Chapter Seven #2
What would Theo think of this building? Probably sneer at it and call it an example of utilitarian mediocrity. A structure that had settled for mere function instead of aspiration.
And here I am again.
Thinking of him when I swore I wouldn’t. My heart won’t stop racing.
Inside, the clinic is quiet. A receptionist greets me with professional calm and leads me to a consultation room where the firm’s specialists are waiting.
‘Miss Rockson.’ One of the doctors smiles, glancing at her tablet. ‘Welcome back. We already have your medical and personal profile uploaded from the London clinic. Here in Cape Town we’re able to offer a broader pool of donors, particularly of black heritage. That’s what brought you here, yes?’
‘Yes,’ I murmur. My voice sounds foreign.
We talk, briefly but pointedly. They remind me of my options. Success rates. The procedures. All the things I’ve already memorised from their website and from conversations in London but still need to hear again, as if repetition will strip away the fear.
Then comes the moment of truth.
The donor profiles are placed before me, one after another. Education histories, health reports, hobbies. Character references and essays written in hopeful anonymity.
I discard them almost as fast as I can read them. Too cold. Too generic. Too…not him.
Because damn it, I can’t stop thinking about Theo.
About the way he pressed a robe over my shoulders this afternoon as if he were tucking me into impenetrable safety.
The way his eyes track me when I’m sure he’s not even aware he’s doing so.
Or maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t care who sees.
The way my pulse races every time he walks into the room.
What kind of father would he make?
The thought spears me, terrifying and absurd. Surely I can’t be falling for him? Not Theo Biney, breaker of hearts, professional rule-smasher. The man who swore he wasn’t in the market for happily-ever-afters.
I force myself back to the files of information, lips pressed tight. One, two, three. I set them aside as possibles. But my hand stalls on the fourth. My chest constricts.
‘I’ll need more time,’ I tell them. My voice is steadier than I feel.
They nod, unfazed. ‘Of course. Take some time to reflect. We’ll be ready whenever you are.’
I thank them and leave. I’m shaken and frightened to register that I don’t even remember their faces or vital details by the time I slide into another taxi and absently blurt the address for the hotel.
Instead, my heart is beating in anticipation. For the very wrong reason. For the wrong man.
And maybe that’s why I’m not prepared to step back into a different kind of storm.
Because when I return to the hotel, Theo is waiting.
He’s standing in the middle of the suite, jacket off, tie gone with shirt open at the throat. But there’s no softness in him now. Just fury, cold, quiet and lethal.
‘Where were you?’ His voice is low and deadly, the kind that makes my blood feel like it’s made of ice and fire all at once.
I open my mouth, shut it again. My heart stutters with déjà vu. A man, a bed, a truth I can’t quite bring myself to confess.
But I see now that I don’t need to. From the ripples of condemnation pouring from him, he doesn’t need my answer. He already knows.
His eyes are shards of molten steel when they lock on me. ‘A clinic, Tessa?’ he says flatly. ‘You came here under the pretext of work to visit an IVF clinic?’
My throat closes. ‘Theo—’
He takes a step closer, every muscle coiled tight. ‘I thought I could trust you.’ His voice slices, raw with betrayal. ‘But it turns out you’re no different. Just another liar dressed up as a queen.’
My body seizes up, my brain stalling for several heartbeats.
But the shock doesn’t last. The moment his words land between us, the realisation slams into me like a missile dropped from a great height.
If Theo knows where I went, then—
My laugh comes out jagged, more scoffing than humour.
‘Trust?’ I echo, my voice flat. ‘You want to talk to me about trust, when you clearly didn’t trust me enough to leave me unmonitored for a single afternoon?
Because how else would you know where I went if you didn’t have me followed?
How long have you been doing it? Since Portugal? ’
His eyes flash, but he doesn’t deny it. Of course he doesn’t. He never denies his sins, only justifies them.
‘What else do you have up your sleeve where I’m concerned, Theo?’ I press on, words tumbling hot and furious. ‘What else are you up to without my knowledge? Spies? Surveillance? Cameras tucked into every corner of your penthouse?’
‘Don’t twist this.’ His voice is hard, but underneath I hear something far more complex. ‘You’re as faithless as I hoped you weren’t. More fool me, huh?’
