Chapter Six
Wren
“What’s up with you?” My sister, Clare, waves to attract my attention. “I’ve asked you three times if I could have some more wine. You’re in another world today.”
It’s Boxing Day, and she and her five-year-old son, Ben, are staying at my place tonight before they fly back to Wellington tomorrow. We’re in the living room, and I’m sitting on the floor playing LEGO with Ben, helping him make the kit he got for Christmas.
“I’m sorry.” I lift the bottle and pour some into Clare’s glass. “I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all.”
It’s not a lie, but it is a misdirection. I do have a headache, mainly because I had trouble getting to sleep last night. That’s not what’s bothering me, though. I’m distracted because of Mars Ashford’s proposal. And his kisses. I can’t get them out of my head.
“You were like this yesterday as well.” Clare watches me as she sips her Sauvignon. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I study the bottle, thinking about the Dog Point Section 94 that Marcus bought on Christmas Eve. God knows what he’d think of this brand. If Clare doesn’t finish it, I might use it to finish stripping the paint off the door. Serves me right for buying it because it had two dollars off.
“I’m fine,” I declare. “Just got a lot on my mind.” I try to put the lid back on the bottle, fumble, and drop it.
I spent practically all of Christmas Day arguing with myself about what my decision was going to be.
And now I’m all fingers and thumbs because Marcus said he was going to contact me today for an answer.
I don’t know what time he’ll do it, or whether he’ll text or call, but it’s four thirty, and I’m pretty sure he’s not going to let me get away with it for another day.
“Auntie Wren!” My nephew taps the instruction booklet. “I need the green bit for his collar, and you’re sitting on it.”
“Oh, sorry.” I shift off and pick it up for him, and he takes it and fits it to the model.
“What movie are we watching tonight?” Clare asks.
“Elf!” Ben declares.
“We’ve watched it three times this week already,” Clare scolds. “I was thinking—” She stops as the doorbell rings and raises her eyebrows at me. “Are you expecting visitors?”
My heart hammers. Oh, surely not. He wouldn’t actually come to my house, would he?
Mumbling something, I get up and go to the door. I’m trembling. Even before I open it, I know who it’s going to be.
“Hello,” Marcus says.
“How did you know where I lived?” I demand.
“I checked your FBI file.”
“I have an FBI file?”
He gives me a look that says Really? “No. I asked Emily.”
“Oh.” Emily is a mutual friend of ours that I met around the same time as Caesar. We catch up for coffee once a month, and she’s mentioned in passing that she’s friends with Marcus on Instagram.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, panicking. “My sister’s here. And her son.”
He looks down at my side. “So I see. Hello. What’s your name?”
“Ben,” says Ben. “Who are you?”
I half expect Marcus to look irritable at finding someone else in the house, but he doesn’t. “I’m Marcus,” he says, “but your aunt calls me Mars, like the planet. Or the chocolate bar. I’m just glad she doesn’t call me Twix.” He winks at Ben.
“Or KitKat,” Ben says, and giggles.
“I’m totally going to call you KitKat now,” I tell Marcus, and he grins.
He’s wearing gray jeans today, and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
His hair is damp at the temples again. He was obviously out in the sun yesterday because his skin looks sun-kissed.
His cognac-colored eyes are very bright in the afternoon sun.
“I’m making the Playful Puppy Dog,” Ben says. “Out of LEGO. It’s for eight-year-olds and I’m only five but Auntie Wren says I’m smart enough to do it.”
“I love LEGO,” Marcus declares. “That sounds cool. Will you show me?”
Ben nods, and I hastily move aside as Marcus comes into the house.
I get a waft of gorgeous expensive aftershave as he passes me.
He toes off his shoes, then moves toward me.
Before I can object, he slides an arm around my waist and bends to kiss me.
His lips brush my cheek before he releases me and, barefoot and beautiful, goes with Ben into the living room.
My stomach flips like a pancake. I close the door behind him and follow them in.
“Hello, I’m Marcus,” he’s saying as I walk in, and I watch him hold out a hand to shake Clare’s.
“I’m Clare,” my sister says. Her gaze slides past him to me. “Oh… now I know why you’ve been so distracted.”
I glare at her, while Marcus stifles a laugh and lowers his large frame onto the carpet to sit beside Ben.
“You have to follow the instructions in the booklet,” Ben explains, showing him. “It tells you what piece you need. Auntie Wren is the Chief Piece Finderer.”
