Chapter Twenty-Eight
Henry
I stand over by the windows, looking down at the Avon. I feel as if someone’s reached into my chest and ripped out my heart with their bare hands.
She’s gone with Cam. I went too far, and she obviously couldn’t bear the thought of Cam being hurt. It’s made her realize she wants to stay with him.
Hands on my hips, I rest my forehead against the glass and close my eyes. I can hear Alex and Tyson murmuring behind me, moving around as they clean up the blood that had sprayed across the room. It’s all over my shirt and my hand. I’ll need to go home, shower, and change. At the moment, though, I can’t even move away from the window. I think I might crumble into tiny broken pieces if I do.
I can’t believe I’ve lost her. I’m such a stupid, fucking idiot. Why can’t I keep my temper checked? Why do I—
“Henry,” Alex says.
I don’t reply, needing every ounce of control just to breathe.
“Henry,” he says again.
“Just… just give me a minute.”
“All isn’t lost, my friend.”
“Alex, I really can’t deal with your positive reassurances right now.”
“Bro,” he says. “Turn around.”
I open my eyes and blink a few times. Then I push off the glass and look over my shoulder.
Juliette is standing in the doorway. The automatic doors slide closed, and she steps back to avoid them, then curses and moves forward again to make them open. This time, she walks into the boardroom. Behind her, people are watching, wide-eyed, but she’s clearly oblivious of anything but me.
“It’s over,” she says.
I turn slowly.
She swallows hard. “It’s done. I’ve told him it’s over. I don’t want to be with him anymore. He doesn’t make me happy. You’re the only one who makes me happy. But… I know I’ve put you through it. I’m not expecting you to bring up another man’s child. I’m not expecting anything. But maybe we can go get a coffee or something, and then… we can…”
Her eyes widen as I stride across the room, and then she laughs as I sweep her up into my arms.
“Baby,” I say, “ah my God, I don’t believe it, e te tau, ka nui taku aroha ki a koe…” It means ‘my darling, I love you so much.’
She puts her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly. “Main tumse pyar karthee hoon… I love you, I love you, I love you.”
I wrap my arms around her waist, turning in a circle. Delight pours through me like sunshine, beaming from the end of my fingers and the tips of my hair.
“Aw,” Tyson says from behind us. “Are you trying to make us cry?”
I put her down and glance over at them. Alex has sat down, and he stretches his legs out and gives me a look that says, I told you so.
“Permission to have the day off with my girl, boss,” I say to him.
He laughs. “Granted.”
“Alex,” she says, “I know it’s my first day back, and I’ve got loads to do…”
“It’ll wait,” he says. “Some things are more important. Go on. Get a room, the two of you.”
Grinning, I grab Juliette’s hand and lead her out of the boardroom. All around us, members of staff are smiling, and they cheer as we walk out, making us laugh.
“Jesus, look at the state of you,” Juliette says, looking at my shirt.
“I know. I need to go home and change.”
We go out through the front doors and stand outside in the sun. She looks around, then blows out a relieved breath. “He’s gone. For a minute I thought he might still be here.”
She lifts her gaze to mine, and we study each other for a moment, then both smile.
“I’m free,” she says. “Oh my God, I feel light as a feather.”
My heart lifts. She doesn’t belong to someone else anymore. I mean, I know she doesn’t belong to anyone—women aren’t possessions. But she’s free, and I never thought that word would make me feel so ecstatic.
We study each other. Suddenly there’s so much to say that I don’t know where to start. I want to kiss her, but for some reason I’m as tongue-tied as a schoolboy about to ask a girl out for the first time.
“You want to come to my place?” I ask. “We need to talk.”
She nods, face flushing. “Okay. I might drive over, if that’s all right, so I have my car.”
“Of course.” I take out my phone and text her. “You can follow me, but there’s the address in case you need it.”
She checks she’s got it, then nods. We walk out to the cars and pause by her Toyota.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” she says, somewhat shyly.
I nod. “Okay.”
We part, get in our respective cars, and soon we’re on the state highway, heading over to Sumner Beach.