I recoil as though struck. ‘How dare you call me names?’
‘You stood in front of me, looked me in the eye and fed me excuses about PMS while you were running off to…’ He swallows, his fists clenching at his sides. ‘To do that.’
‘That?’ I whisper. My throat burns. ‘You can’t even say the word?’
The silence between us is deafening, broken only by the pounding of my heart.
Fine. If he won’t say it, I will. ‘Yes,’ I snap, the word torn from my chest. ‘Yes, I’m planning on having a baby. Via IVF. And it’s none of your damn business.’
His head jerks, as if I’ve physically shoved him.
‘If you want to delete the last month—’ my voice cracks, but I push on, bitter and defiant ‘—go ahead. Let’s face it, you’re an expert at it, aren’t you?
Deleting. Erasing. Pretending I was nothing but a mistake until you want another bite.
’ I drag in a shuddering breath. ‘Go ahead. Delete me. Hell, I’ll make it easy for you and check into another suite. ’
I glance at the door I know I need to walk through, to put this behind me. But my feet won’t move. And although he doesn’t move either, I sense letting me go isn’t as easy as for him as he’d like.
The air between us is smoke and ash, the kind of silence that feels like a battlefield after the bombs have dropped.
Inside, I’m crumbling. Because this isn’t how I wanted things between us to end. Not after nights tangled together, after laughter I never thought he could wring from me, after the maddening tenderness that kept me off balance and wanting more.
I wanted—God help me—I wanted honesty. A chance to believe in something steady, even if only for a little while.
But maybe this is better. Cleaner.
Theo Biney doesn’t do for ever. He doesn’t even do trust.
And me? I can’t afford to keep bleeding for a man who looks at me and sees only another liar in a long line of ghosts.
My chest tightens, but I lift my chin and open the door. Because if I’m going to walk away, I’ll do it on my feet, not crawling on my knees.
Even if my heart already knows it will never recover.
‘You can go if that’s what you really want. But not until we clear up a few things. You owe me that at the very least.’
Theo
As predicted, her head tilts back at my demand, the regal stature and hauteur sliding into place so smoothly I want to applaud.
But the memory of the last few minutes washes over me once more, an unrelenting wave of roiling emotion I can scarcely break free from before the next one hits.
The moment I walked back into the suite and found it empty, the bottom dropped out of my world. I would’ve scoffed at the melodrama of it all, except I’m learning that things with Tessa are geared for high-octane even when we’re doing things as mundane as sharing a coffee.
So for a split second when I stood in silence, staring at the empty, freshly butler-made bed, I was seventeen years old again, standing in my father’s study, waiting for the next humiliation about my mother’s infidelities to hit the tabloids.
That same rush of belly-hollowing terror.
That same sense of helplessness. That unnerving confusion of wondering why someone who purported to love you would be so unfeeling about the hurt and harm they were causing.
I’d watched my father wither away beneath those scandalised whispers about his faithless wife.
The pity and the scoffing and the belief that you must be as tainted and as diseased as those who spawned you, and would therefore need to be written off, prayed for, talked down to, but ultimately ostracised, lest you taint others.
I told myself she’d gone for a walk. That she’d be back. But my pulse was already pounding in my throat, choking me. Because the dread that settled in my belly felt far too familiar.
So I did what I didn’t think I’d need to do again. I reached for my phone. Dialled the number of the security team I’d hired weeks ago when she took off to London.
I should’ve called them off after Lisbon. Should’ve erased their files and shut down the operation. But I hadn’t. Maybe because some part of me didn’t want to.
So, with my chest hollow and my suite silent, I asked for the report I never finished reading when my uninvited suspicion of infidelity was immediately proven false. My team had gone above and beyond with the information, of course, but I’d just not been interested in looking at anything else.
Today, I had been.
And there it was.
She might not have visited a friend in London. But she hadn’t gone shopping or sightseeing either. Nor had she visited the theatre or the parks.
No, she’d gone to a specific place. An IVF clinic on Harley Street.
The same clinic with a branch in Cape Town. Where she’d been today.
Suddenly, everything had aligned with brutal precision. The condoms. Her strange insistence on using them. The look on her face when I broached it afterwards. Her highly effective way of using her clever mouth to shut me up today instead of letting me in.
She’d been preparing herself for another man.