frustrated by his cryptic answer. But then she’d been so...abrasive, that first time they’d met, she couldn’t blame him for being reticent about telling her about his life.

‘You know, you never really explained what you do. I know I wasn’t helping, being snippy about a trust fund and everything. I realise I got it wrong, then.’

He halted suddenly, evidently taken by surprise. When he started walking, there was something a little stiffer about his stride. ‘Not entirely wrong.’

‘But you said—’

‘I said I’m not loaded. What I didn’t tell you is that it’s out of choice.’

Her brows drew together in confusion, and she glanced at Leo, encouraging him to continue.

He sighed before starting to speak again. ‘My family has plenty of money. Pots of it, in fact. Too much. And I do have a trust fund.’ Not something that would normally cause such distress, she thought. ‘But I haven’t spent a penny of it for years.’

‘Why not?’ It was none of her business, but she could tell this was something big, for Leo. Perhaps the tip of an emotional iceberg, something he didn’t often talk about. And she wanted to know him.

‘It’s hard to explain. I want you to understand. I want you to know why I find it hard for you to pull out that plan... I’m not making life hard for the sake of it. It’s all connected.’

Her heart ached at the note of vulnerability in his voice, the pain that he was clearly hiding. And it soared a little, too, at the fact that he was sharing this with her. Opening up to her. But Leo’s shoulders had fallen forward, and a haunted look had crept over his face. She reached for his hand, refusing to acknowledge what that contact might signify, but needing him to know that she was there to support him. ‘I want to understand, Leo. Tell me anything you want.’

* * *