CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
M ARI HAD SAID that she was perfectly fine taking commercial flights to get home to Melbourne. Dom, however, had insisted that she take his private jet, he wouldn’t be using it. A dig, because he’d be busy mopping up after his mother’s funeral, of course.
A private jet was even more private when you were the only passenger on the plane. Twenty-something hours on a flight gave a person way too much time to think, even with the real estate searches and property inspections she was planning when she got home, even with the necessary sleep time. And who needed a film when twenty-something hours on a flight gave a person way too much time to replay every detail of every scene that she had shared with Dom?
Dom had been so cold to her the last two days, but she’d done the right thing, she knew. The longer she’d stayed, the more of a mess she would have been when he’d discarded her again.
She’d done the right thing.
But she didn’t understand why doing the right thing hurt so much.
Melbourne’s weather was doing what Melbourne’s weather did best. Change. A day after her return home, Mari had swapped sunglasses for umbrella and back to sunglasses before a sudden gust of wind had almost torn them off her face. She knocked on Suzanne’s door. Valerie opened it.
‘You’re back,’ Valerie said, giving Mari a hug as she entered. ‘How was the trip?’
Mari wasn’t sure how much Suzanne had shared with her carer. ‘Productive,’ she said vaguely. ‘And I’ve found some promising properties to take a look at. If Suzanne isn’t up to visiting, maybe you’d like to come along with me?’ She looked around. ‘Where is Suzanne?’
‘Here!’ her sister said, beaming as she negotiated her wheelchair around the corner from the kitchen. ‘I just put the kettle on.’
Mari rushed over, leant over and buried her head in her sister’s neck. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said.
‘Hey,’ Suzanne said, ‘you’ve only been gone a fortnight or so. Anyone would think you’d been away a lifetime.’
‘It felt like it.’ A lifetime of revisiting her past. A lifetime of discovery. All packed into the blur of a few short weeks. She tried to push back the tears that threatened to launch themselves upon her unsuspecting sister.
‘So how was it?’ Suzanne asked.
‘Interesting,’ Mari said, peeling herself away, but not before Suzanne caught sight of her eyes.
‘Oh, right. So maybe you want to show us these properties,’ Suzanne said, ‘that you’re so excited about.’
Mari swiped her cheeks as she and Valerie pulled up chairs to the table, a space for Suzanne’s wheelchair in between so they could all see the pictures on Mari’s laptop. She was ready to make a bid for any of them, as soon as Suzanne and Valerie agreed. She’d woken in the morning to a notification from her bank that a large deposit had been made to her account, currently awaiting clearance by the authorities. She’d opened the bank app to see it bulging with a dollar amount unimaginable just a few weeks ago. So even in the midst of his grief for his mother, even at his displeasure that Mari would leave him, Dom had managed to fulfil his end of the deal.
To be done with her? Perhaps. When all was said and done, did it even matter? She had the means now to make her sister’s life better.
And this ache she felt in her heart, that she had left something or someone behind in San Sebastián, was dulled with sister’s excitement as she looked over the photos and floor plans and as the three made plans to do house inspections.
And Mari knew in her heart that she had been right to leave Dom when she had. Because right here in Melbourne with her sister was where she belonged.
Dom stared out of the window overlooking the bay that made San Sebastián internationally famous, and yet he registered nothing. Because there was a package on his desk. A package containing the divorce papers he’d had the lawyers prepare when the contract had been arranged. He’d thought of everything, down to the preparation of the divorce papers to dissolve the convenient marriage on his mother’s death.
And now they’d been duly delivered. Ready for signing. Ready for the dissolution of his and Marianne’s marriage.
He should sign them. Sign them and send them by courier straight to Marianne. The matter—their divorce—should be settled within a week.
But he couldn’t sign them.
That day, that one day, when he’d arrived from his mother’s deathbed needing her, she’d been there. She’d consoled him. Taken care of him. Made love with him so tenderly that it was bittersweet to even think of it. Made love to him so tenderly that it haunted his dreams.
Every time, the sex between them had been amazing, but that day, that one day, she’d taken care of him. She’d soothed him. She’d gifted him her body and given him solace.
She couldn’t have done that if she hadn’t felt something for him.
Once upon a time, long ago, he’d let Marianne slip through his fingers. He’d been busy. His father had died, and running and building the family business had fallen on his shoulders, along with supporting his grieving mother, and he couldn’t afford to take the time to go back like he’d promised. Time and time again he’d put off going back, until he couldn’t see when he’d get a break and it didn’t seem fair to keep Marianne hanging on any longer, and so he’d called off their relationship, thinking he was doing them both a favour.
