Chapter Eight
Tessa
AS I WATCH HIM, something desolate and bleak reels through his eyes. And even though he doesn’t quite grapple it down as quickly as he wants to, I can see him absorb it into his formidable armour.
But I catch other signs of his feelings—the tremor in the hand he slots into his pocket. And the other hand that rises, almost helplessly, to slide over his jaw before that jaw locks to titanium.
‘Tell me what happened. If you please.’
Bitter laughter claws its way out of me, harsh and unsteady. ‘There’s nothing pleasing about it.’
His eyes cut to mine, almost pleading for the truth.
I lift my hand, holding him off for just a breath. ‘For the sake of laying things out in the open…’ I stop, press my lips together and gather what crumbs of composure I can scrape from the wreckage of such cruel memories. But I know it won’t be enough. Nothing ever is.
‘It was two months after we met in London,’ I begin, voice trembling.
‘I’d already missed my period but I… I guess I was in denial.
I waited another two weeks before I took the test. I texted you the day after I took a bunch more, just to be sure.
’ I look away from the single wince that twitches through his body.
‘I booked an appointment with my doctor but the night before…the pain started. A dull ache at first, then like knives tearing through me. I collapsed in my apartment. My neighbour called an ambulance. By the time I reached the hospital…’ My throat locks, but I force the words to come.
‘They said I was bleeding out. I needed emergency surgery. A transfusion. If I’d waited another hour, I might not be standing here at all. ’
Theo’s head jerks back, his whole body stiffening. His fists clench at his sides as if he’s fighting himself not to explode.
I go on, quieter now. ‘The doctors said my womb was…partly compromised. That if I wanted children, I couldn’t afford to waste too much time. That natural conception might never be possible. And even with intervention, the odds would shrink with every year.’
His voice rips out of him, harsh and guttural. ‘Why didn’t Ashon—or Cilla—tell…did they know what happened?’ he amends cleverly.
‘No. Because I didn’t tell them.’ I meet his eyes, steady despite the tears burning mine.
‘Nobody knows, except you. Not even my father, as I didn’t want to upset him.
Back then, I thought…’ I swallow, hard. ‘I thought you deserved to know, too. But you’d already made it very clear what I meant to you when you didn’t reply to my first text.
’ Perhaps this last part is a little unfair, especially when we agreed to a single night of pleasure four years ago.
But life isn’t fair. And surely, I’m allowed one tiny jab?
A muscle leaps in his jaw, but his eyes don’t condemn. ‘Go on,’ he simply mumbles.
So I do.
I shrug away the anguish that sometimes sits like a sorcerer’s cloak on my shoulders.
‘I needed to some time to…’ Mourn. Alone.
‘Take stock, accept what had happened. Then I guess I was in denial for a while. I kept living. Kept working. I convinced myself I was fine. But I wasn’t.
Every day, I woke up with the echo of what I’d lost. Not just the baby, but the chance of one day building the family I’d always dreamed of.
So, I started researching. And yes, eventually, I chose IVF.
Because I won’t gamble with fate again. If I’m going to be a mother, it’s going to be on my terms, with no man standing in my way or letting me down. No man refusing to pick up the phone.’
The silence that follows is thunderous, shaking the air between us.
I wrap my arms around myself, braced for whatever storm Theo Biney decides to unleash.
For far too long, he just stares at me. Those dark eyes, unflinching, drilling into me as though he can excavate the truth I’ve already laid bare. I think he’s going to rage, to roar, but when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. Quiet and carved out of something vulnerable.
‘Did you want it?’ A beat. An involuntary tic at his temple. Then, rougher, ‘My baby?’
The words slash straight through me. My breath stops and I swear the room tilts, though his body remains braced and rigid, a man waiting for a cyclone to level him.
‘Yes.’ The word tumbles out before I can shore it up. I add quickly, fiercely, ‘Not because it was yours, but because it was mine.’ True enough and yet, I know given the choice between the handful of past lovers I’ve had, including Giles, that Theo’s would be the child I’d choose to bear.
I fight not to clench my hands, not to visibly shudder at that bare-naked truth.
His nostrils flare. His chin lifts in that imperious way I’ve come to both loathe and crave. ‘It would’ve been mine too. Make no mistake. Whether I knew about it immediately or later. I hope to hell you planned on telling me if—’
‘All this is hypothetical.’ My voice lashes, sharper than I intend. ‘What happened, happened. You wanted to know, four years after the fact. Now you know. Flexing your alpha muscles doesn’t change the fact that…that…’ I stop and press my lips together.
