Chapter Ten
Theo
WILL THIS GO down as one of the more surreal moments of my life?
Without a doubt.
I sit frozen in the hard-backed chair, one ankle resting casually on my knee, as though I haven’t just escorted my lover into a clinic where she’s attempting to conceive a child that might or might not be mine. My hands are loose on the armrests, my expression carved from granite.
Inside, however, I’m a tempest.
What sane man does this? Watches. Waits. Sits back and allows fate to rule the day?
And yet here I am.
The seconds stretch, loud and endless and mocking, until they fold into what feels like both a mere hour and an eternity.
Then, at last, the director himself appears in the doorway.
I want to redirect my disgruntlement at him, but my light research into him showed him to be a man of principle and his dealings with me so far have been above board.
So I keep my ire to myself and simply nod when he says, ‘Mr Biney. You may join her now.’
My legs carry me forward, steady, though my chest is heavy as lead.
Truly, it should be maddening, how she manages to look breathtaking, magnificent, queenly, propped up on the crisp white bed, her hair haloed in soft disarray, her gaze fixed on me like a compass needle aching for true north. Searching my face, hunting for the truth in my silence.
I give her nothing. Not yet.
Her lips part, a crease furrowing between her brows. ‘I’m not sure how I feel about this new silent…version of you.’
I arch a brow, keeping my tone level. ‘Perhaps it’s overdue. I’ve been accused often enough of being too vocal, too domineering. Silence, I thought, might be a balm.’
It isn’t. Not for her. Frustration sparks in her eyes and, perversely, I take comfort in it. At least she feels something.
We’re told she can leave soon. I bristle at the speed of it. ‘Are you sure? Shouldn’t she stay overnight, make certain it takes?’ The words rip out harsher than I intend, betraying more than I want.
The nurse assures me everything is routine, everything is as it should be. Tessa exhales as if grateful for the reprieve from my overbearing questions.
The ride back to Clifton is wrapped in silence so thick it’s almost physical, pressing in around us. The sea rolls black against the shore, the afternoon sunlight dappling like careless jewels. She sits with her hands folded tightly in her lap, her profile a study in stubborn restraint.
When we arrive, she turns to me at last. ‘Is this your way of telling me you don’t want me now that sex is off the table?’ Her voice is steady, but her eyes betray the crack in her foundations.
My hesitation costs me. Her chin lifts, her eyes flash.
‘You are not to distress yourself,’ I say finally, quiet but firm.
‘Then answer the question.’
I catch her wrist, bring her hand down to my lap, press her palm over the thick ridge of my arousal. ‘Judge for yourself,’ I rasp. ‘Does it feel like I don’t want you?’
Her mouth opens, ready with a retort, sharp and heated.
My head shake cuts her off. ‘We’ve both been through a unique experience today. A modicum of introspection is permitted, is it not? Now…’ I slide her hand away, stand and lift her into my arms. ‘Time to rest. I’ll bring you dinner when it’s ready.’
I lay her in bed, draw the sheets up around her and kiss her forehead with a tenderness I scarcely recognise as my own.
And then I retreat.
Back to the study and the quiet churning of my mind, where storms gather, plans sharpen and the truth looms like thunderclouds.
Even now, even in this fragile calm, my lover might be on her way to becoming a mother. Maybe even the mother of my child.
And if fickle fate smiles my way when the storm breaks, nothing will ever be the same again!
Tessa
For two days after the procedure, Theo is relentless.
He insists I stay in bed, hovering like a sentinel, the command in his voice softened only by the gruff tenderness of his touch. Pillows fluffed before I even think to shift. Herbal teas delivered on sterling silver before I voice a craving.
Meals ordered, inspected, arranged. He doesn’t just help with the aftercare.
He dominates it.
It’s almost…primal.
As if some deep, instinctive part of him has claimed responsibility for this process, even though every rational truth says otherwise.
When he kneels by the bed to tuck the blanket more securely around me, his large hands so careful, his eyes so intent, I glimpse a Theo Biney I didn’t know existed. A man who—if our baby had survived—would have been the most vigilant, infuriating, protective father.
The thought hits me like a club wrapped in cashmere.
‘You would’ve been…’ My throat closes, but the words tumble anyway. ‘A good father.’
Something shifts in his face. The polished armour drops and for one searing moment I see rawness. Grief. Longing. Regret. A soul-deep ache that mirrors my own.
But then he straightens, shutters snapping down, and walks out of the room without a word.
The door shuts softly, but the silence that follows is brutal. I’m left drowning in it, the weight of everything I can’t have pressing down until my chest aches. When will I learn? Wishing for impossible things is a knife I keep turning on myself.