Except he wasn’t. And then, when he’d gone looking for her a year later, it was to find her already married. And it had made him so angry.
Angry with himself. Because he’d waited too long.
Damn it.
He had lost her once. Was he prepared to lose her again?
* * *
Mari slammed her keys down on her table, collapsing into a chair. Three weeks back, three job interviews down and she was feeling no closer to finding herself a new job, despite the high-powered dresses and suits she’d treated herself to. She wasn’t about to rely on any more of the money from Dom—that money was earmarked for Suzanne’s care—but at least instead of looking like she’d just walked out of a chain store she looked like she meant serious business.
Not that it was doing her any good.
She hadn’t made a shortlist once, despite a glowing reference from Eric, and despite believing her qualifications and experience satisfied the job requirements to a T. She was either told she was overqualified for the position or the interviewers said they were looking for someone younger, someone who was fresh and new.
Since when was thirty-nine years old no longer fresh and new?
Mind you, she didn’t feel fresh and new. Her muscles were sore and she had a headache. She felt as if she was coming down with the flu.
Please God, no. Mari stood up, poured herself a glass of water and found herself some paracetamol. She didn’t have time for flu. It was stress, she told herself. She was making herself feel ill through worry—about finding a place for Suzanne, about finding a job and, most of all, about whatever Dom was doing back in San Sebastián.
What was he doing? Had he found solace with one of the women lined up and all too ready to offer him comfort? Had Isabela wormed her way into Dom’s affections? The woman had made it clear that she wanted to be in Mari’s place as Dom’s wife. And she was stunning. They would make an amazing couple—the perfect-looking couple—what if Dom had taken up with her? He was grieving. Who could blame him for seeking consolation wherever he could find it?
It shouldn’t matter, it shouldn’t concern her, and yet somehow it did.
God, she was torturing herself. It made her stomach roil anew thinking about it.
But there was hope on the horizon. She had another interview tomorrow morning. Sooner or later, one of them had to come good.
Mari had set her alarm clock early, to give herself time to get ready. Her body clock had set itself even earlier. She woke sensing…knowing…that she was going to throw up.
Nerves, she told herself as she clung to the porcelain bowl. It wasn’t as if she’d eaten anything to throw up. She was nervous because she’d blown three interviews so far and she didn’t want to mess up this opportunity.
She would not mess up this opportunity, she told herself as she patted her face dry in the mirror. She was going to be the very best version of herself she could be. She was going to knock this one out of the park.
But the smell of her favourite coffee was suddenly repugnant to her, her attempt at toast to settle her stomach making it rebel again. This time when she patted her face she stared in the mirror. What the hell was wrong with her? This wasn’t like any flu she’d ever had.
It hit her like the blow from a sledgehammer. She saw her eyes widen in the mirror with the impact. Widen with fear. Widen with panic.
No, not that, she pleaded, please not that.
Her brain scrambled to count the days and weeks since her last period. Because it couldn’t be. She was probably just peri-menopausal. That would make sense. Because the alternative would be too cruel. Too unfair.
But the horrible possibility refused to be ignored.
Because no. Her instincts told her that it wasn’t flu. It wasn’t menopause or even peri-menopause. It was something way worse.
Mari made it to the interview, but afterwards she couldn’t remember a word she’d said. Her mind had been fixated on the pregnancy test she’d be buying the minute she got out of the interview, a test she tried to convince herself she was buying to rule out the unlikely possibility.
Forget waiting until the visit to the toilet in the morning, like the box recommended. The moment Mari got home, she headed for the bathroom. She took one of the sticks and peed on it.
Negative, she projected with her thoughts. It had to be negative. Flu was infinitely better. Peri-menopause would work a treat too. Full-blown menopause even better.
Except it wasn’t flu.
And it was the furthest thing from menopause you could get.
Two pink lines stared back at her. Bold pink lines, as the test all but screamed positive.
And for the second time in her life the bottom fell out of Mari’s world.
Because once again she was pregnant by Dom.
* * *
For too long the divorce papers lay on Dom’s desk, burning a hole in it. Once again he circled his desk, regarding them warily. He could sign them. He should sign them and get them off his desk and on the way to Marianne. That had been their deal. A quickie marriage. A quickie divorce. Piece of cake. End of story.
Except signing a paper to terminate their marriage wasn’t half as easy as he’d imagined it would be.
Strange. He’d been worried that whoever he married might want to hang around and prove difficult to get rid of. Ironic that he was the one dragging his feet.
When he’d signed their contract, he hadn’t wanted anything more than a temporary arrangement. That was the deal he’d stipulated and that was the deal she’d accepted.
