CHAPTER SEVEN
“NO,YOUDON’T!” Fliss sat back in shock. “You just gave me a great reason why marriage is a terrible idea. All you have to do is say the baby isn’t yours and walk away.”
Saint finished lifting his cup to his lips, but his mouth wasn’t prepared for whatever this was. It was hot like coffee but weak. It had the color and bitterness of scotch but no bite. He didn’t think he’d had a sip of tea in his adult life. Not since he’d tried the stuff as a child and decided he didn’t like it.
He still didn’t. He set it aside with distaste.
“I don’t have the words to express how insulted I am by your thinking I would deliberately reject my child.” Especially when he’d just explained how unenthusiastically he’d been welcomed by his own father.
Saint held her wide-eyed stare for a full thirty seconds, until she dropped her gaze to her curry and rice. Then her brows lifted in a silent, cynical Whatever.
He was deeply insulted but also uneasy. He had put her in an impossible position.
Her bedsit was tiny and definitely inadequate for raising a child. The stairs alone were a guaranteed trip to the hospital, but as humble as this space was, she’d made it homey. It was tidy and organized and more colorful and welcoming than any home he’d ever occupied. Her bedspread was a kaleidoscope of fabric scraps he would bet she had quilted herself. There were doilies in psychedelic spirals under her handful of houseplants. The frame on the photo over the sink was pebbled with a mosaic of what looked like broken china plates.
The photo inside it showed Fliss with her arm around an elderly woman he presumed was her grandmother, judging by the resemblance around their eyes and smiles. Saint had the unnerving feeling that the old woman was watching him from that photo, judging him.
“The baby has become my top priority.” He’d had ample time while driving from London to let this situation sink in. He’d already projected through his father’s reaction and how this could impact the board’s decision. The gossip sites would have a field day, which would affect Fliss and, in turn, their baby. “That makes you my top priority. Your health and safety. I have to look after you, Fliss.”
Did her eyes gloss with tears? If they did, she hid it by taking her empty bowl to the sink where she kept her back to him while she rinsed the dish.
“I said some unkind things back at the hotel,” he acknowledged. “I was taught to go on the attack when I feel threatened.”
“I wasn’t threatening you.” She turned and crossed her arms, leaning her hips against the front of the sink. “I gave you information.”
“I know. I see that now.” He was still on the defensive, this time in a different way. It still made him uneasy and caused him to prickle with aggression. “What’s important for you to hear is that I don’t want my child raised in the sort of atmosphere I grew up in. I won’t be so hard on you again,” he vowed. “I know you’ll hold me to account on that.”
“That’s not my job. Hold yourself to account.”
“I am,” he said drily. “That’s why I’m here.”
She tsked and frowned at the foot of her bed. She had changed into jeans and a T-shirt before catching the train. Her faded yellow shirt hung loose over her waistband, so he couldn’t tell if her waist was thickening, but he would swear her breasts were fuller than the already deliciously round swells he had worshipped so thoroughly three months ago.
He swallowed, trying not to get distracted with memories.
“We have to try, Fliss. I live a very good life. One that our child is entitled to. I can offer you a very good life.” He glanced toward the sketchbook, impressed with her flare for a graceful line and a pop of unexpected color or pattern. “Are you really going to put your dreams on hold for the next eighteen years? I can help you achieve them, you know.”
“Ew! It’s not an achievement if someone hands it to you.”
Was that a dig at what he stood to inherit?
“It’s not cheating to maximize the opportunities you’re given. Try telling me that Ms. McCartney’s last name didn’t open doors for her. Tell me that growing up in a world where she already had access to designers and celebrities didn’t give her a leg up. That’s all I’m offering you.”
“That’s not why I’m having this baby, though,” Fliss blurted. “I need you to hear that and believe it.”
“Why, then?” he asked, more from curiosity than suspicion.
The tendons in her neck briefly stood out, as though his question put her under great stress. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and held an ache that penetrated far more deeply into him than was comfortable.
“I don’t have anyone anymore. Granny is gone and...” She waved toward the photo of her grandmother. “I want a family, even if it’s just me and my one child. I don’t want whatever it is that you just described.” Her splayed hand drew a circle to encompass the conflict that had been baked into his upbringing. “That sounds awful.”
“Understood.” He didn’t blame her for resisting an invitation into his family, but he didn’t regret warning her what it was like, either. She needed to know where he’d come from and what she was getting into. “You didn’t intend to get pregnant. I know that.”
He was heartened by what he perceived as genuinely sentimental feelings toward their baby, too. They didn’t keep a jaded part of him from remaining on guard against her, though, speculating whether her show of reluctance to marry was a long con of some kind. He wasn’t forgetting about that invitation she’d taken.