By the third day, I’m restless, frantic.
Cape Town’s luxury has become a gilded cage.
I need Cilla. My cousin has a way of anchoring me, reminding me who I am beneath the chaos.
‘I want to return to Accra,’ I tell Theo, more sharply than intended.
His eyes cut to mine, assessing, calculating. ‘Is it safe? To fly?’
‘Of course. I’ll be fine.’ My voice trembles, though I pretend it’s impatience.
He studies me a beat longer, then gives a clipped nod. Arrangements are made with his usual efficiency.
And six weeks after we arrived, we finally leave Cape Town.
On the flight, I’m half-dozing, lulled by the steady hum of the engines, when Theo leans close and murmurs, ‘The attendant in the front cabin—she used to be a junior doctor. If you have any concerns you will let me know immediately, yes?’
The words are innocuous on the surface, but suspicion spikes through me. Another coincidence? Or another layer of Theo’s focused attentiveness?
I nod abstractedly but I don’t ask.
And the unease continues to gnaw at me.
Back in Accra, I finally reach Biney Saturation Point. When he starts to direct my suitcases be loaded into his SUV at the airport, I put my foot down.
I demand to return to my apartment, not his penthouse. The walls there are too full of him. Too dangerous. Too seductive.
‘Your dreary apartment isn’t an option,’ he says flatly.
‘Enough, Theo. It was a long flight. I’m not in the mood to argue with you.’
He stares at me for a long moment, then he pulls his phone out. Calls his cousin and mine.
We compromise on Cilla and Ashon’s compound.
Their guest house is lavish, tucked among manicured gardens.
A thankfully shorter journey later, as Cilla hugs me tight, concern flickering in her eyes, I nearly break. Ashon watches silently, gaze flicking between his wife and me, then to Theo. Something unspoken passes between the cousins, a silent communication that leaves me hollow.
‘I’m exhausted,’ I cut in, the words clipped. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight.’
Before anyone can argue, I retreat into the guest house, shut the door and press my back against it.
Finally alone. Finally able to collapse into bed.
But even here, sleep offers no peace.
Theo
The night air is thick with the perfume of hibiscus and night-blooming jasmine, the hum of cicadas underscoring the silence that fell after Tessa shut the guest house door. I should leave her be. Let her stew in her exhaustion, her suspicions and silence. But I find myself restless, pacing.
Ashon finds me in the courtyard, two tumblers of brandy in hand, the amber liquid glowing under the garden lanterns. He passes me one without a word, drops into the opposite chair and studies me with that quiet, infuriating patience of his.
‘Want to tell me what’s going on?’
I swirl the brandy and ignoring the vice gripping my chest. ‘No.’
He sighs. ‘You’re in freefall, cousin. I’m not sure which way you’re going to land, though.’
I snort, the sound loud in the night. ‘Your overactive imagination is on the blink. Again.’
Ashon chuckles, not the least bit offended. ‘I know what I see. You can pour all your fire into architecture, into Biney Enterprises, into every conquest you stack up like trophies. But sooner or later, something—or someone—brings you to your knees.’
I take a long swallow of brandy, the burn grounding me. ‘Preach to someone else. I’m not listening.’
‘Liar,’ he says mildly.
My jaw tightens and I look away, towards the guest house where a single lamp still glows behind gauzy curtains.
Where she is.
Ashon doesn’t miss it. He leans back, a wolfish smile cutting through the darkness. ‘Whatever’s going on with you two, it won’t end all neat and tidy. But you already know that.’
He’s right. Yet I can’t summon the will to deny it. Because he’s also wrong in one key way. This isn’t merely a storm. It’s a tempest. One I intend to survive—or die trying.
I tip back the last of the brandy, the final burn searing a vow down my throat. ‘There may be a storm coming, cousin,’ I say, voice low, hiding the hope threatening within it. ‘One I intend to survive at all costs, if things swing my way. Or burn everything down trying.’
Ashon studies me for a long moment, then raises his glass in a silent toast.
And for the first time tonight, I allow myself to acknowledge the truth.
I’m already in too deep to do anything else.
Tessa
Two Weeks Later
Cilla’s eyes widen as if I’ve just confessed to murder.
Which, considering I’ve finally spilled the whole sordid truth—the one-night stand with Theo four years ago, the miscarriage and the IVF plan—feels not entirely inaccurate.
‘You should have told me,’ she says softly, voice trembling with the kind of hurt that punches straight through me. ‘All this time, Tessa. You carried it all alone. Why?’