As we drive, I glance frequently in my rearview mirror to make sure she’s still following. I half expect her to change her mind, turn the car around, and head back the way she came, but she doesn’t. All the way home, she’s there behind me, and when I finally arrive and enter the gates to the drive up to the house, she follows me slowly.
I park behind the house, she slides the Toyota in beside my BMW, and together we get out.
“Oh…” she says. “Henry, the view.”
“Come in,” I tell her. “It’s even better from the deck.”
I unlock the door and hold it open for her, and she walks inside. I follow her in and lead her through the lobby, then into the main living room. It’s strange having someone else in the house with me. I’m so glad the first person to come here is her.
She inhales as she walks past the black leather sofa and recliners, past the dining area and the huge kitchen, and over to the far wall, which is all glass, overlooking the ocean.
I undo the sliding doors and pull them all the way back, and she goes out onto the deck. The view is absolutely magnificent. The breeze tugs strands of hair from her bun, but the air is warm, and the smell of the ocean mixes with the jasmine growing in my garden, the amazing scent of summer.
I love this view, but I can’t take my eyes off her. I’ve pictured bringing her here so often, but I never thought it would actually happen.
Her gaze comes back to me, and she smiles. Then her brows draw together, and she reaches out and strokes my cheek. “You’re covered in blood.”
“I’ll go and clean myself up,” I say. “Give me a minute.” She nods, and I walk back into the living room. “Make yourself a drink if you want,” I call out. “Or I’ll make us one… whatever.” I stride toward my bedroom, cursing under my breath. Pull yourself together, dude.
I go straight through to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. Christ, it’s a good job the police didn’t stop me on the way home—I look as if I’ve committed murder. I switch on the shower, strip off, and take thirty seconds to scrub myself clean, then come out, dry myself, and put on clean track pants and a tee, all in the space of about five minutes.
When I walk out, barefoot, hair still wet, she’s just boiled the kettle, and she’s pouring hot water into two cups.
“You have fruit tea,” she says. “I didn’t expect that.”
“I’m civilized,” I protest.
She laughs, squeezes both the bags, and takes them out. “Where’s the rubbish bin?”
“Over there.”
She disposes of the bags and stirs the teas. “Mum said I should limit my coffee intake, and I’ve already had one cup this morning.” She pushes one mug over to me. I take it, not caring what’s in it. She made it for me, and I love it already.
We sip our tea, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching each other. Then we both start laughing.
“I didn’t expect this,” she says. “I thought you’d have carried me off to bed over your shoulder like a firefighter.”
I smile. “It’s only nine thirty. We’ve got all day.”
She gives a delightful giggle. Then she says, “Will you show me around?”
“Sure.”
“This kitchen is gorgeous.”
“The chef loves it,” I say, and grin when she laughs.
“Do you never cook?” she scolds.
“Nope. Far better things to do than that.”
She opens a few cupboards, looks in the fridge, murmurs approvingly at the sight of champagne, then sighs as she obviously realizes she’s going to have to limit her alcohol intake, too.
She follows me into the living room. “A PlayStation and an Xbox.”
“All the mod cons.”
“I like the dining suite. Did you have an interior designer?”
“No, it’s all my choice. I quite like furniture shopping.”
She smiles, and we slowly walk across the room, sipping our tea.
We go into the corridor leading to the rest of the house, and I show her the gym, the laundry room, the spare bedrooms, and the main bathroom, with its amazing sunken bath that overlooks the ocean.
“I can see that getting some use,” she teases.
“Definitely.”
Her face flushes, and I smile. This is so strange. I feel excited and nervous. We need to talk, but I don’t know where to start.
There’s no rush, though. We’re feeling our way around this, and I’m kind of enjoying the anticipation.
We stop by the master bedroom, and she goes in and walks around it quietly. I’m glad it’s tidy, apart from the clothes I ripped off and tossed on the bed before showering. While she looks at the books on my bedside table, I pick the clothes up and put them in the laundry bin in the walk-in wardrobe.
She follows me in and walks slowly around, brushing my clothes with her fingers. My shirts and suits, the racks of ties, the shelves of tees. She runs her fingers over the table by the window, across the box of watches and cufflinks and tie pins. It’s odd—we’ve been as physically close as two people can be, but this feels intimate in a different way. I like the way she’s touching everything. It’s as if she’s taking possession of me. Claiming me.