“We felt I needed a title,” I explain, hovering in the doorway. “Can I get you a drink?” I watch Clare lift the bottle. “For God’s sake, don’t drink the wine. Tea? Coffee?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he says, amused.
“So,” Clare says, “how do you know our Wren?”
I stand there, twisting my hands as they start talking, too anxious to sit. I feel as if Superman has turned up for tea. Marcus doesn’t fit in my hometown, let alone in my tiny house. He’s completely incongruous. Larger than life in oh-so-many ways.
I can only imagine what his apartment is like—it probably has gold taps and butlers and sofas you daren’t sit on in case you crease the cushions.
I have two bedrooms and a kitchenette at the end of the living room.
My leather sofa is secondhand from the Op Shop and has more creases and cracks than a ninety-year-old fisherman’s face.
For the past forty-eight hours I’ve been going over and over his proposal, trying to make up my mind what my answer should be.
It’s been impossible to argue with the fact that having sex is more likely to result in a baby, with fewer complications (and less money) than IVF.
But I have to balance that with the emotional risk.
I haven’t been able to make a decision. Until now.
I can’t marry him. I’ve reminded myself many times that he’s five years younger than me.
My reservations were valid back when he was eighteen, but as I watch him leaning forward to pick up a LEGO piece and see the way the sleeve of his shirt stretches over his biceps, it’s harder to use his age as a deciding factor. He’s very much all man now.
I swallow hard. I’m not even going to think about what else might have grown.
He might not have been wealthy when he was young, but that’s the world he exists in now.
Even here in his jeans and shirt, there’s something about him that exudes money.
His hair looks as if it was cut five minutes ago, expertly shaved at the back with a neat fade, not a hair out of place.
He’s wearing a third expensive watch in the space of three days.
He’s taken his phone out of his back pocket and tossed it on the armchair, and it looks like a brand-new iPhone, one of the huge ones, no doubt a super pro advanced version with a gajillion gigabytes of memory.
I glance at where mine’s sitting on the coffee table.
It’s five years old, needs restarting three times a day, and has a crack in the screen.
At that moment, as if it knows I’m thinking about it, it vibrates, rattling on the table, making me jump. I go over and pick it up. Oh holy shit, it’s Caesar calling.
“Sorry,” I mumble, “I just need to take this.”
Marcus is busy sorting out the LEGO pieces and doesn’t even look up. I walk over to the sliding door, open it, and go out onto the balcony. Then I close the door behind me and answer the phone, “Hello?”
This house may be minuscule, but I love the tiny garden because if I go through the gate at the bottom, it’s only a short walk down another road to the ocean. I breathe in the scent of the sea air and try to concentrate on the call.
“It’s me,” Caesar says. “Did you have a nice Christmas?”
“I did, thank you.” I cast a surreptitious glance over my shoulder. Marcus is still sitting on the carpet, no doubt being grilled by Clare. He’s smiling though, so I presume her questions haven’t become too invasive yet. “You?”
“Yeah, great. Mum and Dad’s house is right on the beach, so we spent most of it in the sea.”
That explains Marcus’s sun-kissed complexion.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Caesar says. “About what you asked me.”
I turn away from the house and focus on the Pohutukawa tree in the corner with its beautiful red flowers. “And?” I whisper.
“And… if you still want me to donate, I’ll do it.”
I inhale. “Oh…”
“Look, Wren… I want to help you. And you know you can always come to me as a friend. But I agree that it’ll probably be best if I remain anonymous.
If I do settle down and get married someday, I just think it’ll be better if…
well… she doesn’t know I’ve fathered a child.
I mean, I know lots of guys donate sperm, but bearing in mind you’re a friend… does that make sense?”
“It does,” I say softly. “I understand.”
“It’s tough for women nowadays. Hard to date and find someone, and difficult when you want a child. Having to wait two years is wrong, and I wanted to help.”
“I really appreciate it, Caesar. Thank you. Can I ask… did you tell Marcus you were going to call me today?”
“No. Why?”
“You told him I’d asked you to donate, though, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” He sounds embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that. Something’s happened with Ashford AgriTech.”
“Yes, there’s a proposed buyout, I heard.”
“How did you hear?” He sounds astonished.
“Marcus.”
“You’ve seen him?”
I sigh. “He’s here right now.”
“What? Why?”
I study my feet. “He came to find me on Christmas Eve. He… asked me to marry him.”
“Oh… shit!” He laughs. “He said he was going to get married. I didn’t realize he meant to you!” He pauses. “Have you said yes?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Are you going to?”