All of that aside, however. “We can still make the best of an unexpected situation.”
“A rush into marriage is not ‘the best.’” She was still hugging herself, shoulders high and tense, brow crinkled with consternation.
“We don’t have to marry right away. At least come home with me—”
“To America? I can’t leave my life here!”
What life?He bit back the question, rephrasing to a milder, “What would you be leaving behind that you can’t live without?”
“Mrs. Bhamra,” she mumbled, biting her thumbnail.
“I come to London constantly. I’ve actually debated buying a property here. We could do that so we have more of a home here.”
“So I’d live in London and you’d come and go?”
“New York is a more convenient base for me because I fly to LA as often as anywhere else. Let’s start in New York while we figure out how to live together. Ultimately, we’ll settle wherever we decide is best for our baby to live.”
“I don’t have health insurance in America.”
“That’s not even an argument. I’ll fund an obstetrics wing if I have to.”
She rolled her eyes. “Must be nice.”
“It is. Try it,” he said blithely.
Her mouth pursed in dismay.
“What would that even look like? Would we live as roommates or...?” Her tone was overly casual, but he could see how hard she was trying to sound blasé when she glanced at him. Apprehension had stiffened her expression.
He let his head thump back against the wall, watching her through the screen of his lashes. “Is that what you’d prefer?”
Fliss seemed to find something extremely interesting on the side of her elbow. “Well, it’s not as if we were planning to continue our affair, is it?”
“I was.”
Her gaze clashed with his.
“What do you think the earrings were for?” he chided.
“You tell me. Do you regularly give women such outrageous gifts for a night of sex?”
Saint drew a breath that seared his lungs with fresh liability. She was too good at prying into him, forcing him to self-exam and see where he fell short.
“My relationships have always been superficial,” he admitted, rising in a restless attempt to dodge that spiky truth. “You weren’t wrong when you called me that. And, as you’ve discovered, my life can be taxing on those who get involved with me, even briefly. If I can reduce the criticism or soften the impact, I do.”
“With jewelry? Just admit you’re paying for sex, Saint. This is a safe space. No judgment.” She sounded facetious.
“I’m paying for the fact that I don’t offer much beyond sex,” he prevaricated. “I’m monogamous and materially generous, but I don’t fall in love. Emotions are grit in my teeth. That’s why I have the reputation I do, so no one expects grand gestures or heartfelt declarations.”
“You should be in sales. I can’t wait to overturn my life for that.”
“You’re doing it for our child.”
“Right. It’s not about me.” Her voice sounded tight.
“I’m aware of my limitations, Fliss. Now you are, too. We’re going into this with a much clearer vision than my parents had. My mother mistook passion for love and didn’t understand why it faded. You won’t have those sorts of unrealistic expectations of me.”
“And what would you expect of me?” she challenged, expression cantankerous.
“I’d like sex, but I don’t expect it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No—” She made an impatient noise. He didn’t think she could hug herself any harder without turning herself inside out. “According to the headlines, you’re looking to settle down with ‘someone who shares your values.’ That’s not me. I know that because it’s been three months without a word from you. You didn’t even ask me to continue that affair you claim to have wanted. Don’t—” She held up a stalling finger. “Don’t say you didn’t have my number. If you can get Delia Chevron’s personal number, you can get mine. You’re only here—” she pointed at the floor “—because I came to you. So don’t pretend you want me when what you really want is sex. If you want honesty between us, be honest about that.”
Saint rocked back on his heels, annoyed that she was such a pugnacious fighter but admiring how tough she was at the same time.
“My search for a wife is a smoke screen. I was generating too much unflattering publicity. The board refused to fund an important project until I was able to prove I take Grayscale and my future seriously. Much as I wanted to call you, I thought it was better to let the attention die down.”
“And your silence had nothing to do with finding out I was a lowly housemaid.” Her words dripped cynicism.
“The part where you were fired for theft concerned me,” he said with gravity. “Not the job you were doing at the time.”
Fliss dropped her gaze, not bothering to make more excuses.
“Now you be honest,” he commanded gruffly. “Would you have continued our affair if I’d asked?”
“I don’t know.” She was staring into a corner, profile tortured.
“Really?” The tension of expecting a blow came into his abdomen. “Do you not think of that night as often as I do?”
Her gaze swept to his, wide with exposure, then slid to the bed before snapping away. The flush of pink that came into her cheeks was so ripe with sensual reminiscence he had to fight a smug smile of gratification.
“Okay, then.” All he wanted in that moment was to crawl onto that narrow mattress with her and relive every single thing they’d done. Then start making new memories.