Except he hadn’t realised just how temporary it would be.
He hadn’t been ready for his mother to die.
And he hadn’t been ready for Marianne to leave.
He’d married her because she professed to hate him. She’d been the perfect choice because of it. But she didn’t hate him, she couldn’t have, or she never would have made love to him like she had.
So why had she taken off in such a godawful hurry?
What was she so afraid of?
He looked at the papers on his desk, awaiting his signature. Sure, he could sign and send the papers.
Except, damn it, he couldn’t.
He’d have to deliver them to her himself.
Mari’s ultrasound appointment was scheduled, her ride-share booked and expected at any moment. The knock on the door came as a surprise. The drivers usually texted their arrival.
She pulled open the door. ‘Thanks for the courtesy,’ she said, smiling, expecting to see her driver. Except it wasn’t her driver.
‘Dom?’ she said, every cell in her body heading south. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to see you.’
Her heart stuttered. Her brain scrambled. Her stomach swirled.
‘Why?’
‘I brought the divorce papers.’
She swallowed. ‘And you couldn’t just have posted them? Like any normal person would have.’
He blinked. Of course, he was far from normal. ‘I could have.’
A car pulled up a little way down the street. Her phone pinged. ‘Oh,’ she said, looking at her phone screen. ‘That’s my ride. I have to go.’
‘Where are you going? I can take you.’
‘Um…no.’ There was absolutely no chance of that. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why?’ he asked, scowling. ‘Are you meeting a man?’
She scoffed. ‘And if I was? Why don’t you just leave the papers here and I’ll sign them and get them back to you?’ She looked down at his hands, but they were empty. ‘Where are the papers?’
‘In my car.’
Her phone pinged again. Her driver waiting for her appearance, if not a response. ‘Look, I have to go.’
‘And I said I’d take you.’
‘No.’
‘If you want the divorce papers—’
‘I thought you wanted this divorce! It was you who insisted on it.’ Her phone pinged again. ‘Look, I have to go.’ She tried to step past him but he shot out an arm, preventing her egress.
On the street the driver was out of his car and looking towards the pair on the doorstep. She lifted a hand in acknowledgment. ‘I’ll be right there,’ she called.
But Dom turned, saw the driver and was on the path and bearing down on him in an instant. There were few words exchanged, but multiple bills were handed over, and the driver waved, gave a beaming smile and happily drove away.
‘Why did you do that?’ she asked when he returned.
‘You don’t need a driver,’ he said. ‘Not when you’ve got me to take you where you need to go. Now, where are we going?’
Mari recited the address of the clinic without disclosing what it was. Twenty years previously she’d never managed to tell Dom that she was pregnant, let alone with his twins. She’d been eagerly awaiting his return to share the news, to share the joy. But his return had been delayed, first by the death of his father, and then by the increasing responsibilities he’d had to shoulder. She’d tried to tell him by phone, thinking it might motivate him to return, but he’d begged off the call and asked her if it could wait, something was happening, and the precious secret she’d held was never divulged.
Until the day, four months too early, that her waters had broken.
And then Dom had rung to say that he was snowed under with the business, that he didn’t expect her to wait for him, that it wasn’t fair, that she should move on with her life.
And there was nothing left for her to say but to agree with him.
This time she’d vowed to tell Dom that she was pregnant, if today’s scan revealed that all was well. He had a right to know, even if they were divorced. But she hadn’t figured on him finding out this way.
‘You’re very quiet,’ he said, as he followed the GPS directions through the busy streets.
She looked around the car, hoping for a distraction so she didn’t have to explain why she might be quiet. And there on the back seat sat an envelope. She reached back for it. ‘These are the divorce papers? Maybe I should just sign them now and you can drop me off and you can go home. That’s why you came, right?’
He snatched the envelope from her hand before she could open it, and flung it to the back, where it landed on the back parcel shelf.
‘I thought you wanted me to sign those.’
‘First of all, we need to talk.’
‘Oh, we do, do we?’
‘We do.’
‘So right, what would you like to talk about?’
He pulled into the car park of the address he had plugged into his GPS navigation.
‘What is this place?’ he said, frowning as he looked at the signs.
‘It’s a clinic where they do all kinds of testing. Ultrasounds. MRIs. X-rays.’
‘Why are you here? Is there something wrong with you?’
‘I hope not.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘I’m here for an ultrasound, Dom.’
‘What for?’
‘Because I’m pregnant.’ She let that sink in for a moment. Watched the reactions flicker across his face—the shock, the disbelief, the inevitable questions that swirled around his eyes. ‘And before you ask, it’s your baby I’m carrying.’