“I like the duvet cover,” she says, going back into the bedroom. It’s black and white, with geometric shapes. “It’s very you.”
I just smile.
“It’s a nice room,” she says.
“I’m hoping we’ll spend a lot of time here.” I smirk and she gives a shy smile.
Steady, Henry. Nice and slow.
I indicate with my head for her to follow me out and along to the next bedroom. We walk in. It’s simply decorated, with just a few items of furniture—a bed, a table, a chair.
I watch her walk over to the window and look out. “Such a beautiful view,” she whispers.
“I thought this would be a good choice,” I tell her.
She turns to face me. “For what?”
“For the nursery.”
She stares at me, and we study each other for a long moment.
Her mouth opens, but no words come out. She looks around as if picturing it full of all the paraphernalia a baby brings with it. Then finally her hand strays subconsciously to her belly, “But… um…”
I walk forward to stand in front of her, put her mug with mine on the table, and take her hands. “What I said, about not wanting to bring up another man’s child… I was talking about if we were together, that I’d prefer not to have a sperm donor. I didn’t envisage this situation, and I’m so very sorry for reacting badly when you told me.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “That’s okay.”
“It’s not, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
Tears tip over her lashes. “Oh, Henry…”
I look into her eyes. “I love you. And I wish I could give you a baby, but I can’t. But even so, it turns out that you’re pregnant.” I look down at her belly and run the back of my fingers over it. “You’re growing a little person inside you. And I think that’s amazing.”
“But, it’s Cam’s…”
“It’s yours. And if you’ll have me, I’d love to bring the baby up with you.”
She laughs then and wipes her fingers under her eyes to brush away the tears. “I don’t know what to say.” She inhales, then exhales slowly. Her light-brown skin has taken on a pale tinge.
I frown. “Are you okay?”
She breathes in and out again. Then, suddenly, she says, “I’m so sorry. Excuse me.”
I watch her run away, and follow her back into my bedroom. She’s gone into the bathroom, and as I open the door I hear the distinct sound of her vomiting into the toilet. Oh jeez, it must be morning sickness.
I go in, take a clean face cloth out of the cupboard, wet it with cold water under the tap, then fold it and place it on the back of her neck as she vomits again. “It’s all right, sweetheart.” I smooth the strands of hair back from her face.
She stops, waits, then flushes the toilet. I pass her some paper to wipe her mouth, then run her a glass of water from the tap. She takes it and has a mouthful, swirls and spits, then turns and sits on the floor, her back to the wall.
I sit beside her and wipe her face with the cloth. She watches me, her eyes wide.
“Okay?” I ask.
She nods. “I’m so sorry. It’s hardly the most romantic way to kick off our relationship.”
I give her a big smile.
“What?” she asks, her lips curving up.
“You said relationship.”
She gives a short laugh.
“I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” I tell her.
She moistens her lips. “I need a drink.”
“Of course. What would you like?”
“I don’t suppose you have any Sprite?”
“Sure. Come on.” I get up and pull her to her feet, then lead her out into the living room. “Go and sit outside in the fresh air,” I tell her, “and I’ll bring you a Sprite out.”
She hesitates, so I say, “Go on.” She nods and goes out onto the deck, and sits on the rattan outdoor daybed that I love so much, putting her feet up and closing her eyes.
I take a can out of the fridge and pour it into a glass with some ice. Then, quickly, I Google ‘snacks for morning sickness.’ It recommends toast, crackers, and protein-rich foods. I look through the cupboards and find some crackers, spread a couple with peanut butter, because I know she likes it, and take the plate with the glass outside.
“This is nice,” she says, brushing the daybed. It’s large and circular with a hood and cushions.
“I know. I love it. I read out here in the evenings.” I put the glass and plate beside her on the table. “I’ve just read that small, regular meals might help morning sickness, so I thought you might like something like this. No worries if you don’t.”
She looks at the plate, then back at me. “You just read about it for me?”
I climb onto the daybed beside her and lean back on the pillows. “I did.”
She looks back at the plate. Then she picks up a cracker, sniffs it cautiously, and takes a bite. “Mm,” she says. “That’s okay.”