“What ‘okay’? No. All I’m hearing is that you need a trophy wife,” she blurted. “How do you expect an unplanned pregnancy with a scrounging housemaid will go over with your board?”
“Oh, they’ll treat it like a national holiday. There might even be a parade.”
“Gawd,” she cried softly and buried her face in her hands.
“Fliss.” He couldn’t resist going over to take her hands, forcing her to reveal all the uncertainty gripping her. “I’ve already thought through how I’ll handle it. And once everyone realizes I’m producing Theodore the Third, they’ll be very happy for us.”
She quirked her brow. “Is your real name Theodore?”
“Now you know my deep dark secret,” he said. “Why are you shaking your head? You think our baby is a girl? Gender is a construct.”
“Because you’re moving too fast, Saint Theodore.” She shook her hands free of his.
“Theodore Saint Garvey Montgomery,” he clarified. “And what about your experience with me makes you think I move any other way?”
“I thought you wanted a paternity test?” She paced back to the table. “Let’s both take a beat while we wait for the results. After that, if we decide to try—” her voice faltered “—living together, I’ll give notice at work.”
“Do you really doubt that I’m the father?” he asked with a frown.
“I thought you did.”
He chewed the corner of his mouth, thinking about the way she’d flinched when he’d said back at the hotel that he couldn’t take her word for it.
“My father will want one, but you and I need to be able to trust each other, so tell me the truth—I swear I won’t be angry. Is there someone else who could be the father?”
She flinched again, making him want to probe why, but after a moment of hesitation, she pressed her lips together and shook her head, conceding, “You’re the only person I’ve been with.”
“Good.” A strange sensation washed through him. It was something like relief and something like elation. It sank so deeply into him, it crept toward places he guarded very closely, threatening to get under the door.
“How is that good?” Fliss asked skeptically.
“You’re being honest with me. That’s very good.” He was side-stepping what she had really asked so he didn’t have to explain his inexplicable reaction. He was far more comfortable with stepping into action. “Now, you said yourself that you’ll be showing soon, so let’s get ahead of this. Come to New York with me, and we’ll let people see we’re in a relationship. We’ll announce the baby news when we can no longer hide it.” He took out his phone to text Willow. “What’s evening traffic like? Is it realistic that we could be at the airport in two hours?”
“No. I just finished bringing my things from London. I can’t pack up my life again in ten minutes. Where would I even put it?”
“I genuinely don’t understand the question.” He searched Fliss’s distressed expression, trying to see the problem. “I’ll pay the rent here until we find a place in London, then I’ll hire movers to bring all of this there. Pack what you want with you in New York, which I presume is that photo of Granny and your tarot cards. Text your employer that you quit. We’ll say goodbye to Mrs. Bhamra on the way out of town.”
Fliss was on Saint’s private jet before she had fully absorbed what she had agreed to do, but it was too late for all the qualms that piled on her with the climb in altitude.
This was the real fall from the Tower, she realized. She was literally in the air, the life she’d built, such as it was, falling away. She didn’t even have a job to go back to. She had a few hundred pounds in the bank and Mrs. Bhamra’s insistence that she should call if she needed anything.
As they reached cruising altitude, the flight attendant offered drinks and asked if they would like her to prepare their meal.
“I’ve eaten, thanks,” Fliss said, stifling a yawn.
“I’ll eat later.” Saint frowned with concern at her. “Are you tired?”
She’d nodded off in the car on the drive to the airport, so she ought to have had a little more in her, but, “I was up really early this morning, and it was a long day. I wouldn’t mind shutting my eyes for a bit.” Plus, she needed time to process all that had happened.
“Use the bed.” He unclipped his seat belt and rose. “Come. I’ll show you.”
It was a throwaway comment. He didn’t mean he’d show her how to use the bed, but he sure had the last time they’d been together. As she followed him to the back of the cabin, her cheeks stung with self-conscious heat.
“Are you blushing?” he asked in an amused undertone as he held the door for her.
“Don’t tease.” She covered her hot cheeks.
“This from the woman who showed up in a schoolgirl skirt today?”
“You said I looked like an assassin,” she said over her shoulder.
“The sexy kind from the free-love era. I was looking forward to engaging in hand-to-hand combat, but you got the advantage over me in other ways.”
She lost her sense of humor as she moved further into the stateroom. Like the rest of the jet, it was decorated in earthy colors and textures. The head of the bed was a huge, illuminated panel with the silhouette of bamboo plants cast from the backside, giving the impression the forest was just beyond a translucent window. Lamps stood on night tables made of faux granite, and the walls were paneled in mahogany.