Emotion claws at my throat. I hate that he sees it, that he notices everything. The tremor in my hands, the unevenness in my voice. And yet, under the fury stamped across his features, something else flickers.
‘Are you in pain now?’ he asks suddenly. ‘Any complications since? Do you get dizzy spells? Headaches? Tell me about your recovery. How much did you…?’
‘You’re not my doctor, Theo.’ I cut him off, breathing hard. ‘Besides my partially defective womb, I’m fine.’
Another stretch of silence. Then his gaze drops, inevitable and unrelenting, to my belly. As if he has X-ray vision. As if he can divine secrets from skin and fabric.
‘Did you get implanted today?’ The question costs him. I can hear it in the roughness of his voice, see it in the corded tightness of his throat. The whole world seems to hold its breath.
I shake my head. ‘No.’
Something passes through his eyes. Relief? Rage? I can’t tell, because it vanishes as quickly as it comes. ‘Why not?’ he rasps.
I fold my arms tighter, pulling composure around me like a safety net. ‘I see we’re ignoring the none-of-your-business part of this whole conversation.’
‘Why didn’t you, Tessa?’ He presses, relentless in his insistence.
Because the infernal voice at the back of my head kept insisting none of them were you!
Exasperation—at myself, at him for dogging my waking moments and my dreams with impossible longings—bursts out of me, edged with a vulnerability I can’t hide. ‘Because I couldn’t decide on the donor, Theo. Happy now?’
He doesn’t look happy. He still looks furious. But there’s a glint in his eyes, something that looks remarkably like triumph, as though my admission is a crack in a wall he’s determined to smash to rubble.
A shiver races through me because a part of me wishes for a single second that he would. Smash and grab me.
I turn, heading for the door, suddenly needing space, needing oxygen.
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ His snarl stops me cold, the sheer command in his voice like a whip across my spine.
I stare at him, stunned by the ferocity in his tone. ‘What are you talking about? We’re done, aren’t we? I’m leaving.’
Theo doesn’t flinch. His gaze pins me where I stand. ‘Not quite. The better question is do you want to be done with me?’
The question lands like a thunderclap. My lips part, but nothing comes out. Because the answer I should give, that essential yes, sticks to my tongue like glue.
He takes my silence for what it is. A tell he intends to fully capitalise on.
‘You know why you couldn’t decide on a donor today?’ he swoops in, voice low, lethal. ‘I’ll tell you why…’
My breath stutters then falls away as I’m caught in the firm belief that he’s about to expose a truth I don’t want to face.
That he’s seen beneath all my very valid reasons to the hidden, unvarnished one.
That deep down, I want every single donor choice to be exactly like…
him. As horrifyingly unrealistic as that might be.
That the singular joy I experienced once I accepted that I was having his child four years ago hasn’t diminished.
That I want that feeling back, desperately, with this new road I’m taking.
And that I’m mildly terrified not knowing the true identity of the father of my IVF baby might leave a hollow inside me that my complete love and devotion to my child might not entirely fill.
Then he speaks. ‘You couldn’t choose because you’re not ready to be done with this. With us. And I…’ His chest rises, then falls, as if he’s tethering himself to sanity. ‘I haven’t had nearly enough of you.’
Heat and relief and absurd sadness crawl up my spine. Hasn’t he just proven every reason why he’s wrong for me by falling back on the sexual connection between us? I stand my ground. ‘And when exactly do you think I’ll make up my mind?’
His eyes glint, feral in the low light. ‘You tell me. Your hunger burns just as bright as mine.’
I shake my head. ‘This is insane.’
‘And yet…you’re still going to tell me. Aren’t you, queen?’ he croons, his voice low and dangerous as a riptide.
‘If I don’t do it tomorrow or the day after…my next fertile window is in another month.’ The words tumble out, damning and reckless, but I couldn’t stem them even if I tried.
His expression doesn’t shift, not outwardly. But something moves in his gaze, a dangerous calm settling over him. ‘Then I own you for the next month. And after that, we’re done.’
The shiver of cold dread and bewilderment turns to flames when he starts towards me, each stride confident, claiming.
I shoot up a hand, stalling. ‘Wait. I have a question.’
He halts. ‘What?’
‘You asked me if I wanted your…the baby.’ My voice cracks, but I force the words. ‘Did you? What would you have said if I’d texted you that I was pregnant? Would you have deleted that too?’