Chapter Nine #2
He leans down, close enough that his breath stirs my hair, his voice low and deliberate.
‘Beautiful things always please, Tessa. Always.’
Theo
Architectural pointers.
I don’t wince at the recollection of my part explanation to Tessa.
Because yes, I had given those to the director.
It wasn’t even a matter of professional pride or arrogance or that I couldn’t help myself.
It was entirely because the IVF building was an eyesore.
The kind of place nowhere near fit for a queen to bear the child she desires, even if the very idea sticks a hot poker in my gut for reasons I’ve still yet to fully comprehend.
I suspect it’s only because Tessa is leaving the clinic without choosing a donor again that I’m feeling this calm.
So, I had given the director pointers.
Along with a hefty donation that had immediately removed the chariness from the director’s eyes and replaced it with cloying sycophancy.
And now here I am at midnight, having deliberately worn out my beautiful, complex lover, so she’ll be out till morning.
The time difference between Cape Town and my investment manager’s on Wall Street wouldn’t have been a problem even if it was the middle of the night for him. So I ease back in my study chair, vastly satisfied when he answers on the second ring.
‘Theo. It’s been a while. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about your beautiful billions getting fatter by the day,’ he says, his voice coated in greed and anticipation. A shark through and through.
‘Hello to you too, James,’ I reply smoothly, twirling the Montblanc pen in my hand. ‘If I’d forgotten, you wouldn’t still be billing me obscene percentages for breathing in my direction. You’re welcome.’
He chuckles, dry as desert sand. ‘What’s got you calling at this hour? Another exciting project? I’ll tell you now, the yacht sector’s bloated. Don’t do it.’
I smirk. ‘Relax. I didn’t call to buy another floating palace. I want a quarter-million-dollars moved by morning. Work your sorcery.’
‘Is that it?’ He yawns audibly. ‘To move some money to buy a thing? You could’ve sent me this by email.’
I take a beat, glancing at the door—towards the bedroom where Tessa sleeps.
Her breathing had evened out not long ago, body loose and sated from the storm I’d put her through.
I let myself think about all the files I saw at the clinic.
One after another, sterile little folders with sterile little promises.
Chosen by a random computer algorithm, according to the director, none of them what she needs. Deserves.
Each one made me want to torch the whole stack, throw her over my shoulder and march out of there like the Neanderthal I clearly was. Every cell in my body revolts at the idea of another man’s DNA touching her, let alone creating life with her. But, sooner or later, she’ll pick one.
My lips curl, even as unfamiliar sorrow slams into me. Because if cruel fate hadn’t robbed her…us…of a child, she wouldn’t need to be going through this. I wouldn’t be on the outside, looking in. Wishing for things to be different.
Maybe it’s not too late?
‘Theo? You there?’ James’s voice snaps down the line.
‘I’m here.’ My tone sharpens, even as the idea of taking a chance—placing myself in a prime position to be the one to give Tessa her baby, again—takes deeper root. ‘The money is a donation. But there’s something else I need you to do.’
I set out the requirement in stark detail, every instruction precise, every clause sharpened with enough finality to ensure James doesn’t mistake me. Silence hums for three seconds on the other end before he whistles low.
‘That was most definitely not on my bingo card today.’
‘All you need to know is that it’s imperative it’s done right and discreetly. I’ll send you an email so you have all the finer details. Get it done in twenty-four hours. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ he says quickly.
The line clicks dead. I lean back, shoulders rigid, my pulse steady as stone.
I’ve just stepped onto a tightrope.
One false move, one gust of wind, and the fall would be catastrophic. But I have no intention of falling. If this goes my way, and it will because fate owed us both a helluva great deal, I’ll have everything to live for.
There’ll be turbulence when Tessa finds out, of course. But I’ve lived through the eye of several storms before. And I’ve never failed to come out stronger.
This time will be no different.
The phone vibrates in my pocket as we stroll along the V&A Waterfront.
Tessa’s hand is looped loosely through my arm, her laughter spilling out as a seal barks from the docks. It’s the kind of sound a man could get drunk on. Which is why I answer the call instead of letting it go.
‘Give me a minute,’ I murmur, slipping away before she can ask.
The voice on the other end is brief, efficient. A confirmation. The wheels are moving exactly as I instructed.
When I return, she tilts her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. ‘Who was that?’