I smile, leaning an elbow on the back and my head on a hand.
She eats quietly for a while, looking out to sea, thinking, while I watch her taking small bites of the cracker and picking up crumbs from her lips. When she’s done, she has a few sips of the Sprite, then finally looks back at me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turns a little to face me, curling up. She nibbles her bottom lip. “Henry, look. This is such a crazy situation. It’s kind of you to say that you’d like to bring the baby up with me, but it’s a huge ask of you. I don’t expect you to jump straight in like that. If you want to date for a while, get to know one another first, and make sure we’re, you know, suitable, I’ll understand.”
“Well, I’ve known you for six years, so I’ve been in love with you for about… ah… two thousand, one hundred and ninety days. I think that’s enough to get to know someone, don’t you?”
She gives me a wry look. “You know what I mean.”
I give a patient sigh. “Juliette, I’ve worked beside you for years. I’ve seen you happy, sad, tired, irritable, lonely, unhappy, every emotion I can think of. I know that your favorite foods are peanut butter and sushi and curry as long as it’s not too spicy, and your favorite chocolate bar is a Twix. That you love champagne and hate Tequila. I know that you love netball and you became a physio because you broke your ankle when you were fourteen, which put paid to your plans to play it professionally.”
I reach out and take her hand in mine. “I know you get grumpy when you haven’t had enough sleep, and that you’re at your most passionate when you’re talking about making children better. You’re sweet and fiery and determined and a little bit outspoken, and I love that. I think I know eighty-five percent of you, and I desperately want to get to know the other fifteen.”
“That’s wonderful,” she says, “but what if that turns out to be the fifteen percent you don’t like about me? Wouldn’t you rather live apart for a while until you’re sure?”
“It’d be pretty odd for two married people to live apart.”
Her jaw drops, and she gives a short laugh. “Henry!”
“Look. I told you at Damon’s wedding that I’m going to marry you, and I haven’t changed my mind. It’s going to happen—it’s just a matter of when. I’d do it tomorrow. I’m sure of what I want. I’ve been sure for years. But if you want to wait, I understand. If you want to live apart for a while, I understand. I won’t like it, though, and I’m going to ask you to move in with me every day.”
Her lips curve up. Then her smile fades again, and she looks away. “I just feel so bad putting all this on you so early in the relationship. Normally people have months or years getting to know one another, having lots of sex, and being free before they settle down and have kids. I mean, I’d hope there’d still be sex, but I have no idea whether it’s safe when pregnant, and obviously there’s the birth, and I don’t know—”
I pick up my phone and hold up a hand. “Just a sec.”
“—whether… oh…” She stops and frowns.
I type something in. Read a bit. Then I say, “All right, so I Googled whether it’s okay to have sex during pregnancy. It says the baby is protected by the amniotic fluid and the strong muscles of the uterus, and that sexual activity won’t affect the baby as long as you don’t have complications.” I put the phone down. “So that’s one problem solved.”
That makes her laugh. “Hurrah for Google.”
I reach out and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “So neither of us knows anything about pregnancy… So what? It’ll be fun to read about it. We’ll research together. Find out how big the fetus is week by week. We’ll read about morning sickness and shop for maternity clothes and cots and breast pads and fuck knows whatever else you and the baby need. Aroha will help, and I’m sure Saxon’s Catie would love to talk about her experiences. You have people around you, Juliette, you don’t have to do this alone.”
She swallows hard. “There’s one more thing… Cam.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I don’t know what he’s going to be like. If he goes to Australia, he might actually want nothing to do with the baby. But I have a feeling he’s going to go the other way and make it really difficult for us.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Look, he’s the baby’s father, so he has every right to be involved. I don’t have to like the man to accept that. He can be involved with the baby as much as you want him to be. We’re grown ups, so we’ll sort something out—visitation rights, involving him in decisions, that kind of thing. Equally, if he’s a pain in the arse, we’ll sort it. We’ll get a lawyer if we have to. It’ll be about what’s best for the baby.”
I give her a firm look. “But where you’re concerned, he has no rights at all. Zero, you hear me? If he comes within three feet of you without prior arrangement, I want to know about it. You’re mine now. And the sooner he realizes that, the better.”