“That was a joke,” he said in a low voice.
“I know.” But it was actually bothering her that she stood to gain anything from this baby, even a free flight to America. She had a dream, but she also had a heavy not-good-enough complex, thanks to years of stumbles and false starts. Shortcuts didn’t win. She’d learned that with the invitation debacle.
While she peered into the luxurious bathroom, Saint pressed a louvered panel, opening it to reveal drawers. He pulled blue satin pajamas from one and tossed them onto the bed.
“Oh. Um—”
“For you. I told them not to bother unpacking your suitcase.” His eyes were laughing at her again. “You’re tired, so I wasn’t planning to join you, but I am absolutely open to an invitation if you do want company.”
He had told her he wanted sex but didn’t expect it. She thought it was pretty obvious that she did expect it. Why else would she have agreed to go to New York with him? Yes, they had things to discuss about the baby, but she could have put her foot down.
She hadn’t because she had known from the moment she’d awakened in his bed three months ago that she would like to continue waking beside him. She’d been furious and upset with him when their brief involvement had forced her to flee London, but a barely acknowledged possibility had been dancing in her mind from the time she’d discovered she was pregnant. Their baby had given her a reason to see him and see. At her latest checkup, she had asked her doctor if she could have sex. She’d shaved her legs yesterday, knowing she would see him today.
But there was that other tender part of her that had taken a fresh hit when their brief association had turned her into a punchline again.
As Fliss bit her lip and stared at the pajamas with indecision, he said, “No? That’s fine.” He started to the door.
That hurt, too, that he was able to take it or leave it so casually when she was in such turmoil over whether to have sex and what it might cost her.
Ugh. If she didn’t tell him now, she never would.
“Saint.”
He paused. His expression was infinitely patient, but her heart started to beat faster. She swallowed, but the tension in her lungs remained.
“I think you should know that...” She looked past him to the door, feeling trapped, but even if she left this bedroom, she’d still be on a plane, thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic. “When I said I hadn’t been with anyone else...”
He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, but she sensed his withdrawal. It was as though his body condensed into ice, dropping the temperature in the room.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” She scrunched herself into the corner beside the night table. “I mean, you probably thought I meant I hadn’t been with anyone lately and that’s true, but you’re actually only the second person I’ve ever been with. The first was six—no, seven?—years ago.” She winced with apprehension as she said it.
His brows crashed together as he tried to fit that detail into what he thought he knew about her.
“My...um...first boyfriend was mean to me.”
“In what way?” The gritty danger that entered his tone sent a chill down her spine.
“Not violent. Just...unkind. He pressured me to have sex with him even though I was on the fence about it. It wasn’t assault.” Fliss waved her hand, trying to forestall whatever masculine aggression was building behind that glowering, granite expression. “It was my choice but an immature one. I thought he wouldn’t like me anymore if I didn’t, and I wanted to find out what was so great about it. I didn’t get much of an answer,” she said in an aside of annoyed disgust.
“It was uncomfortable and unsatisfying. Maybe it would have gotten better with time. With someone else.” She folded her arms. “But I didn’t want to be intimate again because after we did it, he started bragging around school about it. I got mad and broke up with him, and he retaliated by telling everyone he had dumped me because I was giving it away to anyone who asked. I was only in our social group because I was with him. He was very popular, so when it came to picking sides, everyone chose the stud who’d been wronged over the slut who lied about it.”
Saint muttered a curse under his breath, eyes closing. “Then you had sex with me, and...”
“Yeah. That ruined a really nice night.” Her throat tightened, thinning her voice. Her chest was burning with self-consciousness. “I hadn’t felt like that with him. Like I really wanted sex.” Needed it. “I knew it would only be one night, but you seemed to know what you were doing and you were nice about it. You said we could stop if I wanted to. I thought it would be cathartic and something that was just for me. And you, obviously, but a nice memory that would replace my old one.”
Saint’s mouth was tight as he tracked his concerned gaze all over her. “I should have done more to protect you.”
“Oh, you think?” She couldn’t help her exasperated guffaw over that one.
“From the press,” he clarified, mouth sliding sideways with self-deprecation. “But yeah. Physically, too.”
“I didn’t tell you that to put a guilt trip on you.” She looked to the bed and the pajamas, barely resisting the urge to pick them up and press her nose into the cool satin to see if she could smell his aftershave. “I was trying to say that yes, I want to sleep with you, but I’m also scared of what comes after, if things don’t work out between us.”
“It will work out.” He came close enough to cup her elbows and draw her from the corner so she was right in front of him. “I’ll make sure of it.”