I brush the question aside with a lazy smile. ‘Work.’
‘Always work.’ She tries for flippancy, but doesn’t quite pull it off.
I don’t linger. Instead, I steer her towards a gallery of African contemporary art, slide a hand to her lower back as she takes it in.
By the time she’s admiring a piece with bright, bold brushstrokes, she’s forgotten the phone call.
Over the next few days, I make sure of it.
I walk her through Cape Town’s streets as if I own them, up to Table Mountain where the clouds hug the summit like a good friend.
I fill her days with beauty and distraction, with gestures both grand and quiet.
And those little bites of guilt that linger long after she’s fallen into another sensual stupor next to me?
Those are the slings and arrows of a cutthroat strategy.
I can more than live with them.
Because the prize at the end will be entirely worth it.
If fate—and computer algorithms—play ball.
Tessa
It’s ridiculous, how natural this begins to feel.
Morning sun spilling over the ocean. Theo at my side, unerringly confident, pointing out sights as though he’s showing me a city he built with his bare hands. Maybe he did, in a way—several iconic buildings here bear his touch.
And then there’s the way he feeds me. Literally. His hand covering mine when I reach for a second glass of wine. His voice low, coaxing: ‘Try the rooibos tea instead.’ Then he’s steering me towards grilled fish, vibrant salads, fresh fruit. ‘Better for you.’
For me. Not us. Never us.
All the right things a woman preparing to carry a child should be doing.
It’s curious learning that high and low feelings can co-exist in multiples. All at once.
I should bristle, but I don’t. Because the truth is, no one has ever cared about me like this. Not since my father, who did his best to fill both roles after my mother passed. I’ve gone years pretending I don’t need that kind of attention. That I’m strong enough to do everything myself.
And yet here, under Theo’s relentless care, I melt.
But I notice the shadows, too. The phone calls he takes just out of earshot. The times I wake in the middle of the night and hear his voice murmuring in the study. I never catch the words, only the cadence. Serious. Intent. Focussed, with a particular goal in mind.
Something is going on. My instincts whisper it, but my heart…my heart wants to close its eyes.
Because I’m only days away from making the final decision.
Days away from stepping into a future where I’ll have what I’ve longed for—a baby to pour all my love into. A love that won’t betray me, won’t abandon me, won’t break me the way sexy alpha males seem to do.
And yet when Theo looks at me, when his hand brushes mine, when his eyes burn like they’re memorising me, I can’t stop imagining.
The possibility is that I’m already in love with Theo Biney.
But I’ve been through one harrowing event in my life. I survived it. This time, when everything goes according to plan, I’ll survive again, with a child of my own.
I don’t need him.
Right?
The clinic smells the same as last time—antiseptic and lemon polish, sterile and cold in a way that sets my teeth on edge. But today feels heavier. Final. This time, I have to choose a donor.
Theo walks beside me, a dark storm in a charcoal suit, sunglasses tucked away but his composure no less impenetrable.
He doesn’t speak as we’re ushered into the consultation room.
Doesn’t so much as tap a finger when the consultant clears his throat and says, ‘I’m sorry, Miss Rockson, one of your previous finalists is no longer a viable option.
But we have two more replacements we hope will be suitable. ’
Surprised, I look through the files and, yes, one of the candidates is gone from the stack. I’m given two new files in exchange. Four choices in total now.
I suppose I should be mollified but instead the new choices feel like more work I don’t want to undertake.
When I glance over, Theo is leaning back, arms folded, watching with those sharp hawk’s eyes. Too quiet.
‘You have nothing to say this time?’ My voice wavers more than I like, so I add a firmer edge. ‘Last time I couldn’t shut you up with your endless opinions.’
He shrugs, broad shoulders rolling beneath his suit. But I see it—the faint tic in his jaw, the breath he holds a fraction too long. ‘And did you love it or hate it?’ he enquires silkily.
‘Yes, okay, so I hated your interference last time,’ I remind him.
‘And I heard you.’ His voice is velvet gravel. ‘So I’m choosing silent support this time.’
It should reassure me. But it doesn’t. If anything, it unsettles me more. Does he regret coming with me today? Does he want to stop me? Suggest an alternative? Himself?
The thrill the thought sparks is so dangerous I bury it instantly.
Dream on, Tessa. You had that unexpected option once.
Mother Nature tore it from you.